The Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle recently welcomed a baby girl gorilla. Adorbs. Have you ever seen anything this cute?
No, you haven’t.
At least not until you see this.
I mean, right? Separated at birth? My own mother seems to think so as she’s the one who pointed out the similarities. I was freshly delivered here. That is pure, untouched, newborn baby hair. And it was fabulous.
And thank you, Des, for noticing that sweet big brother, Mike, appears to be pointing a gun and his baby sister’s back. Ah, the 70’s.
Nope, Grandma’s not visiting. Nope, not left over from the previous homeowners. I bought these. For me. They, along with the 17 bags of cotton balls and gripe water were on my “things I apparently need to stockpile before I bring home a baby” list. (Why do I have so many cotton balls. What is the need in a newborn’s life for so many cotton balls?)
In any case, I have these enormous protection discrete contra les pertes pads. Never opened them. Just let them take up space under the bathroom sink for two years that could have gone to, oh I don’t know, a Volvo? But nope. One of our “teachers” scared the amniotic fluid out of me and sent me to Walgreens on an ultimate absorbency, long length, overnight protection lady pad raid because goddammit if you don’t have 800 Poise pads after you have a baby, you ain’t got nothing.
Yeah, stuff happens post-birth and yeah, your regular run-of-the-mill pantyliner won’t cut it. (We’ll just leave it at that.) But I’m pretty sure I didn’t need two year’s worth of long-ass pads. What did I think was going to fall out of me? Crater Lake?
See? This is just another way those hospital birthing class fail. Parents-to-be are not leaving adequately prepared. Nice to know some women find sitting on a fit ball relieves some of the discomfort of labor. (Discomfort? Really? F.U.) And sure the carseat safety class is good and all but an email from my doctor saying, “Congratulations! You’re having a baby! Call this number and have Sue show you how to install your carseat” would have sufficed. (Then again, all those hospital administrators and parents-to-be would have missed out on watching Bart upturn a carseat and try to shake the doll baby free. Totally worth the price of admission.)
This is why I am teaching my own parenting survival class. Hey– I’ve been told by one new mom that my articles and blogs have actually helped her acclimate to parenthood because I have “so totally freaked her out about the sufferings and horrors of those first few months” anytime her baby is wearing clothes and her teeth have been brushed at least a few times a week she calls it a win. So that’s a good review, right?
My class will debunk all the things the hospital classes teach and teach everything they don’t. Things like:
Breastfeeding sucks. (No pun intended) and your baby can’t do it because they probably have a tongue-tie.
What the eff is a tongue-tie, you ask? The seemingly most common, least talked about condition newborns are born with.
Yes, Mom, you should be pumping. Like non-stop.
Recommendations for shitty TV shows you wouldn’t be caught dead watching but will LOOOOOOOOVE when you’re awake at 3AM with a baby on your boob.
How to disguise the fact you’re wearing maternity clothes 9 months postpartum.
How to disguise the fact you’re wearing a canoe taped to your underwear.
The amazing things your body can do on 2 hours of sleep.
Formula will not kill your baby.
Outside will not kill your baby.
How to trick a newborn into liking their carseat (and stroller, bassinet, Ergo, crib, pajamas, sponge bath, etc.) Here’s a hint: they have no freakin’ idea what they like.
How to stand up to a bully baby.
Sleep training– do it. Babies are not the boss of you (see above).
WTF is gripe water? No, you don’t need it.
C-sections are not a money-making scheme for doctors to make more money. No one gets a toaster after a baby is delivered this way. But you do get a baby so there’s that.
How to imagine the most terrifying, chaotic, harrowing period of your life and then use that as your happy place once you’re parenting a newborn.
How not to throat-punch the next person who tells you, “It’s super hard but it get soooooooo much better!” Again, F.U.
I will call my class, “Misery.” Oh crap, that’s taken? Fine. How about, “Well, Now You’ve Done it. Might as Well Try to Survive It.”
Hospitals, step aside. I’m taking over. Sign up for my first class today and take advantage of a limited time* promotion: Every students gets a Poise pad and a cotton ball.