Thursday, 11 April 2013


We had our second of three prenatal classes last night.  I stress about these classes.  The people who put them on are hippie-types and definitely want everybody in the class to come together and become friends by sharing experiences and bonding through humiliating physical activities.  Garg. 

So I wasn't looking forward to it as we sped through dinner and I went upstairs to put on some clean clothes.  Jen followed suit and, as I was waiting for her at the door, I sensed that the large salad portion I gobbled up for dinner might soon become an issue.  But then Jen came downstairs and I noticed that we had on matching colour shirts.  I was horrified.  We can't go to class in matching colours.  We'll be known as "that" couple, the "green" couple.

Jen insisted she wasn't going to change her shirt even though I picked mine first, dang it!  So I dash upstairs and swap shirts.  Now there is no time to deal with any digestive issues I might be having.

We head out and run smack dab into a traffic jam.  Now I'm beyond stressed.  I hate being late.  So we got off the highway and bounced around the city streets and managed to be only a couple minutes late.  But we got there and we weren't the last couple in so it's all good.  My stomach even seemed to have settled down.

That night we were learning about positions.  So I knew there was going to be some physical activity.  And moving around.  And squatting.  But I was feeling a little more confident.  The rumbling had subsided.  Jen and I had successfully made it through Supported Seating and Double Hip Press and now we just needed to get through Supported Squatting.  Jen and I grasped forearms and I braced myself as Jen lowered into a squat.  And then I helped lift her out of the squat.  And that's when it happened.

JEN farted!

I almost dropped her.  We were in an enclosed exam room with one other couple.  Thank god it didn't smell.  And it was just a single report, not a tremendous trombone output.  So we hoped the other couple didn't notice or wrote it off as a knee popping sound.  The only thing worse than being known as the "matching" couple would be the "farting" couple.  We quickly exited the room and avoided eye contact for the rest of the night.

One more class to go.  Thank god.


  1. It's not my fault, Peanut made me do it.

  2. Here it begins - blaming the child!!!

  3. I'm surprised Jen hasn't left you after this post. One thing having it happen but for you to then post it on your blog. TYSON!!! tsk tsk. Jen is a lady and I'm sure she NEVER farts ;)

  4. I beg to differ...we Robinson's are full of hot air