son-i-meter

Mom and dad have been taking this class about how I exit mom at the end of October. I think they mostly signed up for this one because (a) it's free and (b) it includes a tour of the birthing center. Mom keeps saying something about the "real" child birthing class -- with the doula -- that starts in a few weeks. So I guess this series has been the fake childbirthing class: something or other about everything she doesn't want in a birth.

Epidurals and pitocin and sections, oh my.


Now, the big question I have after 4 weeks of class is not:

• what direction do I face?
  Opposite of now on 2 axes
  OR
  
• when do I push the exit hatch button?
  Not for 13 weeks
  OR
  
• what will my perfect head will look like afterwards?
  See Beldar photo

It's this: what the heck is a sonimeter? And why do mom and dad snicker every time the the nice instructor lady says it? Of course, they typically snicker and then mom starts muttering something like, "cen-tee-me-ter, woman. da**it, it's a centimeter." I don't know, whatever it is, mom needs 10 of them before I can come out, which apparently causes her face to turn an unsightly shade of grey and her pulse to elevate each time she looks at the fun circle drawings.

I'd like to point out that this is no where near the reaction she has when she sees an epidural needle -- that's more like palpitations and shortness of breathe.

So, I was doing some research, you know, since I don't get all the visuals mom and dad get, here's what 10 centimeters is relative to -- the length of an avocado or, hmm, I don't know, about the size of a big orange. Now, I don't know about you, but 4 inches sounds like about the right size for a cookie. And mom makes really good cookies. So, what's all the hullabaloo? 10 sonimeters, or centimeters, is like a baseball or the size of the orbital debris monitored by the U.S. Air Force Space Command. Or a chocolate chip cookie. Or whatnot. Regardless, a cookie sounds pretty darn good right now.

[Hah, and dad said something about wanting a paternity test after I danced through an ultrasound. Me wanting cookies is pretty conclusive.]

The funnest part of the fake childbirthing class was last night: mom volunteered to be the demonstrator for diapering the "baby" and then dad got dragged down into the diapering and swaddling abyss with her. Mom was pretty funny and the class was laughing a lot -- especially about the "oh let's see what you made for me today" part, the pretend hosing that she got, and joking that she maybe beat the 2 years it took to diaper my sweet, patient cousin. Dad was way more into the time trials they were apparently having; he was all business.

I can't wait. I totally bet mom and dad have that much fun changing my diapers. I'm not actually sure if mom's diapering job would stay on, but... These details are inconsequential. Dad's job was pretty solid. Maybe he'll just do all the diapering changes.
[Mom just said, "Great idea, Marcus!"]

Swaddling was a whole different story that we won't even go into. Mmmm, buritos.