Despite what the title says, this isn’t a post about how round, pregnant women get from point a to b.

Last night Dust and I attended a child emergency workshop. Both of us have taken first aid before, but it’s been a while and I figured this was a good time to brush up on our skills. The seminar was held at Mt. Sinai on the tenth floor (where all the new babies are) so I got a sneak peak at a bunch of brand new babies on my washroom breaks! The group was made up of 5 parent-to-be couples and 2 babysitters. except everyone showed up straight from work, looking all professional in their business suits and all. And then there were Dust and I, sporting our best jeans, hoodies and holey socks. So either we looked like two very ‘cool’ parents or a teenager with his knocked up babymama. Classy.

What did I learn? Chocking first aid. CPR. And that Dust really hates to role play (so much for those fireman/damsel-in-the distress fantasies of mine). One of us had to be a hurt child and the other assess and treat the emergency. There’s no Tony in my future, but I think I did a convincing ‘child with broken elbow.’ And practicing CPR on dummies was kind of fun too. Dust was just happy to get it over with.

Speaking of getting it over with…now that I’ve officially entered the homestretch, along with the baby, there is this sickening fear growing in my belly. It’s the same fear experienced by every single first time mother before me, and all who will come after: when will my water break and where am I go to be when this incredibly mortifying moment occurs?

The baby could come at any time now. And, sadly, little babies have yet to learn the subtleties of decorum in utero. A baby does not understand that causing mom’s water to break in public, say at a restaurant or physiotherapy session, would be decidedly inconsiderate of fellow patrons, not to mention incredibly distressing for the mother. I could avoid such a potentially awkward situation altogether by simply refusing to leave my house for the next 3 weeks, but believe me when I say I’d rather wet myself in public. Which leaves me only one other alternative: to start carrying around a jar of pickles I can drop on the floor to disguise the mess and save face. I’ve got a big purse. I can pull it off.

The big D-Day – the event I’ve been building up courage to prepare for over the last 9 months, is almost here. I’ve read the books. I’ve attended the classes. And I’ve watched the movies (albeit with one eye closed). Am I ready?

Hell no.