Went to parenting class again last night. This was #4 in the series of seven, and finally, a less earnest, less awfully polite vibe has made its way through the group. We became aware of this welcome change just after being shown the most graphic video yet: strange woman after strange woman moaning and groaning through labour to produce strange babies. When I say strange, I (mostly) mean to say we don't know them, and the intimacy of watching them naked and in pain was fairly uncomfortable.
In any case, this time after the video, no one piped up about how beautiful it was. We were all visibly shaken, and it wasn't just Craig and me who allowed a few nervous giggles. There was some catching-of-eyes and empathetic, silly grimacing, which was lovely, as it prevented another descent into hysteria.
Utter proof of the change in the air came when our teacher broached the subject of placental considerations. That is, she advised us that it might be wise to keep our placentas (as in store in some way ... I'm not sure, I was close to fainting at this point) since there are businesses that can freeze-dry placentas, turn them into powder, and pack them into pills to be ingested by the mother to ward off post-partum depression. Yep, it's a documented cure.
Into the stunned silence and widened eyes came Jenna's response:
"Unless knowing you are eating your own placenta makes you more depressed."
I tell you, we were all spitting up and clutching our sides. It was the deadpan delivery, too.
Thank God it's not just us.
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