It was actually more of a mixed bag and I found it to be a moderately useful experience. We all wrote down our due dates and names, introduced ourselves, and did all that uncomfortable "getting to know you" stuff. We were prompted to list out our fears about pregnancy and the instructor states that she will get to all of these over the next month. We were shown a graphic of a woman's body and how the baby crowds out organs and strains tendons.
The good news is I'm ahead of the curve as far as I can tell. Some of the eyebrow raising questions floated by the group were: "I've been told you shouldn't let babies sleep for more than two hours. Is this true?" and "Should I give my baby Flinstone's vitamins or do I wait a few months." Thankfully the group is pretty accepting and no one was made to feel uncomfortable.
Halfway through the class, though, I had an epiphany. You see, I was looking around the classroom, thinking about how odd it is that I'll be with these people for the next month and it occurred to me that THIS is the true lesson. That for the next two decades or so, we will be spending immense amounts of time with people we have nothing in common with other than having a child of similar ages.
Some of the cast includes: a hip music store owner, a rigid accountant, and a Fred Meyer manager. None of whom likely play D&D or soccer. And here we are. Cohorts. Sharing this experience based solely on the fact that we all apparently enjoy unprotected late winter sex.
Likely it won't be these people in particular that I'll be hanging around with for the next few decades, but the fact that the people I associate with is no longer under my control is really, really eye opening and if nothing else, I've internalized this fact. Touché prenatal class. Touché
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