Boob Juice 101

OK, so the class is actually called "Breast Feeding Basics" but my immature, internal 8-yr-old wants to call it 'Boob Juice class'. And really, can't we all have fun in the fact that we are now moms turned cow? The whole thing is handled much more appropriately with a slight giggle. Or, at least that's how I deal with things of this nature.
Class was last night. Rob flat-out refused to attend the class for couples so I attended the 'women only' class. I wasn't the only one there with a reluctant husband. Ultimately, it was probably for the best that he did not attend otherwise my supressed fits of laughter would have come out after watching the brief video of some gorgeous, albeit air-headed, mom of seven (7) who's mission was to get the world to breastfeed.
The instructor, who looked EXACTLY like a lunch lady we had in high school, was very excited and energetic about breasts. She knew a lot - which was fantastic. But she also knew so much, I could have gone my whole life not knowing some details about the human boob.
At one point, the instructor actually made me hold a beanie-baby boobie up to my cheast and simulate breastfeeding a plastic doll. She then shoved my fake titty into the baby's mouth and made fishlips showing me how she will suck. I. DIED. I laughed and turned red while letting the baby droop. She looked at me like she didn't get it and I just had to tell her, "I'm sorry, you're going to have to bear with me while I breastfeed an inanimate object in front of 10 total strangers!"
Fortnuately, the chick next to me also laughed but there were a large number of serious ones in there, too.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for motherhood if I can't be serious.
Maybe I am just right for it.