waiting and preparation are such a drag

Yesterday we had the week 34 checkup. We had to wait for a while – at least 20 minutes sitting in the examination room - before the midwife saw us (and by “us” I mean Peter’s Mom – I’m pretty much the supportive spectator in these things). The only thing that was done other than checking the blood pressure and weight was measuring the belly size and listening for the heartbeat. Oh, and the rather hard poking and prodding of Mom’s belly to find the baby’s head, which took a long time due to Peter tucking himself in. I can’t say I had actual expectations of what these visits would be like, but I must have imagined them being somewhat more exciting than just measurements. Not that I’m complaining – the last thing I want is to hear the doctor yelling “I need 30 cc’s of Spanakopitrex, stat!”

Then we had a brestfeeding class in the evening. It was informative, I guess. I didn’t know that spit-up breast milk doesn’t stain your clothes, while formula does. Or that breast-fed babies smell better. Peter’s Mom would always try to get me to smell babies whenever the stork visited friends or family. I would invariably decline (“I can smell him fine from here, Hon”), as baby sniffing sounds like something that could get you sent to rehab, or worse. Now I’m going to have to compare the aroma of a breast-fed baby versus that of a formula-fed baby, just so I can verify what I’ve been taught. Empirical data is required.

The class was taught by a lactation consultant / doula. Peter’s Mom contacted her earlier about possibly doula-ing the birth. The lady does know her stuff, but she’s… commanding. Peter’s Mom referred to her as the East German Doula after talking to her on the phone. We’ll probably just try to run the show ourselves this time…