"Where do I take the urine sample?" Nov. 4, 2006

My wife and I took our first lamaze class. We were one of around nine couples. We were perhaps the oldest. Our instructor was a dula, a real New Yorker. She would make funny comments and often throw in a politicized opinion or two. (She can't stand Bush). As she talked about mucus plugs and disappearing cervixes, people would wander around the lobby outside, lost in looking for the parenting class they signed up for. Our instructor, knowing this, purposely parks herself facing the door to help guide wanderers. One guy came with his daughter in hand. "May I help you?" asked the instructor. "Yes," said the man. "Where do I take my wife's urine sample?"

But seriously, it was a good session. We learned about breathing techniques for new mothers. The father's role: barking out commands such as "Cleansing breath" and "Focus" while we counted how many times the mother would breathe and massage their bellies with their hands on their tummies in a circular motion. We've got to practice this daily so that our wives can ameliorate the pain when they experience contractions. We were also taught to embrace our wives when they undergo labor, massaging their tailbones.

During the break, I had to run out and buy a Starbucks Tazo tea latte for my wife. She was craving tea. I've been responding to her needs, often sharing her cravings, such as cheeseburgers and fries, donuts, and ice cream.

After the three hour session, we went to a luxury mall and shelled out $30 for a sandwich and salad. Wow, great ingredients. Even the chicken breast atop the salad of romaine lettuce was tasty.