They say knowledge is power. And for the most part, I agree with that statement. That is, unless the knowledge has to do with squeezing something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a lemon.

In that case, knowledge is a horrific, crippling slap in the face.

Yes, it’s been almost two weeks since my husband and I took that 8-hour birthing class. A seemingly innocent educational experience that was designed to inform but instead violently assaulted both our eyes and ears.

We saw things, man. Things no human should see. Things that, although we were informed they were perfectly “natural,” were most definitely not natural.

birthing class 1 birthing class 2 birthing class 3 birthing class 4 birthing class 5 birthing class 6

We’re still recovering.

My only hope for a normal life at this point is that the sleep deprivation from labor, delivery and taking care of a newborn is severe enough to kill off all the brain cells that retain these particular memories.

Fingers crossed.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go resume rocking in the fetal position in my darkened bedroom while sobbing uncontrollably.

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