Get yer tarps ready, folks!

Björn and I started our preparation course about a week ago, which means we get to spend seven of our Thursday evenings sitting on pillows in a room in the hospital with seven other expectant couples. We've made it through two classes so far without getting kicked out, so we have high hopes that we'll make it to the end.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but I know I was hoping that it wouldn't be all-too-esoteric, which can totally happen with your average German midwife. Turns out that the midwife who's doing our class apparently came from former East Germany, and many of the things she learned 30 years ago seem to stem from her time in the gulag labor and delivery. The first night, she told us the occasional glass of beer or wine is OK, but what we really ought to avoid is coffee. And to think I didn't have to give up my morning bottle of sauce after all!

She also told us that we should start drinking raspberry leaf tea about four weeks before our due date. When asked why, she said she didn't know, but it's what people do. Aha. We have come to realize that she tells us a lot of stuff, but can no longer recall where she heard it or why we should do it. Guess your brain can only tolerate so many years of communism before it starts to delete stuff.

Class normally begins with all of us lying on the floor, Jim Jones style, while the midwife takes us through breathing exercises. All to the tune of pan-flutey elf-in-the-forest music. One look at Björn and the stupid faces he makes is all it takes to turn me into a senior in high school again, trying to keep the laughter as silent as possible. On Thursday, he insisted on wearing the only pair of sweat pants he owns, which unfortunately have a gaping hole in the crotch. Being most likely the youngest in the group (the Germans start their reproducing a lot later than your average Americans), I'm sure the rest think that Björn and I met on the night of conception, most likely in the restroom of a disco.

We also got to have a tour of the labor and delivery rooms at the hospital on Thursday, which was ... disconcerting. They were all nice and cozy and it was apparent that they had gone out of their way to make the rooms seem like a bedroom at home — that is if your mattress is also made out of some kind of hose-downable Naugahyde. Comrade Midwife told us to be sure to wear clothes that we can just throw away after delivery, so I guess giving birth is kind of like sitting in the front row at a Gallagher show.

I could go on about the one Eastern European woman in our class who asked questions like, "Will midwife laugh if I scream?" and "What happens if I kick doctor in face?" But I'll spare you folks for now.