The Life and Times of Bonnie Granola Part 5: The Anti-Bonnie Granola

Once we found out Mia was breech, our relationship with Bonnie Granola catapulted to a whole new level; phone calls, emails, recommended reading, and references all in an attempt to get our little peanut, who actually now more resembled a watermelon, to turn. 

Needless to say, given our present "situation" and after missing the fourth Bonnie Granola, we were very distressed to learn we would not be able to attend the fifth and final class.  For the life of me, I cannot, now remember what was so important that we couldn't pick up and drive 4 plus hours for a 2 hour class, but we could not.

Bonnie talked with some of her fellow co-workers, most likely bartering some granola for some awkward looking posters of a woman's bra declaring that all women need a little support and viola... we were given permission to make the class up with Anne.  The night before our journey was to begin we received an email from Bonnie telling us that Anne was really great, although her teaching style was very different and that she wished us all the best. 

The next day we arrive at Wake Med and enter the room next door to our usual granola haven.  I quickly glance around and notice that while the chairs are in a circle, they are not in the familiar "I am so close to the other person I might be forced to birth their child if they go into labor" position.  The wall art seems scarce and I immediately decide if a natural birth cult was started this group would be its fringers. 

It's possible they want on board, but they just can't commit.

How much granola is this worth?

 
Mr. Eanes and I take our seats, our eyes move to their usual down position, and in walks Different Teaching Style Anne.  With one glance it is very apparent that Anne has never had granola.  She is wearing a matching pants suit I am almost certain can be found on the rack in Ann Taylor, heels, make-up, and jewelry; specifically teacher jewelry. 

You know the kind, it's chunky, has matching earrings, often color coordinates with your outfit, and you may or may not be able to incorporate holiday themed charms to it around Christmas and Valentines day.  It's the kind of jewelry teachers throw on with khaki pants and a solid color t-shirt just daring someone to say they are not dressed professionally enough. 

What could really be more professional than Jack Frost hanging off your neck? 

After surveying Anne for a good five minutes, I concluded that not only is she wearing a bra with support, there is no way this woman would be giving birth to anything in front of this class.

People continue to trickle in and I begin to feel a bit awkward when it appears only about 8 of the 20 some odd chairs are going to be full.  When Different Teaching Style Anne opens up the sharing time no one speaks.  I continue to look down and dig my nails into Mr. Eanes leg.  Perhaps a yelp of pain will help relieve the thick cloud of anxiety in the air. When this doesn't work I blurt out our news that Mia is breech and immediately wish I would have kept it to myself as 7 unfamiliar eyes are now all gazing at me. 

I decide the best way out of the situation is to make a b-line for the snack counter, but a desperate glance over my shoulder reveals the painful truth... there are none.  Instead, I look down.  Class eventually continues and multiple times I find myself wanting to nod off, being in this class would be comparable to taking a kid accustom to the circus to a Catholic mass instead. 

I am dying. 

We have a pop quiz and Anne asks multiple questions regarding labor and delivery... I can answer them all and quickly.  I attempt to restrain myself, relating to the position of a teacher who continues to have the same student answer all the questions. 

Guess all those terrible noises and hands on body movements are teaching me something after all.

We learn this last class is devoted to the cesarean birth, "when more is needed", and are finally given an interactive task when Anne announces we will be walking through a mock c-section.  Each class member picks a role for the operation, I bypass anything that looks to be too involved, such as OB or patient, and stick with the role of a nurse.  Mr. Eanes takes so long to wander over and look around that he is given the last role available- the pediatrician. 

Some brave class member allows a very nervous looking anesthesiologist to give her an epidural and then she lays back for her operation.  I wear a mask over my mouth and stand there looking down at the girl and pray this is not me.  Lacking dramatics and umbilical cords, the baby is born.  After being seen by the parents, the naked cabbage patch doll is handed to the newly board certified Dr. Eanes, who holds the thing out like it has a disease.  Different Teaching Style Anne encourages John to cradle the new baby rather than holding it under the armpits... the other anti-granolas laugh and I make a mental note to discuss proper baby holds with the Mister.

Class ends early, there is the absence of hugging, and while the affirmations are placed out on the table... no one claims one.  Certificates of completion are passed out and we receive one saying we have graduated birthing class.  Different Teaching Style Anne swings by at the end of class with an envelope that has my hand writing on the outside.  She reminds me of our our first Bonnie Granola class, when we wrote our worries on a piece of paper and sealed them up. 

