Childbirth Class, a.k.a. My Pathetic Attempt to Care for a Baby Doll

We had our final childbirth class Monday evening. This was the session where we were given life-size baby dolls and taught the basics of caring for an infant. Considering neither of us have ever even changed a diaper, this was a particularly enlightening evening.

In our class, BJ and I had an African-American little girl, so I immediately had to make the incredibly lame joke, "Do you have any questions for me, BJ?" Following the lame joke, we were taught how to change a diaper and change a onesie. It took me forever to change the diaper because I couldn't figure out exactly how high to place it on the baby dolls back, and I failed miserably at removing the onesie until BJ showed me how I was maneuvering around the arms completely wrong.

Next, we learned to swaddle. BJ did this part. His swaddle was absolute perfection. It was quickly executed, tight, neat looking, and all around wonderful. Of course, he's read up on swaddling and had slightly different opinions from the instructor on how to handle the arms, so he implemented his own technique. Regardless, it was the best swaddle in the class, and once again, I'm left very thankful to have such an efficient husband. It softens the edges on my stumbling attempt at life. (As a side note, how can I make it through college with a 4.0 and not be able to change a diaper on an inanimate object? I make no sense.)

Besides birth classes, we are also busy this week with a gospel meeting at church. Last night, one of the ladies at church came up to me to tell me something her 7-ish year old grandson had said. Apparently, I was walking across the parking lot to the church building when they arrived, and he said, "Grandma, BJ's girl has got something wrong with her belly." I don't know which is better: that I'm "BJ's girl" or that there is "something wrong" with my belly.