Two weeks of the decree. Two weeks of longing. And how else, I almost 9 years worked almost without days off and checkpoints. And then suddenly ringing idleness. If you want to - sleep, you want - eat, you want - in social networks depend day. In general, pleasure is doubtful. In order not to be wild with unaccustomed use, I went to the courses for future mothers. She expected to kill two birds with one stone: to find new acquaintances, and fill the gaps in the science of birth and education of the future generation. "I'm going to the courses for mothers," I proudly boasted to colleagues at work. Under the answers I realized that I still have a test.
A photo: Getty Images A young soldier's fight, or rather a young mother, is read in the local LCD. The lecturer is a midwife and a psychologist in one person. In a small office eleven ladies with notebooks and diaries were at the ready. In anticipation of the sacred knowledge, they exchanged glances, evaluated the "classmates". At some point I even felt like a commodity. Four pairs of eyes gazed intently at my stomach and tired manicure. Yes, my stomach is small, and I wrote it on Thursday for my manicure, I wanted to snarl, but I restrained myself. Hostility was dispelled by the sonorous voice of the teacher: - The theme of our today's lesson is "Bag in the hospital," she warned. Seriously? Do you want to tell me how many diapers to take with you? And what should be a nightie in the family? In the age of the Internet and various requirements in maternity hospitals, you can collect the bag already at the level of instincts. But my "classmates" immediately grabbed the ballpoint pens and listened to every word of the instructor. "A bottle of water, documents, a baby's cap and a diaper," she enumerated. "Nappy!" - the student to my right was indignant. - Can I do without diapers? I am absolutely against them. The future moms were indignant about everything: diapers and sliders, pies and pacifiers. It seems that the future baby can not do anything at all, there is a danger, almost deadly, "Oh, I will not try harder," I threw out the white flag in correspondence with my friends. "Hold on, you're strong," they encouraged me in the messenger. After the instructor went through the list, which can be found on the site of any maternity home, it was the turn of the right breathing. Pregnant women breathed heavily in the belly, puffing and blowing it under the approving look of the midwife. "And how to breathe through the crotch?" - violated the zealous breaths-exhalations one more classmate. Hmm, interesting turn. I did not hear anything about it. Well, except in jokes. The midwife and the eyebrow did not lead .- Consider that you are already breathing through the crotch, because it turns around and contracts, - she showed herself, where and what exactly is compressed. I do not know how, but suddenly the topic of breastfeeding surfaced. Like, if a woman loves her child, then milk will come. And if he loves himself, the baby will have to be content with the mixture.
Photo:Getty Images“Less than one percent of women cannot breastfeed,” the midwife branded all the unsuccessful mothers. “Great, I’ll come home and explain to my parent that she’s a narcissist because I was switched to formula feeding from the moment I was born, well, she had no milk. Now I know she doesn’t love me. Well, or at least didn’t love me.”“And how big will my breasts grow after giving birth?” was another question that simply discouraged me. “Right now I’m on my first, will they grow to a fourth? Yeah, it’ll pop up like a pimple on your nose on your first date.” Together, we decided that the maximum they’d go up in size was one size. On that intimate note, the classes ended. Did I learn anything new there? No. Will I go again? Yes. At least I’ll have something to share with future mothers.
