Prenatal classes - marriage prep, part 2?

Tonight we have our third prenatal class. Oh, goody.

Although there are lots of prenatal classes on offer from all sorts of organisations, we decided to take the easiest route and just register at the hospital where I will deliver. The hospital offers weekly classes divided into three different stages. We decided to skip stage 1 (0-18 weeks) altogether. Tonight will be our third and final class of stage 2 (19-28 weeks, I think). Later in the summer we'll have stage 3, as well as a breastfeeding class, and then a month or so after our due date we're scheduled to attend a 'follow-up' class.

So, if you know us (and if you're reading this, you should), you might have heard some of our stories about our marriage prep course. (Short review of one particular highlight: though sponsored by churches of various denominations, and led by a pastor of some stripe, the religious portion of the course was dumped in favour of - are you ready? - an extra session on sex. Oh, but not just any session on sex. No, this gave the leader the opportunity he needed to tell us all about what he and his wife did on their 25th anniversary/2nd honeymoon trip. In great detail.) On our way to our first prenatal class (which, like our marriage prep course, cost us a few hundred dollars), we both felt a bit of trepidation... Will this be like the marriage course? After the session ended, we walked through the silent halls of the hospital. Once we were out of earshot of anyone who might have been associated with the course, we said to one another, "Well, that was pointless!"

That first night, once we finally found the right room (did you know that nobody at the hospital knows - or at least will say - where the prenatal courses are held??) and joined the class already in progress (so much for arriving early), we were divided into small groups to introduce ourselves. Then the leader went around the room and asked everyone to introduce themselves. (Which part so far was redundant?) Next, the group was divided in half, so we could discuss what resources we liked so far. Yes, that's right, we paid $X to gather with a group of strangers and say whether or not we liked What to Expect When You're Expecting and other books of that ilk. Again, we returned to the larger group and reported back. The evening finished off with a video produced in 1985. Ooh, yes, wonderfully up-to-date that one was. As Werner put it, "Why would they show us that when now we can get 3D ultrasound images?" Yes, the first class was a disappointment.

Week 2 brought more small group discussions. The topic this time? "What questions do you have about labour and delivery?" After the small groups reported back to the whole, the leader answered many of the questions - although some only superficially, and others not at all. An overview of preterm labour followed. Again, we ended the night with a video - this one about labour, and featuring such memorable lines as, "The pain of labour is strong, but she is stronger."

Tonight we are supposed to have a different leader, for a hands-on class on infant care. (I'm assuming that we'll be using dolls - even now, I'm pretty certain I won't be volunteering my child to be a practice baby for anyone but us!) Maybe, at last, we're getting to something that may be useful. We hope.

Wish us luck.

PS - I guess stage 3 classes will cover the stuff we're really worried about - like how on earth we're going to survive labour...

Is she, or isn't she?

For a fairly long time, we wanted to keep the exciting news to ourselves. But once we finally did tell, I was ready to look pregnant.

Which was right around the time I looked - and felt - fat. Ugh. Werner assured me more than once that I really did look pregnant, but of course he knew. I needed validation from strangers.

While we were in Montréal, I visited a maternity store. I was, oh, a bit over 19 weeks by then. Just the night before, we were congratulated by someone we know but who said she hadn't heard that we were expecting. I was finally feeling like maybe - just maybe - I was showing. But no, apparently. Into this maternity shop I went. I explained to the clerk that I had one pair of maternity pants that were so comfortable that I wanted to get a second pair in a different colour. Since the Vancouver stores were sold out, I thought I'd check in Montréal. She asked me, "Who are you shopping for?" Um, me. Then, a few minutes later, she asked me, "Are you still pregnant?" I almost couldn't answer, so gobsmacked was I. Why on earth would I be shopping in a maternity store if I wasn't pregnant?? If I had lost my baby, what masochistic streak could possibly be strong enough to drag me back into a mat shop? If I was postpartum, wouldn't I be eager to wear real clothes again? (After all, maternity clothes are not a pleasant experience.) And if I had already given birth, where had I left my baby?

Of all the places where the practice of, "If you don't already know if a woman is pregnant, don't ask", would be assumed, I'd have thought it would be a maternity shop. Even now, weeks later, I'm still somewhat stunned by the whole experience.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day feeling fat rather than pregnant.

(Thanks to my cousin in Montréal for commenting on how pregnant I looked when I saw her later that afternoon!)

Two weeks later, to the day, I finally got the validation-from-a-stranger I craved. Waiting for Werner at our bank, the receptionist congratulated me. Hooray, I must finally look pregnant!!