We open the envelopes and pull out our worries, along with the worry dolls Bonnie Granola had placed inside.  I look around at the anti-granolas... they are also reading their worries... minus the doll; and I think how boring their life must be. 

I am so glad we were in Bonnie Granola's class.

We love you, Bonnie Granola.

The Life and Times of Bonnie Granola: Part 4

Our fourth Bonnie Granola class occurred after we had already moved to the W-S.  

We would be seeing our new doctor early in the day and then heading over to Raleigh for the class after a quick “let the dog out to potty” stop at home.  Or so we thought.  

The doctor’s appointment turned into an all day sit-a-thon at our new place complete with a “let’s see how many pregnant teens we can cram in here” contest.  When the fourth or fifth beach ball bearing high schooler walked in I simply couldn’t take it anymore, and did what any 36 week pregnant woman in a new city without a doctor would do: I cried.  

Evidently agreeing to see someone so late in their pregnancy is not the most ideal situation and since multiple other doc’s had declined my business this place was it… no matter how many members of the Homecoming Court came waltzing through the door.  After being subjected to answer more questions than people applying for American citizenship we finally saw the doctor.  

A doctor, whom we still have to reassure… that yes, I have had prenatal care up until this point and no, I do not sell crack for a living.  

I am now contemplating wearing a card board sign around my neck that says something like…”we just moved, for work, we do not sell drugs or have keg stand competitions on the weekends- really, I take a prenatal vitamin.”  

About three seconds into the appointment with the doctor I decide I really don’t like him and about five minutes in I decide I want to move back to The Springs forever.  

Among multiple other grievances I am certain he was the inspiration for the South Park character Mr. Mackey.  He tells us that at 36 weeks I am dilated and oh by the way, our baby is breech, mkay?  “Considering the information at hand it would probably be best to go ahead and schedule a C-section now- probably for next week.”  

I smile and hope that it is somehow being communicated that what I would really rather be doing is spitting venom at his face.  C-section, 36 weeks?  

I don’t think so Dr. Mackey.  

Sorry, I don’t know what your golf game schedule looks like for the next few weeks but if Bonnie Granola has taught me anything, it is that baby stays in there until she is 40 weeks unless labor begins on its own.  

I refuse to schedule a C-section and four or five hours later we finally emerge from what I have decided is an environment directly impacted by Katy Perry’s song Teenage Dream.  

All that to say, we are running late.  

Really late.  

And now, we have to drive two hours to get to Bonnie Granola.  

We make the stop by the house, run through Chick-Fil-A (maybe waffle fries will help little Ms. Mia turn around), and hop on the interstate.   

Where, we sit.  Forever.  

After thirty minutes of sitting and a few episodes of spilled Chick-Fil-A sauce later, we decide we cannot make it and John calls Bonnie Granola.  He tells her the latest development and she promises to email us some resources about our situation.  

She hangs up only after offering her last piece of advice… it is too early for a C-section, don’t let them do it.  

We know Bonnie, oh how we know.  

We turn around and head home… I cannot believe we have missed a Bonnie Granola, I cannot believe Mia is breech; I cannot believe there are so many pregnant teens in one concentrated location.  

Where have we moved?   

After much discussion we both agree we really miss Bonnie Granola. 

The Life and Times of Bonnie Granola: Part 3

We all know Bonnie Granola never ceases to meet our entertainment needs- but I knew this class held the most promise yet.  First- it was our week to bring replenishment and second- I had to go it alone.  After eight hours, Mr. Eanes was still packing up the moving truck, thus I was solo for the night. 

After walking around Harris Teeter for a good 30 minutes trying to pick out replenishment I thought Bonnie Granola would approve of AND pregnant women would like I showed up to class 10 minutes late and alone carrying various kinds of chex mix, oatmeal (isn't oatmeal somehow related to granola?) and chocolate chip cookies with me.  The usual circle seating arrangement was being utilized so I plopped down next to the non Fly Fisher and found a "test" waiting for me in my chair.  

The first part of class was spent trying to desperately remember all the mnemonic devices from the class before and what they meant... I remembered there was a T.A.C.O. but all I knew about it was that Edgar looked really happy when it was mentioned.  We review the answers and no one remembers T.A.C.O. but Edgar... he rattles it off like it's his social security number- his Baby Mama proudly rubs his shoulder. He does not speak again for the rest of class.  After taking the test Bonnie Granola explained we would be practicing massage techniques this class and asked if I could be her guinea pig since John was not present.  I asked if it was going to hurt- apparently this was funny b/c it caused an eruption of laughter from the other Granolas... but I was not joking... nor was I taking any chances with Bonnie Granola.  

