preparing for childbirth

The room has pale green textured walls; gentle new age nature-y music plays. Scott sits on a wooden bench; I sit on a dark green “birth ball.” We sip filtered water from paper cups. Our instructor G. sits on the massage table in front of us. The table is piled high with pillows.

The first half-hour or so is discussion/instruction: Techniques and concepts for how to deal with labor. Diaphragmatic breathing is one option. Deep low toning (ohm-type sounds) is another — it helps to open and relax the pelvis. That will be Scott’s job — the toning. I’ll be too busy screaming.

* * *

This is our private childbirth-preparation class, a two-hour discussion and hands-on practicum, featuring a lesson for Scott on how to give me a full-body massage. This is one-half of my recent-birthday present. (The other half is a “Goddess Massage,” 90 minutes of muscle manipulation and aromatherapy oils, which I will receive from G. next week.)

It’s actually the second birth-prep class we’ve taken. The first was a three-hour yoga for childbirth group class that actually involved much more sitting in a circle and talking than stretching or posing, though we did enjoy the few moves we learned. “Side-Lying Shivasana” was one — essentially the fetal position, with him spooning me while we both breathed deeply, in unison. Another involved Scott sitting on a folding chair while I straddled his lap, facing him. The teacher recommended this pose for scaring off the nurses if we feel like we need some privacy. They’re likely to feel like they’re intruding if they walk in on us in that position, she said.

We will be taking another class in October, a four-week workshop with other couples, which will also teach breath-work, self-hypnosis techniques, labor and birth poses, and go over the procedural what-to-expect-at-the-hospital stuff.

We’re doing all of this in support of my intention to at least try to have a “natural” childbirth.

* * *

G. shows us a pamphlet full of photographs of useful poses, including some we’d learned before. I’m glad to see one of the pregnant women in the pictures has gray hair. The woman who demonstrates what not to do is wearing an unfortunate-looking tent-like black dress with little flowers all over it.

(Our birth doula will know a lot of these poses too, but it doesn’t hurt for us to get introduced to the concepts and practice a bit on our own.)

G. lists other tactics: Gel ice packs on the sacrum bone, with hot mitts for Scott so he can put pressure on the pack without freezing his hands; warm compress on the neck; put me in a warm bath or shower, but only for about 15 minutes at a time because a longer bath might cause me to relax so much it would slow down labor, something we don’t want.

She has more visual aids for us, including a cartoon map of the path from the start of labor to birth: a long and winding bumpy path which can be short-cut via the paved epidural road, but not without paying a toll, or can be made longer and more precarious by the appearance of back labor. The whole idea being that we should be ready for a JOURNEY, to remember to drink lots of water, eat snacks, rest when we can.

As we proceed through the lesson, I continually glance at Scott, checking in. I adore him for taking this class with me. I notice that all of the colors in his eyes are the colors I’ve picked for the nursery (sand, sage, sky).

G. recommends visualizations: a flower opening petal by petal (lotus is a nice image for this), a waterfall rushing down the front of my body. Mental images are very powerful, she says.

At that moment, I start to get excited about giving birth. The same feeling I’d experienced when we interviewed our birth doula.

We practice on the ball: Me sitting and moving my pelvis around; me with my knees on the floor and resting my upper torso against the top of the ball, Scott behind, compressing my hip bones on both sides. I’m going to have to work out more, he says.

We practice in a chair (and in a box with a fox): Me sitting, legs at 90 degrees, Scott kneeling in front of me, heels of his hands below my kneecaps, pressing my femur bones in towards my pelvis; Me sitting facing the massage table with my head resting on a pile of pillows, while Scott rolled a tennis ball over the muscles of my back and thighs.

Then it’s time for the massage lesson. G. instructs me on how to get up on the table, position myself between the torso wedge and the knee wedge, etc. She leaves the room for a moment, I strip down and hoist up onto the piles of pillows.

For the next hour, G. works down one side of my body while Scott parallels her on the other side. She shows him her patented “duck mouth” hand position. She compliments him on his skill, how quickly he learns the technique. He’s a natural.

I think, or say out loud (?) — He is my perfect husband.

(I mean, he was pretty great before, but now, all that AND full-body massage?!?!!)

To get at my back half, she sits me up, removes the giant wedges, rolls me over to one side, puts two pillows under my head, a smaller wedge under my belly, a body pillow between my knees and up to my shoulders where I can rest my arm, and one boob (this is very comfortable!) on top, an additional pillow between my knees.

Scott stands next to her and they take turns as she shows him how to work down the back of me, on that side, explaining as she goes that he will have to do the other side of me when we get home, for homework. She also suggests we do the whole procedure again in the next 48 hours, so as not to forget what we’ve learned (no complaints here).

She gives us a folder with all of the handouts, a step-by-step guide to the full-body massage she’s just taught us, and a small cellophane bag containing a brand new tennis ball, and a bottle of the most wonderful smelling lavender massage cream.

At home, we immediately set me up on the bed with the requisite pillows and Scott takes care of the other side of my back, referring to his list of instructions as he goes.