Limbering up

I inaugurate this blog before the birth of the sprog in question, our firstborn, which is why the blog title cannot feature our sprog's name. We don't know yet officially whether the sprog will be a boy or a girl, although my maternal instincts are very much sure that he's a boy.

The due date for the birth is June 12th, so although I am told that only 5% of babies are born on their due date, the waiting game is on.
I am limbering up mostly by waddling around Florence (having foregone the chance to buy a bus pass for the month of June), and doing the yoga and pilates exercises recommended by the experts for those in my condition.

Yesterday I attended no less than two prenatal classes, with little accomplished but a light lunch and a long nap between them. The first was a somewhat dry affair, consisting in a few listless loosening exercises followed by the viewing of a rather unpleasant film about breastfeeding, which gave all of us the willies. There was a terribly long scene about how a woman should prepare her breasts for feeding during pregnancy, apparently by scrubbing the nipples vigorously with a damp flannel, by pinching and rolling the nipples and other forms of torture most unpleasant to behold. I had to look away and fix my gaze on the abstract art on the wall. We will all disregard this advice, come what may.

The second class, in the afternoon, was a delight. I had dropped out of this class a couple of months ago in favour of the supposedly more pertinent morning class (suitable for those in the last few weeks of gestation), but I had sorely missed it, and Renza, the midwife who runs it.
I was greeted warmly as I returned to the fold, and after sharing a few affirming anecdotes, we headed off to the gym for Renza's usual but subtly varying cocktail of song, dance, self-expression, vaginal relaxation techniques and Renaissance art. Yesterday she had brought a rain stick, which she poured over us each in turn as we lay on our sides with eyes clsoed, enjoying a visualisation exercise. We were encouraged to bring mental pictures and sounds of water to the hospital with us when we went to give birth. Or green fields if we prefer, Renza is never one to dictate. But the wave is a useful image for contractions, she said, and we practiced singing Ahhhhh in a wave pattern. We took it in turns pressing a pastel coloured balloon to the ear of another pregnant lady, and singing lullabies into it - once for us as we are today, once for the baby and once for the world.
We danced, we stretched, and we hugged each other in the manner of Elizabeth and Mary in Pontormo's fresco of the Visitation, chosen by Renza as our guiding image for the second trimester (the Annunciation by Fra Angelico for trim 1, and the Madonna del Parto by Piero della Francesca for trim 3, by the way).

I have resolved to go back next week, unless, of course, I am in labour or have delivered by then. After all, as Renza pointed out, there is a full moon on Sunday night...