Last night we started the dreaded ante-natal (Lamaze) classes. I’ve been hearing horror stories from guys at work who are going to them with their wives. One guy said that a woman with a moustache talked about things that have put him off sex for life. Another guy told me about the amazing-two-headed-lady video. I don’t even want to go there in my mind.
Turns out that one of the benefits of having a multiple pregnancy is twin ante-natal classes. Almost all twin pregnancies in NZ are done by c-section. There is just too much of a risk of foetal distress for the second baby if you birth naturally. So our classes are all about the drugs (and the surgery, but I prefer to just focus on the drugs).
There was a highly entertaining moment when we had to practice tandem breastfeeding with dolls. I harbour a few concerns as a result of watching Shaun pass me the babies by the scruff of the neck. I’ve got the ‘football hold’ down to a fine art. It involves holding one baby under each arm. Not quite how I’d imagined spending my days. And nights.
So we learned a lot. Some good, some bad. I had a fight with one of the women over whether it is possible to tell whether same sex twins in seperate sacs are identical or fraternal without a DNA test. It’s not, but I let her walk away being wrong without hitting her.
Pregnancy really has mellowed me.