Last weekend Soenke and I attended the dreaded 3-day-weekend pre-birthing class… “why dreaded”, you ask… well DREADED by me because the whole thing was administered in German. The first evening, I stared intently at the midwife and kept my brain busy translating her rapidfire speech. Within an hour, I was exhausted by the process. I was thankful for frequent cookie breaks and the opportunity to practice nonverbal labor poses (if you don’t know, don’t ask)… although I’m still stubbornly clinging to the hope that mine will be a miraculous, labor-less delivery, with no need for “labor poses” or anything else except bon-bon eating and a few episodes of Lost in the background.

By Saturday, my brain had exploded. I mean, really, it did. I watched her mouth moving, but I heard no words coming out. Soenke saw my glazed eyes and soon realized what was happening. Being keenly interested in my full preparation for this whole delivery process, he began to whisper translations in English. When the midwife started talking about very medical details of the delivery, I realized that my lingual barrier was a blessed relief…

So while I was busy tuning out the midwife and waiting for the next cookie break, I had the opportunity to take in the other couples at the class. Seated next to us was Bossy Carmen and Henpecked Rico. She outweighed him by at least 15 lbs, towered over him by several inches, and was merciless in her criticism. Nonetheless, he seemed like a happy guy – probably because he is a nautical officer and goes on 4-month-long voyages to Africa twice per year. Another interesting couple was the balding, sweater-with-matching-sock-wearing, chain-smoking tall guy and his very buxom girlfriend. She alerted all of us in the class at regular intervals that he didn’t want to marry her, and as a result, the baby would not take his last name. We were also kept well informed of her high blood pressure, and enjoyed a full visual of her uncovered pregnant belly for good measure.

Today, we continued the preparatory rituals with a registration appointment at the hospital where I will have delivery. The entire dialogue basically boiled down to “do you want an epidural or are you a REAL woman?” You see, German women are quite tough and take pride in their natural birth abilities… it’s almost a badge of honor for a German husband to say “ah yes, Brigitta just took a short break from threshing the hay to come in and deliver little Thorsten. Afterwards, she chugged a beer then whipped up some schnitzel and sauerkraut for dinner.” This is not me. I qualify as 100% sissy girl. I do yoga, I paint my toenails, and I have a cleaning lady. Do I sound like the type of girl who embraces “natural” childbirth? In my own defense, we ARE trying to prepare using a pain-free hypnobirthing technique straight from the lola-granola arms of California… just in case… but have that epidural juiced up and ready for action when I arrive!

And finally, I recently learned that my iron count was low. This would not be particularly interesting except that the doc informed me that this could be because I wasn’t eating enough meat (I have vegetarian tendencies). At that point, Soenke cheered with delight, told me what he REALLY thought about all my tofu and barley dinners, roared off to get the car, and immediately dragged me off to the nearest steakhouse for lunch. Baby Sophie was treated to her first “Mrs. Rumpsteak” (no joke, that’s what it was called). I mentally apologized to the poor cow and vowed to take more iron pills.

During all this relentless baby preparation, I admit I sometimes wonder what is happening in Rome… in Helsinki… in Prague… but then I am reminded that there is a small being about to enter the world that has NEVER seen ANY of these places and is fully relying on me to introduce her to the wonders of earth… which I will do with pleasure !