"What? It's a Saturday! How long does it last? Three hours! YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!" John McEnroe would have been proud of the strop that followed. I was already in a bad mood having been woken at least six times during the night by my weak-bladdered wife's trips to the loo. At 3 a.m. I helpfully suggested that she buy some Tena Lady incontinence pads "so I could at least get some sleep" - and received a painful blow to the ribs for the advice.
After a mystery tour of Christchurch courtesy of my crap Sat Nav we eventually arrived at the health centre 10 minutes late for the start of the lesson. (A crime of mammoth proportion to my teacher wife). On arrival at the car park it appeared that I wasn't the only husband to have received an ear-bashing and then the silent treatment from his other half for his poor planning. Three other soon-to-be-Dads were loudly blaming their Garmin Sat Navs for having sent them down the wrong road. (My brother-in-law claims in his sales pitch at Halfords that Garmin is the chosen manufacturer of the British and U.S Army. It's probably why it took them almost 10 years to find Bin Laden.)
The German midwife who took the ante-natal class looked about 21 years old and could have been a gym instructor. I noticed that she wasn't wearing a ring on her wedding finger and pointed this out to Deborah, whispering: "If she says it doesn't hurt, don't believe her. She's obviously never given birth."
For the first 90 minutes the midwife gave an in-depth explanation of the medical procedures that might be suggested during our baby's birth. These included details on how to monitor the baby electronically and the pros and cons of having an epidural. I tried to lighten the oh-so-serious mood by playing the clown for a few seconds, but the Gestapo wasn't too impressed when during her 'guess the medical instrument game' I pulled my shirt cuffs over my hands before passing the plastic vaginal dilator to the next horrified man. "Don't be zilly. Is been cleaned," she exclaimed. I then got the evils after pretending to bash an imaginary set of the drums with a set of crotchet hooks. "Tell your husband those aren't drumsticks, they're used to break your waters!" At this point, the enormity of what she'd let herself in for began to dawn on Deborah and she left the room to have a little cry. After five minutes, the mum-to-be sitting next to me suggested I went outside to see that my wife was OK. I did and found her deep breathing and looking as white as a sheet. I'm proud to say that I managed to persuade her to return for the second half of the class and the tips on relaxation techniques by revealing that most women in Botswana give birth in a cattle shed before returning to attend their crops the same afternoon.
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