The next thing I know Bonnie Granola, outfitted in her standard tunic, bra minus the support option, and quick dry pants leads us all to a table with everyday items and tells us each to pick a few to take back to our seats.  My goal?  Pick items which will bring the least awkwardness and attention to myself.  I skip over the lotion, the hand held back massager, the tube socks full of tennis balls, and eventually land on a wash cloth, a straw, and a cup with some sort of drink packet in it.  Non-fly fisher and his wife proceed to inform me of how good the "some sort of drink packet mix" is and how it is the best cure for hangovers... I wonder if this is where I should mention I don't actually drink but decide against it.  I guess if he can be a fly fisher then I can be a pregnant drunk for a few more classes.  Bonnie Granola makes us sit back in the circle and discuss how we can use items we found to help sooth our backs, legs, hands, and genitals during labor.  The "I'm Not Due Till October But This Was The Only Class Left For Me to Take Girl's" husband holds up the massager... Bonnie Granola smiles from her seat on the floor in the middle of all of our chairs and says" I know what you are thinking and we'll get to that in a minute"... I look down and feel certain it was a bad idea to attend without Mr. Eanes.  

After the painful process of explaining how each of our items could relax us during labor we move into the next phase of class- the massages.  Bonnie Granola first asks to massage Edgar's hand to demonstrate the technique called breaking the popsicle- when she asks us to try it with our spouses she remembers I do not have one for the night and the next thing I know Bonnie Granola and her quick dry clothes are sitting next to me massaging my hand...I am so excited that I have now unofficially held Edgar's hand.  The next move is a head massage in which Bonnie Granola has the entire class look at me (her example) while she talks and moans her way through massaging my head and shoulders.  I shift my eyes from side to side and wonder if I should somehow send out a secret message to those watching that I do not agree with the noises coming from above.  After the head massage we move into back massages, which- on the scale of awkwardness is right up there with "I came to class naked today just because I felt like it" awkward.  Bonnie Granola asks me to move to her side of the circle and straddle the chair backwards... great... I always wanted to straddle a chair at 8 months pregnant in a room full of strangers and taco bell cooks.  Bonnie Granola then places her hands on what is supposed to be my back but is really more like my behind and has the class watch as she massages my lower back/upper butt.  She again talks and moans through the process- I close my eyes and pretend I am on the beach somewhere and this is just a nightmare.  The massage demonstration ends and we talk about labor.  Bonnie Granola holds up her hands, makes a circle with her fingers, and says very loudly... "this is my vagina" -   the "I'm Not Due Till October But This Was the Only Class Available Girl's" husband cannot take it- he looks frantically at his wife, at me, and then begins circling his head about, in true bobble head style, as if trying to find a way to escape or at least a safe spot to look.  My  heart goes out to him, and I feel like I should tell him looking down is always best option in times such as these, but I do not- it's every Granola couple for themselves I have learned.  

Bonnie Granola then proceeds to actually go into labor and give birth to a naked cabbage patch doll in class.  She sits spread eagle on a chair in the middle of the circle as she progresses through the 1st and 2nd stage of labor- the baby descends and she is now sitting on top of a cabbage patch doll whose head is poking out between her legs.  I have to go to the bathroom.  When I get there, I text Mr. Eanes and tell him I hate him for having to pack the truck and then go back to class.  Bonnie Granola is now the proud mother of a newly born cabbage patch, however, stage 3 of labor has not yet occurred therefore the baby is still attached to the cord and the placenta which is of course- hanging between her legs as she pretends to nurse her new baby.  

I feel like I am watching a dirty movie.  

She spends what feels like an eternity explaining the benefits of delaying cord cutting, bathing, vitamin K, and clean-up all with the cord still hanging out between her wide open legs... I don't want to have a baby anymore.  Finally she gives birth to the placenta (don't worry she has a fake one to go with her cord) and then explains how she loved to touch and see it after she gave birth.  I do not want to hold a placenta.  Since we have now given birth Bonnie Granola shows us three videos on breastfeeding.  I am now known as the girl who closes her eyes or looks away during the videos and the husband of the "Only Other Normal Couple" looks at me and tells me to get my pillow ready.  Since the videos are only on breastfeeding and not birth I decide to try to be mature and watch them- my mistake.  

Apparently there is some award for the camera man who can zoom in the closest on a single nipple at the Oscars- I'm pretty sure I saw the winners work that night and let me speak from experience- nothing looks good that close up nor that zoomed in.  No wonder babies cry- scary.  

