ELIN IVORY ELDRITCH ACADEMY UNIFORM HOW TO

Hosting a baby has had the strange effect of erecting a force field around me that no one wants to penetrate with something true. She wants the truth, even if it’s dangerous. She looks serious, but also like she’s trying to tear a seam in the prenatal theater the instructor has labored to build. “I want to create a living baby,” the jumpsuit woman says. In this class, we’re focusing on the birth experiences you each want to create for yourselves.” I can tell the instructor is frustrated, but she is trying to translate it into some other emotion-pity, maybe, disdain.

ELIN IVORY ELDRITCH ACADEMY UNIFORM HOW TO

“If something goes wrong, the doctor or midwife or doula will know how to proceed. I look at my husband, but he doesn’t seem to have heard. The instructor’s eyes widen and then narrow and reset. A murmur surfs along the crest of metal chairs. “Next week, are you going to show a video where something goes wrong with the birth?” she asks. As I’m watching, the jumpsuit bunches and stretches to allow her to lean forward and launch another question at the instructor. She could be four months in, she could be ready to go. The jumpsuit conceals how pregnant the woman is. One long zipper runs the length of her middle, straining as it reaches her belly. The fabric is a pale pink with big cartoonish swashes of bright blue and saturated red and yellow in a pattern that never quite seems to repeat. I ignore him and let myself examine the jumpsuit woman’s jumpsuit across the circle. Like you hate everyone already.” My face always knows how I feel before I do, and I can’t stop it from sharing the news. “Are you listening to this?” my husband nudges me. They stare back, and I wonder if I should let mine grow too. My eyes rest on the little hamsters of armpit hair peeking out from the instructor’s shirt sleeves. Most of the soon-to-be-mothers-but not the jumpsuit woman-tilt their heads to glimpse the imaginary opening.

Air is life.” She raises her arms and lifts her chin as if she’s emerging into the sunlight. “It’s very safe, but did you see in the video how they brought him out of the water quickly? Babies should get air as soon as possible. “Babies won’t breathe until they’re exposed to air,” the instructor says. Sometimes I’m sure this means my future doesn’t have the baby in it. Since I learned I’m pregnant, I can’t think ahead, I can’t seem to wonder about the person that’s growing. I’m jealous of the woman’s pillow, I’m jealous that her companion thought to ask about the baby’s aquatic skill. His partner sits very straight in her metal folding chair against a floral pillow she brought to class in a bookstore tote bag.

His mouth folds down on the sides, and his eyebrows meet each other in a grimace. “How long can the baby be in the water? Can it swim around?” a slim man to the left of my husband asks. I have no idea where it would find comfort. The body I now share with a faceless roommate is unpredictable, I cannot soothe it. I curve my right hand under the weight of my belly, where it rests on the top of my thighs, and try to conjure the feeling of sitting in a kiddie pool in the middle of my living room. “That may be a hospital bed, that may be your own bathroom, that may be a birthing tub that you can rent from our website.” “It’s important that you choose a place where you feel comfortable,” the instructor emphasizes, holding up both palms to the jumpsuit woman as if they contain all the precious options.

Our bathroom is, let’s say, less photogenic.” Her companion rolls her eyes, but the top bun woman only shrugs and looks at the instructor as if she’ll provide a real answer to her question. “I think we could have a great baby in that tub. She has a big black bun balancing on the very top of her head, which dips and recovers like a sleepy passenger when she speaks. “Does that bathroom come with the class fee?” jokes the pregnant woman in the multi-colored jumpsuit from the other side of the circle. All three cry, the woman and her partner whisper a few words to each other, then the screen cross-fades with a video of the ocean before it turns black. Sunlight pours in from a round window above the blue-tiled tub. They are all three naked, swirling in blood and insides. The woman on the screen howls in agony and communion as her partner reaches into the water to grasp their child’s crown and pull him free.

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