We're three classes in to our five-week birth, breathing, and baby class. And I'm this close to just not going back at all. Here's the deal: the information on the different stages of labor, how to breathe, and what kind of medication to expect is all very good, very helpful information. Two and a half out of three hours of the weekly class is devoted to that stuff. Even the painfully close-up and explicit birthing videos that silence the room are somewhat bearable. Not bearable:

30 minutes of "relaxation and massage exercises." Doesn't sound so bad at first, does it? Well here, then. Let me help you out on what it really means.

We're all jammed up in a small room in the medical center. There's like 12 couples of various ages and levels of enthusiasm present. There is no room to move or stretch; we line the room's bordering walls elbow to elbow. When the relaxation and massage portion of the evening begins, the lights dim, the teacher puts on some Kenny G, and we're all instructed to put our blankets and pillows on the floor. We then are supposed to get on the floor and "get comfortable together."

After all the pregnant ladies get nice and comfy all up in their respective husband's laps, Georgia (our instructor whose accent matches her name) begins to monotonously read highly-detailed, intense massage techniques from what must be a hypnosis slash sex camp manual. And everyone complies! Oh man. Please stop this, people. 22 folks all eagerly rubbing and massaging away like it's some horrible late-night HBO thing. It's beyond uncomfortable. And Jeanine and I seem to be the only ones NOT competing for this apparent title of Most Passionate that the others are going for. Because we're in a classroom full of strangers. What are you thinking? What are you people trying to prove? Are you not completely weirded out by the guy sitting two inches to your side practically getting his wife pregnant again? This is so nasty.

Apparently we're supposed to be learning these techniques as a way to ease the labor process. Fine. Will do. As my wife's "birthing coach," I promise to massage, talk, love, whatever she needs or wants when that time comes. What I can't handle anymore is doing this stuff on the floor in the middle of a mini-conference room in Kennesaw, Georgia. I think we'll try to leave early next week.