The Non-fly Fisher says “at least we aren't watching babies being born out of what appears to be jungles this week,”  and I make a mental note to not speak to him again.  Any guy that thinks it is appropriate to discuss another woman's crotch with a stranger should be avoided at all costs.  It is not appropriate.  

Class ends with the hospital tour which I did not attend since I will no longer be delivering at WakeMed.  I pick up my affirmation on the way out of the door... it says "my pelvis perfectly fits my baby."  I spy the "I'm Not Due Till October Girl" picking up an affirmation too... she sees that I have noticed her interest in the affirmation and explains that her roommate really likes to read them...she seems flustered someone else has noticed she likes them.  I tell her she does not have to explain it to me... I understand completely.  

I pack up my snacks and head out to spend my last night in our home on the air mattress, the only furniture we have left in our house.

The Life and Times of Bonnie Granola: Part 2

Five minutes late, we walk in and find Bonnie Granola in her familiar place in the circle.  I notice the chairs next to ours are still empty and the "non fly fishing" couple is missing- I immediately have two thoughts... 1) the couple missing can take no more of Bonnie Granola  2) the couple missing is upset because I told everyone in the class they fly fish and it is not true- therefore they will not be returning.  Neither turns out to be true, as they walk in about 5 minutes after us with snacks in tow- apparently it was their week for replenishment- they have no fruit snacks with them.  

Bonnie Granola quickly takes what will be her "station" for the remainder of the three hours- the floor in the middle of our circle of chairs.  Bonnie Granola sits on her knees with her legs spread wide open as she teaches not only using her arms but her entire upper body for emphasis.  Her arms are often spread out to the side in a manner that seems to say "come to me all who wish to live in the Granola way...."  She is wearing a yellow tunic, the same quick dry gray pants from last week, black underwear (we will get to this later), and canvas moccasins.  An addition from last week is the very apparent, very thick bra strap running across her back.  Regardless of the strap it is quite obvious the bra is there for something other than support as her boobs still hang well beyond a normal person’s waist.  Edgar's baby momma has showered for this class and I wonder if they have practiced his reading skills any.  

For the next 2 hours Bonnie Granola proceeds to teach using her hands- to the extreme.  When Bonnie Granola mentions signs of labor she grabs her stomach- the only problem is her stomach is sufficiently blocked by her freely swinging, unsupported breasts- which only really leaves her crotch to be grabbed.  Bonnie Granola begins discussing the babies "escape route" which I frankly do not want to hear about in general and am apparently not mature enough to hear it from Bonnie Granola- although I am not sure who is.  (I am, however, aware it is the basic reason for the class)  

During this discussion Bonnie Granola is under the false impression it is socially acceptable to use, grab, and point to her own body to explain the baby's passage "out"- this is not socially acceptable.  John continues to repeat "do not look at Kelley" in his head- as he knows doing so will result in uncontrollable laughter and most likely cause us to be removed from the room.  I wonder if there is a hidden camera somewhere taping our reactions to someone touching themselves so much- there is not.  Bonnie Granola tells us she loves mnemonic devices and she has come up with one called T.A.C.O.- John and I look at each other and then at Edgar, we feel confident she made it up for him- we wonder how he feels about this.  Edgar's Baby Momma gently places her hand on Edgar's back and beams as if affirming "my baby daddy understands tacos".  

In class 4 we learn that T.A.C.O. was in fact altered by Bonnie Granola, as the other instructors teach C.O.A.T. Bonnie Granola teaches us breathing techniques- we sit in chairs staring down at her as she sits Indian style on the floor with her arms out and eyes closed... she asks us to close our eyes and visualize an ocean wave- I look at John- his eyes are wide open staring in what appears to be genuine concern as Bonnie Granola breaths with her whole upper body in rhythmic manner.  I wonder if we have entered some sort of cult without knowing it.  

Bonnie Granola then demonstrates each of 12 various "exercise" stations she has set up around the room- we will be practicing the exercises she would like us to do in order to get through a contraction.  Bonnie Granola is now on all fours performing the pelvic rock- over and over and over and over again.  Her shirt comes up- her pants pull down- her black underwear becomes a staple viewing item for the next 45 minutes.  I wonder why she bothered to wear clothes at all.  

Over the course of the next 30 minutes I find my face smashed up against the hot plastic birthing ball with John pushing on my back- I wonder how many other people's faces have been smashed in this same spot- I begin to feel a little sick.  When that contraction is over we move to the squatting exercise- I squat- John- who is supposed to be supporting my weight gets distracted- I am on the floor.  At least he is not eating fruit snacks.  On the way out of the door we pick up our affirmations- Mine says "I share in the strength and wisdom of the mothers who  have come before me...."  John's says "I trust my pain..."  The non fly fisher looks at me and says- "I want drugs."  Bonnie Granola bids us farewell and tells us next week we will be touring the hospital. 

