It's About Time!

Life officially caught up to me the last two months. On top of transitioning from the fat, angry cow phase of my pregnancy, I also started coaching again and work has been crazy like usual. Instead of boring everybody with a total recap of my life, I will instead try to focus on one of the "highlights."
Brian and I have been taking childbirth preparation classes at the hospital. It is a little early for us, but, with coaching and work, there is no way I would have made the next session of classes. And, I have to admit, I like being the skinniest pregnant woman in the class. The class is small... probably ten couples in all, so it really isn't that bad. There are, however, two or three couples that drive me crazy.
The first couple is just plain weird. The husband is probably in his mid 40s and the wife in her mid 30s. I don't mean to offend anybody with my next statement, but I think it paints the perfect picture. The wife is what I would catergorize as the girl from high school who wore the t-shirts with the wolves on the front of it... or, if not wolves, horses. You know what I mean? Our very first class six weeks ago, the husband starts requesting to see films on c-sections, difficult deliveries, etc. The wife, meanwhile, farts in the elevator when we go on our maternity ward tour. 10 couples, five pregnant women, one freight elevator, and one fart. That's all it took. She has been on my list ever since. Everybody in the class tries to avoid this couple. In fact, we all run to the elevator at the end of every class so we can ride up to the main floor fart-free.
The next couples that I would like to discuss falls under the I'm-too-good-to-be-here category. The husband and wife look to be in their late 20s to early 30s. I knew we were going to have a problem when she came to class three weeks ago in a matching dress and hat combination that made me want to throw up in my mouth. I wanted to walk up to the front row and rip that knit hat off her head the whole night. That also happened to be the night that we started massage and breathing techniques... which required us to sit on the ground. Miss matchy-matchy, however, chose to stand... making it difficult for her poor husband (who I now affectionately refer to as "the lap dog") to massage her shoulders and talk her through her breathing. If that wasn't bad enough, the next class she shows up with a yoga mat... and to my dismay, another matching dress outfit. I was on the other side of the room in my outfit of the night... a pair of old man sweatpants and a sweatshirt that is now struggling to stay below my belly button... trying to daydream about the ice cream sundae I had been thinking about since breakfast. Instead, I had to listen to her struggle to sit down on her yoga mat, giggling nervously as her husband tried to ease her fat butt on to the mat in her stupid skirt.
Luckily, at the first class, Brian and I befriended a different couple... he has jail tats running up his arms and might be armed in some way and she just eats the whole class. Looking back, I think we made a wise decision.
Who would have thought childbirth prep could be so fun? I can only imagine what the future of our county looks like.