On another note, we hadn't had an opportunity to tell any of our neighbours. It wasn't because we hadn't wanted to tell them, the chance just hadn't come up. Finally, at around 23 weeks, I bumped into our neighbour from two doors down. I said, "It has been so long since I've seen you, I haven't even had a chance to tell you our news!!" She replied that, just the evening before, our immediate neighbours had asked her if she knew whether or not we were expecting.

I never imagined we'd be fodder for the neighbourhood rumour mill - but I have to admit I'm strangely flattered!

Wriggles and squirms and hiccups and bliss

Perhaps the surest sign - at least to the alleged mother-to-be - that she is indeed pregnant is to finally be able to feel the baby's movement. One problem, though: what am I trying to feel? What does a baby's movements feel like? I had no idea what I was feeling for!

At about 14.5 weeks, I think I felt flutters. Werner and I and his parents were watching TV in the family room, I was sitting in one of the big comfy armchairs. I suddenly felt as though I was being tickled from the inside. Weirdest thing!! I suspected right then that it could have been the baby, but wasn't absolutely sure, so I didn't say anything. (Although I did mention it to Werner not long afterwards.) I had the same feeling a few more times, but never stong enough or frequently enough or regularly enough to convince me that it really was the baby.

Then, when we had our second trimester ultrasound, we could see the baby wriggling and squirming and swimming and clearly getting a good workout. "Why can't I feel all this?", I wondered (dejectedly). That was around 17.5 weeks.

At exactly 21 weeks, I was resting one afternoon. Lying on my side, my left hand on my belly. Suddenly, I felt a kick (or punch?) with my hand!! No doubt then what it was! And the strongest proof yet that there really is a baby in there! (Yes, I saw the baby on the ultrasound, but that was, well, how to put this... something of an out-of-body experience?) That evening, the baby was moving enough that Werner was able to feel it too. Out of the whole pregnancy experience, that was the thing I was most looking forward to - for Werner to feel the baby move. From everything I'd read, I thought it would be a few more weeks before he could feel that. (Then again, from everything I'd read, I thought for sure I would have felt definite movement a few weeks earlier...)

Scarcely a week later, at 22 weeks and 2 days, I think I felt the baby hiccup. We saw hiccups during the ultrasound, but again, this was just so much more real. Make any sense? Anyway, I think it was hiccups, because the movement was fairly rhythmic and regular.

And a within a week, the movements grew strong enough that we could see my belly move.

I'm completely addicted to the baby's movements. Whenever I feel das kleine Bärchen move, the rest of the world stops. I hear nothing, I see nothing, I'm just lost in the wondrous sensation of our little one's presence.

Can't we just put "das kleine Bärchen" on the birth certificate? (Or, in other words, have we picked a name?)

Well, yes and no. We don't know (really, we don't!) whether we're having a girl or a boy. Or a boy or a girl. So we have some possibilities for both.

But we aren't telling.

;-)

Boy or girl?

Tell someone you're expecting, and the second thing they'll ask (right after, "When is the stork expected to drop off the bundle of joy?") is whether it's a boy or a girl. The third question, in our case anyway, is "Don't you want to know?"

I'm still surprised at how often it is assumed that:

a) That we want to know;
b) That it was obvious on the ultrasound;
c) That the sonographer was indeed permitted to tell us;
d) That we'd want everything - from the nursery to the clothes - to be gender-specific;
e) That we'd tell everyone even if we did know!

So, maybe by my above mini-rant, my thoughts on this are clear. If not:

a) No, we don't want to know!
b) I dunno. We told the sonographer we didn't want to know. I don't know if she 'avoided' anything that could give away the answer, but we were kept clueless. (Or at least I was - in which case Werner is playing along very nicely for my sake.) And happily so.
c) Not at our hospital. The sonographer said gender isn't released before 24 weeks.
d) Ugh, no! After all those years of ballet, there is no way I'd paint a nursery pink, even if the baby came with a 100% guarantee that it is a girl. And either way, we both just like blue. (In any case, we're not planning on using either colour for the nursery!) Baby clothes are cute, whether they are gender-specific or unisex. Simple as that.
e) Again, not necessarily true. We might, we might not. We don't know, so, well, we just don't know! (And, yes, we have some names in mind, too, but we're not telling!)

Hm, this mini-rant is no longer quite so mini. Didn't mean for that to happen!

To those who want to know the gender of their babies-to-be, that's fine with me - not that what I think matters anyway - and I pass no judgement. It just isn't what we want.

There aren't many true surprises left in life - we think this one is worth waiting nine months to receive!

So when exactly is this baby due?

Tell someone you're pregnant, and the first question is usually "When is it due?". When we asked my GP about this, he reminded us of the statistics: only something like 5% of babies are born on their due date. We recognise this. But we needled him for a date because we knew everyone would ask. Besides, we work well to deadline!

