Mock Turtleneck and Clothespins

Yes, a mock turtleneck and clothespins were just a couple of the props the teacher used in my first childbirth preparation class. The green and blue striped mock turtleneck sweater was wrapped around a newborn-sized doll, the long neck bunched over the top of the doll's head as a makeshift cervix.

"And then, as the cervix thins or becomes ripe, it looks like this..." the teacher explained while pushing the head through the scrunched up material until it became a perfect 10-centimeter diameter hole. I tried hard to imagine that cotton turtleneck as a slimy, pinkish, dilating cervix but it was a stretch (pun intended).

The enthusiastic teacher then place the sweatered doll in a model of the pelvis bones (thank goodness, the bones were not made from tube socks or salad bowls). She pressed the head down on top of the opening, where the baby would come out. Hmmm, it doesn't look like that'll fit, I thought. And she pressed some more but still the head did not pop through those pelvis bones. The teacher quickly tossed both baby and bones aside. Ah ha! I knew it wouldn't fit! I chuckled inwardly... Oh wait, that's not so funny...

Later on, all 14 couples were on the floor on our blankets, partners behind us, with pillows stuck around us for added comfort. "Everyone take two clothespins," yelled out the teacher. "This will be our simulation for the pain of contractions." My mind quickly conjured images of us women squeezing the clothespins on our nipples. Ouch! Then I thought, No, silly, don't be obscene...maybe they're for our eyelids... Before I could get too worried, the teacher grinned and announced "And these are for your partner, not you." Oh then we're going to put them on their..."You will clip them on your partners' ear lobes." I sighed in relief as JR squirmed a bit. "And you will press them tight with your fingers." I laughed.

"Ready, bibi?" I said as I clipped them on. "Ca te fait mal, bibi?" I said.

His back toward me, he softly said, "Oui."

"Really? It really hurts?" I asked again.

"Oui!"

"Well, OK, sorry, but I have to press now," I said as I crunched the clothespins more tightly closed with my index fingers and thumbs. After all, the students must obey the teacher, right?

I then looked at the couple across from us as I calmly tortured my dear husband. The woman was squirming, daintily clipping the clothespins on her husband's lobes then quickly removing them. "Sorry sorry sorry!" she apologized, full of guilt and dread. She put down the pins and put her fingers on her hubby's earlobes in what looked more like accupressure than contraction simulation.

Just after that exercise she looked across at me and smiled a little embarrassed. "I just couldn't do it!" I stared at her blankly, smiled, then muttered dumbly, "That's OK." She was not as cruel as me, I guess. I felt a little twinge of guilt knowing how easy it was for me. After all, a couple little clothespins are nothing compared to active labor, right?

* * * * *

This morning I asked JR, "So...do you want to be my coach?" I suddenly realized this was assumed, that maybe he didn't want that much responsibility or pressure.

"Of course!" he smiled. "I'm going to be the best coach in the world!"

I laughed, tears welling up in my eyes (yes, I cry at everything nowadays). Then he added, "Besides, the hard part only lasts 3 hours anyway."

I laughed harder, the tears vanishing. "What?! You don't know that!" I yelled.

No, we don't know how long it will last. We don't know anything. Sometimes I don't know if I even want to know. And we just have to be OK with that. And maybe distract ourselves with images of turtlenecks and clothespins.