Sinead Corcoran Dye: When you’re pregnant, antenatal classes are the best money you’ll ever spend

Who says money can't buy friendship? Photo / Sylvie Whinray. Dress / Legoe Heritage

In case any of my three readers noticed, I didn’t write a column in the past fortnight because my already horrendous pregnancy went from very bad to worse.

While my husband was out of town for work and I was home alone, I managed to drop a concrete statue on to my foot, breaking my toes and putting me in a moon boot at eight and a half months pregnant.

At the time I thought that was the worst pain imaginable, until my baby (who is in theory “perfectly sized” but is actually miles too big for my very stumpy, childlike torso) kicked one of my ribs so hard it is now sticking out of my skin like a horror movie.

The pain is indescribable, and despite taking painkillers I can barely walk. And of course, I’m still vomiting up every meal because, why not, so I’m also in hospital every three days on a drip for dehydration and malnutrition.

I’m sorry, I know this is virtually unreadable, it’s so grim. My father tells me this column is so ghastly it’s probably put hundreds of couples off procreating. Maybe they should read it out in high school Sex Ed classes.

But I promise it is not all bad, because there is one surprising thing getting me through this absolute hell.

Not anything lovely and normal like pregnancy massages or eating copious amounts of takeaways guilt-free or binge-watching Love Island. It’s my Tuesday night antenatal class.

We didn’t sign up for antenatal class to learn about birth or caring for babies, as the classes are usually pretty vagina-birth focused and I’m having an elective C-section - and my husband has already raised two babies so he’s fairly confident he can show me the ropes on keeping ours alive.

We did however think it would be worth it to (hopefully) make some friends with other couples having babies around the same time as us, as only a tiny handful of my girlfriends have kids and I’ve found pregnancy hugely isolating, especially since being so unwell.

And like absolute desperate losers, as if it was an episode of Barney, we actually announced to the class on day one that we were there “to make friends” - just so everyone knew we were VERY available.

But thankfully everyone kindly looked past what overly keen freaks we were, and we immediately bonded with a few of the couples. My favourite mums of course are the ones who also hate being pregnant and are desperately hanging out for a wine. These are my people.

So, while most of the two-hour class is spent (usefully) learning about frightening things like mucous plugs, episiotomies and not swaddling (it’s apparently not on-trend anymore) we also have a “half-time” tea and biscuits segment where we all chat and bond over how miserable and terrified we are.

And, I swear to God, these restorative chats with fellow mums are the only thing getting me through, and the only thing making me feel less alone. Tuesday night is now my favourite night, and I look forward to class all week.

Despite being bone-tired from endless vomiting, in agony from my protruding rib, heaving a heavy moonboot behind me and waddling like a duck because my “perfectly sized” baby is about the same height as me, I will drag myself to every antenatal class come hell or high water. I will drag my IV stand with me if need be. Even if my baby comes early, I will bring my newborn to class just to be with these mums.

So, while I haven’t actually learned anything about birth or babies that I didn’t already know from my husband or from “reading baby books” (watching TikTok for 12 hours a day), antenatal class is, hands down, our best pregnancy purchase, and potentially the best decision of my life. I have got more out of antenatal education than I got out of my actual university degree.

And if the mums from class are reading this, I know I come off quite clingy at best and maybe quite insane at worst, but also, I really love you. You are my rocks. You are getting me through.