What we didn't fully expect was just how confusing this would get...

By the standard method of determining a baby's due date (by something referred to, in abbreviation, as "LMP", which I might be tempted to redefine as "Lazy Medical Professionals"), this baby is due October 15, 2006. (This is the date my GP's resident insists on using, and in fact has more than once climbed up on her soapbox to lecture me on how important it is.) By another method (as in, the one which prompts me to clear my throat, blush, and say, "We were there, we know!"), the due date is October 21, 2006. Nearly a week's difference.

We've also got a bunch in between these two extremes. When we first asked my GP for a due date, and he had reminded us of statistical probabilities (and thereby warmed the cockles of Werner's econometrician heart!), he split the difference between the two extremes (sort-of), and settled on October 17.

Werner and I looked at each other and giggled.

Why? Well, a baby arriving on October 17 would be the best birthday present I could probably ever receive. (Would also mean, as I like to tease Werner, that he could get out of $200 birthday dinners, at least for the next 15-20 years or so.)

And there are also the dates from the aptly-named dating ultrasound. As I've already written, at the March 4th ultrasound the sonographer dated the baby at 7 weeks and 2 days, which would make for a due date of October 19. (Might I point out that this is closer to 'our' date of October 21 than it is to the LMP date of October 15?) That's what we were told, anyway. The resident has told us, however, that the official report from that ultrasound dated das kleine Bärchen at 7 weeks and 3 days, which sets the due date at October 18. The median date.

Anyway, we've informed the resident that she can consider the baby to be due on October 15, if it makes her happy, but that we're going to tell everyone October 17, because that was the first 'official' date we were given. (Never mind the sentimental connection.) She didn't seem to appreciate that very much... So I reminded her that no matter how many of us gathered about to debate the date, it is completely up to the baby to decide!

So there you have it. If you ask us when the baby is due, we'll say October 17, 2006. Just don't ask the resident for her opinion!

(Oh, and of course I've used the wrong phrase all through this treatise... Instead of 'due date', I should have been writing 'estimated date of delivery', or EDD. I'm sure I've stepped on some medical toes with that one!)

When to tell, when to tell...

Once we found out we were expecting, we faced the thorny issue of whom should be told and when. It isn't as though we can hide it forever! But, I admit, we did want to keep the splendid news all to ourselves for a little while, and fortunately, wintery clothing can be baggy and forgiving. Working from home also meant no immediate colleagues from whom to hide the morning sickness or afternoon (and morning) naps. Maybe this made it a bit easier?

We went through phases when we wanted to tell everyone, and then times when we didn't want another soul to know. Usually, the latter came just before a prenatal appointment or ultrasound.

We told just a few people at first. My parents were busy being snowbirds when we ourselves first found out, so they didn't know immediately. Soon after their return Werner called them to invite them to visit for my birthday so that they could help out with the special gift he had planned. (Remember, this baby is - or may not be - due on my birthday.) Needless to say (especially if you know my Mom!), they are delighted.

His parents had long planned a visit to 'Kanada' for late April/early May. Werner told his brother, Johannes, very early on, but asked him not to share the news with their parents as he wanted to tell them in person. And we did! At breakfast of their first full day in Canada, he reminded them that I had taken another German language course, and invited me to demonstrate some of what I learnt. I said:

"Mein Name ist Melanie. Ich wohne in Vancouver. Ich bin Schwanger."
(My name is Melanie. I live in Vancouver. I am pregnant.)

Margret started at me for a moment, then excitedly said something in German (which I stood absolutely no chance of catching!) before giving me a huge hug. They are clearly thrilled that the Canadian outpost of the clan is growing.

Until they knew, we held off spreading the word. But almost as soon as everyone had calmed down (and finished breakfast) we let the word out. My Mom got the all-clear to tell the family. We started to tell other friends. Werner tried to tell his colleagues. (He found the teeniest bear and placed it on his gigantic monitor:


He hoped that this would at least provoke assumptions, if not outright questions. Well, it did provoke assumptions, perhaps, but more of the variety that he had lost his marbles... In the end, he had to tell them outright.)

Then it all ground to a halt again - as we waited for the ultrasound. Once the ultrasound showed everything appeared to be where - and as - it should be, the news was considered to be fully public.

Oh, there are still a few people who don't know as I sit and write this. Many are friends who are far far away; I'll occasionally think, "Have I told so-and-so yet?", and that will prompt me to email. There's a family member who will be visiting us in about 10 days, so I'm waiting to tell her in person. Well, maybe my growing belly will tell her when it greets her at the airport...