Bonnie Granola Part 2

Five minutes late, we walked in and found Bonnie Granola in her familiar place in the circle.  I noticed the chairs next to ours were still empty and the "non fly fishing" couple missing; maybe my misrepresentation of their hobbies was unforgivable? Maybe we should have found a new class? My fears are eased when they do in fact arrive late, snacks in hand.

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 spread out beckoning all those who wish to enter a place of granola rest and security. She wears a yellow tunic, the same quick dry gray pants from last week, black underwear (hold that thought), and canvas moccasins.  An addition from last week is the very apparent, very thick bra strap running across her back, it is however rather obvious the bra is there for a reason other than support.

For the next 2 hours Bonnie Granola proceeds to teach using her hands.  When Bonnie Granola mentions signs of labor she grabs her stomach; only her stomach is sufficiently blocked by her freely swinging, unsupported breasts, which leaves her crotch to be grabbed. 

Bonnie Granola begins discussing the babies "escape route" and I suddenly realize I am not mature enough to be in this 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. I am not sure this is actually 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 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 breathes with her whole upper body in rhythmic manner.  I make a mental note to google “signs you have joined a cult” when we get home.

Bonnie Granola demonstrates 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 suddenly think we are not mature enough to have children 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 and 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.