On courses at maternity hospitals, mothers shock teachers with non-standard questions.
Two weeks decree. Two weeks of longing. Otherwise, I have been working for almost 9 years practically without days off and at the entrance. And then suddenly a ringing idleness. If you want – sleep, if you want – eat, if you want – hang out in social networks for days. In general, the pleasure is dubious. In order not to run wild out of habit, I went to courses for expectant mothers. I hoped to kill two birds with one stone: find new acquaintances and fill in the gaps in the science of the birth and upbringing of the future generation.
“I’m going to courses for mothers,” I proudly boasted to my colleagues at work.
I understood from the answers that another test awaits me.
The course of a young fighter, or rather a young mother, is read in the local LCD. The lecturer is a midwife and a psychologist in one person. In a small office, eleven ladies gathered with notebooks and diaries at the ready. In anticipation of sacred knowledge, they exchanged glances, assessed the “classmates”. At some point, I even felt like a commodity. Four pairs of eyes gazed at my belly and my tired manicure. Yes, my belly is small, but I signed up for a manicure on Thursday, I wanted to snap back, but I restrained myself. The teacher’s sonorous voice dispelled the hostility:
“The topic of our lesson today is“ Bag to the hospital, ”she warned.
Seriously? Do you want to tell me how many diapers to take with you? And what should be a nightie in the delivery room? In the age of the Internet and different requirements in maternity hospitals, a bag can be assembled at the level of instincts. But my “classmates” immediately grabbed the ballpoint pens and listened to every word of the instructor.
“A bottle of water, papers, a baby cap and a diaper,” she listed.
– Diaper! – the listener to the right of me was indignant. – Is it possible without diapers? I am totally against them.
Future mothers were indignant at everything: diapers and rompers, undershirts and pacifiers. It seems that nothing at all is allowed for the future baby, there is a danger behind everything, almost fatal.
“Oh, I won’t sit until the end,” I threw out the white flag in my correspondence with my girlfriends.
“Hold on, you are strong,” they encouraged me in the messenger.
After the instructor went through the list that can be found on the website of any maternity hospital, it was the turn of proper breathing. The pregnant women were assiduously breathing in their belly, inflating and deflating it under the approving gaze of the midwife.
– How to breathe through the perineum? – another classmate broke the diligent inhalation and exhalation.
Hmm, interesting twist. I haven’t heard anything about it. Well, maybe in jokes. The midwife did not raise an eyebrow.
“Consider that you are already breathing with your crotch, because it unfolds and contracts for you,” she showed herself where and what exactly is being compressed.
I don’t know how, but suddenly the topic of breastfeeding came up. Like, if a woman loves her child, then milk will definitely come. And if he loves himself, then the baby will have to be content with the mixture.
“Less than one percent of women cannot breastfeed,” the midwife said of all failing moms.
Well, I’ll come home, I’ll explain to my parent that she is a narcissistic person, because I was transferred to artificial feeding from the moment of birth, well, she did not have milk. Now I know she doesn’t love me. Well, or at least she didn’t.
– How much will my breasts grow after childbirth? – another question that just discouraged me. – Now I have the first, will it grow up to the fourth?
Yeah, pop out like a pimple on your nose on a first date. Together, we decided that the maximum would be one size added. On this intimate note, the classes ended. Did I learn something new there? No. Will I go again? Yes. At least there will be something to share with future mothers.