That shirt used to fit my belly, back in the day. As you can see, it didn't make it to the ol' belly button on Sunday.
Anyway, a couple posts ago I mentioned I signed us up for a baby class. Showed up. Paid the $75. Got the hell out of there as soon as there was a break. Yes, we are baby class dropouts.
Big Man (and Tara) were right. No need. At all. Paul Reiser's book Babyhood's all I need!
It was probably the combination of the facts that (a) they didn't tell me the class was geared for folks much less pregnant than me; and (b) they totally lied when they said it wasn't focused on labor and delivery; and (c) the chairs hurt my butt; and (d) people kept asking stupid questions; and (e) they started with nutrition and explaining what we need to eat and what vitamins are, which made me wonder what the FUCK everyone was doing there in their second trimester if they didn't know they were supposed to be getting extra folic acid in their diets so their babies don't have six fingers or something; and (e) after the break there was going to be a discussion called the "importance of positive affirmations" which made me think of the old SNL skit with Stewart Smalley (I'm good enough; I'm smart enough; and gosh darn it, people like me.); and (f) the nutrition discussion about folic acid made me crave the orange juice which was home in the fridge.
So, one excruciatingly painful hour into the class there was a break, and I walked out, apologizing profusely to Big Man for dragging him there. (He didn't think I'd have the balls to leave. I did make him carry my coat because I was a little embarrassed.) And, off we went.
We left with a sample Huggies diaper that came in our orientation packet. Most expensive freakin' diaper ever.