In coincidences of the weird, my hair stylist, the lovely Sarah, went to the same birthing class with the same teacher we're going to. We traded some ancedotes (well, she had more ancedotes than I did, since she has a two-year-old and I've got one class under my belt). What she said about the class pretty much reconfirmed the reasons we had thought to take it, so that was good. People are willing talk about all kinds of stuff when you're pregnant that probably wouldn't pass muster in polite conversation, like you've got the secret decoder ring and can now be regaled with tales of breastfeeding.
There's also a custom here in SoCal where you go to the salon and they send you to take your shirt off and put a smock on so that the hair doesn't get all over you. But I find that what happens is that the hair really still gets all over you and embedded in your bra. Then you itch like a maniac and find yourself wondering if you can take a quick shower or if that is inviting your boss to pick up the phone and call. I don't know if I'm supposed to be taking the bra off with the shirt (which seems like a bad idea all around, especially now) or if I'm supposed to be fastening the smock tighter and firmer, which I can't imagine how I'd do without some duct tape. I don't think there's a nice way to avoid the hair fallout.
As alluded to, here's the 10-week ultrasound picture straight from the fridge so you can see the marked improvement in the photogenic qualities of the kid. Let's hope it just gets better from here.
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