School's out!

We have now completed two classes (three if you count the breastfeeding one-night session) and have yet to be presented with a diploma. I’m very disappointed. What’s the point of education if not being presented with a document that says you finished the required courses? When Peter comes out and demands to see his parents’ credentials, all we can show him is a couple folders filled with handouts and notes. Nothing with a gold foil sticker, nothing with a crimped seal, nothing printed on parchment. The only thing we can do now is buy one from a diploma mill. If I’m going to do that, I should pick up an MBA, too.

Being the last class there was discussion of postpartum stuff, and one of the things mentioned was the need for new bras due to changes in a mother’s upper-body dimensions. Ok, that makes sense. Then we were told that the lactation consultants at the hospital are certified bra fitters. Now, I’m a guy, and the world of women is a mysterious place, but if I had heard about “certified bra fitters” anywhere else I would have been suspicious. Seriously, it sounds like some horrible come-on line that a drunk guy would try in desperation, when all else failed. They need to make up a new word for that area of expertise. Like “brassierienne” or “lactosnuggification expert.”

As promised, we took the tour of the birthing and recovery facilities. It’s nice and modern and clean. There actually weren’t many rooms being used at the time, so hopefully it will be like that when we’re there. On the tour the obnoxious guy from last week was loudly munching on a bag of Cheetos and guzzling a coke. I really hope that couple isn’t due the same time we are.

Peter’s big enough now that when he shifts his position you see the bump made by his butt moving around on his mommy’s belly, like if you stuck your tongue into your cheek and then moved it. It’s reassuring in that he’s moving around like he’s supposed to, yet it’s also alarming to see my wife’s abdomen doing that. When it gets to the point where you see elbows or hands causing bulges I might get weak-kneed.