Today was a major errand-running day, to the tune of stopping by Home Depot (for power strips, and to get ideas for shelving for Cletus's room), Bed Bath and Beyond (to get some new accent pillows/dog toys for the couch) and Buy Buy Baby (to immerse ourself in a whole new market of prospective things to purchase). Buy Buy Baby was particularly fun, because we were just trying out everything in the store--ratting all the cribs to check for sturdiness, planting our asses in all the rocking chairs, and pushing around all the strollers like stunt drivers in "The Dukes of Hazzard." One of the salespeople in the stroller section gave a crowd of us a very compelling spiel on the relative merits of the Bugaboo over all others (though not stating the implicit sales hook that the stroller will make you beautiful and popular, and make your child an obedient, sleep-through-the-night-from-birth supergenius), and now I'm a little embarassed to admit that Joe and I are obsessed with this stroller. Especially the orange one. Maybe this is what happens when you don't care about cars. You channel all your energies into finding a really trendy stroller on which you can install rims and ground effects.
I would like to talk for a moment about childbirth classes. Is that what they're called? Labor classes? Push out that piglet classes? Well, either way, you know what I'm talking about, the class that teaches you and your uterus how to have your baby. About two months ago, my OB recommended at my last visit that I call to sign up for the class, because spots fill up fast, and "you don't want to get shut out". I still haven't called. Because I don't want to call. Would it make you think I was a ridiculous person if I admitted that I really don't want to take this class? Like, at all? No desire. No curiosity, no urge to take control, stay ahead of the curve, any of that. Here are the reasons that I don't want to take some baby birthing class:
- I don't want to be all crunchy and granola, talking about my body being a beautiful flower and the light within. I am not into the biology of this whole pregnancy thing. At all. In fact, if there were some non-surgical way that they could extract this kid when the time comes, instead of me having to go through labor, I would totally choose that. Especially if they could do it while I was asleep.
- I spend a lot of time at the hospital. I practically live at the hospital. The idea of voluntarily signing up for a class that necessitates me spending even more time at the hospital during my off-hours is not enticing, to say the least.
- I don't want to be all laying out on the floor scattered among a bunch of other, pregnant ladies, all bloated and breathing heavily, like a pod of beached whales requiring Coast Guard intervention. That's just...no.
- Even though my OB has assured me that she herself (an OB/Gyn!) and many of her MD clients have taken said childbirth classes, there's still a part of me that feels like, "These classes are for civilians, I'm a DOCTOR for chrissake, I don't need some hippy class explaining to me how to have a baby!"
- I have been to many, many, many deliveries during med school and residency, and I have to say that when it comes down to actually popping that kid out, the benefits of said classes are dubious, at least from my point of view (at the foot of the bed).
So of course, I'm being totally unfair to the classes, and close-minded and all that, and why don't I just give it a chance, maybe you'll actually learn something, jackass. Yes, yes, I hear you. I hear what you're saying. I hear what I'm saying, in trying to talk myself into taking the class. But I just don't want to. I don't want to take the baby expelling class. And if that's not good enough, then Cletus can just stay inside there for all I care.
Currently reading: "Reefer Madness." Interesting. We use Marniol for our onc patients sometimes as an antiemetic and to boost their appetities, but I've heard (anecdotally) that the inhaled form of THC works much better.