The Life and Times of Bonnie Granola: Part 1

Eanes Family Rewind... Because this was blog worthy before we had a blog... 

For those of you who weren't on the email list when John and I were sharing our Labor & Birth class experiences- enjoy.

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF BONNIE GRANOLA- PART I

Tonight we attended our first of 5 Labor & Birthing classes that we will be taking at our original delivery hospital in Cary.  Words cannot even describe the events of the night- but I'm going to do my best to try... We walked into a room where the chairs had been placed in a circle... a woman with long stringy hair, no bra (w/ very long boobs), and baggy pants greeted us- her name is Bonnie.  Bonnie proceeds to explain that she has provided snacks so that we may "replenish ourselves, there are drinks so we may refresh ourselves, and the restrooms are around the corner so we may release ourselves in whichever type of release mother nature calls us to do."  (at this point I feel like I am some sort of plant)  I look at the snacks and tell John there is only granola and fruit to which we replies... that's b/c this woman is ALL granola.  We are eventually given stickers to put on our name tags that say "birth is normal" and meet our classmates.  The most interesting couple is Edgar and his Baby Mama.  Edgar is a "cook" (we later learn after 2 awkward reading instances that he is not fluent in English) and his Baby Mama reports her favorite hobby as "drinking beer- but not right now."  In order to create intimacy among the group, Bonnie Granola has us introduce the couple next to us.  I introduce the husband of "our couple" as a fly fisher...that is not true a statement- he does not fly fish.  Oops- I thought that is what he said.  We then have to rate a list of statements from 1-10 in our aggreance with them.  John does not have time to finish due to the fact that he is analyzing and marking through terms on his paper, such as inner wisdom, and thus rates the last statement a 5- (maybe/maybe not).  It turns out we display our ratings to everyone by moving to numbers on a number line placed on the floor.  The time comes to rate our last statement... "Knowledge of birth and birth procedures help empower women to make more informed decisions."  Everyone in the class moves to the number 10 on the floor- but not John- b/c he hasn't had time to read the statement and therefore he doesn't want to agree with it. John moves to the number 5 spot on the floor... he is now in a room of 13 people standing ALONE on his side of the room.  It was the easiest one, a dead give away, it's a BIRTHING CLASS- it's like answering Jesus in Sunday School.  Bonnie Granola spends the next 5 awkward minutes explaining why John's stance is wrong and we all should have answered with a 10.  As she does this we continue to all stand on the other side of the room from John and look at him while she talks.  We continue on for the next 2 1/2 hours holding back tears of laughter as Bonnie Granola leads us through the normality of labor and birth.  Bonnie Granola draws a bell curve and explains the typical woman labors 15 hours... John asks Bonnie Granola when labor starts.... Bonnie Granola says it is a good question and one cannot say for sure.  Some people say labor starts when they feel the first contraction, others when the contractions are a certain time frame apart... there is no definite answer.  To which John replies... "so your numbers really mean nothing then...," the other men laugh and I look down and try to avoid eye contact with anyone for the remainder of the class.  I make a mental note to tell John not to speak during class ever again.  We finish the last 10 minutes with relaxation exercises we're supposed to practice.  Music is playing, the lights are dim, Bonnie Granola is reading some relaxation directives. I am on a Pilate's mat, on the floor, with pillows all around me, the husbands are supposed to be placing their hands on tense areas of the body, however John decides he is hungry and pulls out his fruit snacks and replenish himself.  The crinkle of the celaphan package rips through the quiet, relaxed hum of quietly breathing pregnant women.  I give John "the look," and he gives me the "I guess I should have thought this through but aren't I cute smile..."  It's finally time to leave and before we can go we each have to pick up an "affirmation card" and read it to Bonnie Granola on the way out.  We have to "own the statement."  John picks a card that says "I am patient and loving".  The man behind me picks one that says "his body is soft and strong".  The whole thing is well... fit for a movie to say the very least.  When we did finally make it to the car I said I was not even sure how to begin to debrief about that experience... and we have to do it again 4 more times!  We'll try to keep you updated on Edgar, his Baby Mama, the non fly fisher, and Bonnie Granola.   At one point I looked over at John with his name tag on and started laughing so hard I thought I was going to release on myself.  I do not think Bonnie Granola noticed.