Eight hours in a childbirth class is one thing. Eight hours in a birthing class in Kentucky? Well, that’s just something special right there. I can now cross that one off my Bucket List.
Saturday The Wife™ and I wasted an entire day headed to the hospital for an all-day seminar on how to get your baby unstuck from your insides. And while a portion of it was mildly informative, I sheepishly confess that the majority was a bit of a bore if you happen to read any childbirthing books. And seeing as how we’re running a local branch of the library out of our home with how many we have, needless to say there wasn’t a ton that the class could offer. Except that video of some woman’s crotch in which they TOTALLY DID NOT WARN YOU what was coming next. I’ll be in therapy for years for that, thank you very much hospital lady. But I’ll consider the tiny sandwiches you fed me as a down-payment on our impending lawsuit settlement.
What I did learn, however, was just how awesome the great state of Kentucky is. Who knew that you don’t have to pass a test in order to become parents? The cast of characters at this thing was amazing. Like Jerry Springer amazing.
One woman mentioned that, on the way to the seminar, her husband said, “So if you have a baby, this is where I bring you?” I think you’re past the “if stage,” buddy. Try to keep up.
Another woman said she registered for a breast pump at Feeders Supply. For those unfamiliar, this is a pet store. I shudder to think about the logistics of this, and also confess that upon hearing her say this, my first thought was, “this is SO going on the internet.”
One man at the front of the room wore his sunglasses indoors for the entire eight hours. Even during lights out for the movie, during the hospital tour and at lunch. I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the first three hours, thinking he had merely forgotten they were on. Ultimately, this made me nervous, as he neither looked like a secret service agent nor like Stevie Wonder. That’s just not right.
When told that breastfeeding can save you thousands of dollars, one man looked at his wife triumphantly and said (in a VERY thick accent), “Well that settles it! We’re going with it ‘til the kid’s ten!”
And the vast majority of the males there looked severely disinterested. Quite a few played with their phones (the one next to me was embarrassingly bad at solitaire). But the best of the bunch was the gentleman behind us that spent the first six hours reading the instruction manual for an assault rifle, which led me to ponder a few things.
- If the booklet is less than 20 pages, why six hours?
- Was the gun a sympathy gift from your wife for coming to the seminar? If yes, I hope the gun did not come with you.
- If you need to read the manual, should you even be shooting this gun?
While I never learned the answer to any of those questions, I was shocked at just how much knowledge his wife had of automatic weapons. And as it came to be my turn to announce to the class what exactly I was hoping to take away from the day’s lessons, it took every ounce of strength in me not to stand up and say, “I’m hoping to learn how to protect my child from the people of Kentucky.” But I didn’t.
After all, Creepy Sunglasses Man and Instruction Manual Larry could have been working in cahoots.
