In My Day . . .

Yeah, it is a tired and cliche debate. It's still annoying. Who's more poet, who's more American, who's cuisine reigns supreme? We're all judges aren't we?

I'm sensitive about unsolicited advice and snotty comments. Every time I talk to an older person they have to butt in and infer what a ninny I am because in their day they didn't have "child-birth classes" or "federal standards for cribs" or "a husband to drive them to the hospital." Or breast-feeding is a passing fad or if I use cloth diapers every article of clothing I own will be covered in shit so I shouldn't even bother and just accept that I'll be sending 6000 disposables to a landfill. Or how they smoked, drank and worked at the hydrochloric acid factory until the day they gave birth and their kids were just fine. As if they're better or tougher because of their old-timey experiences. Ok, you win, your more poet, er Mom than me. I'm just a coddled poseur with jogging stroller following 21st century medical advice.

Speaking of coddled, every Friday morning Chris and I go to pre-natal yoga. I've been doing yoga for a little over a year. I'm not particularly good at it (I have very tight hamstrings), but I enjoy and benefit from it. In the class description, it said its perfect for both mothers and fathers-to be so of course I signed Chris up for it. I didn't give it a second thought. So I was suprised at the first class when Chris was the only dude, but figured most of the guys must be in the evening class. It turns out he's only one of two guys to have ever taken the class in like the last decade. What's worse is how the other mothers-to-be and teachers treat him -- like he's the greatest, most sensitive, most thoughtful guy on Earth. How they gush! He's the one who knocked ME up and just because once a week he spends an hour and a half stretching in a room with a bunch of fat chicks, he's dreamy? What kind of men are these women married to? In the 90's I spent thousands of hours in small rooms with stinky fat guys when I worked in the tech industry and nobody treated me like I was fabulous for doing it. Hmm, yeah, "in my day . . ."

What's most amusing is that pre-natal is wussy yoga. Almost all of the poses are modified and there's none of that "pushing yourself to the next level." That's not say it's not a lot of work for us pregos, but you'd assume a healthy dude in his early 30's who cycles, plays ice hockey and skis on a regular basis would breeze through it with no problem. Well, that assumption would be wrong. The 8+ month gals move through the poses no problem, but who is the teacher constantly running over to help? The 6'8 "strong" man who just hurt his knee (AGAIN) or can't do the modified downward dog cause it hurts his wrists. The other students are all carrying an extra 10-50 pounds, suffering from numerous ailments, some ready to burst at any moment and who is everyone concerned about? Chris "Mother Fucking" Morrow!

Who yes, has been wonderful and sensitive and dreamy, all because he continues to attend fat chick yoga and promises to drive me to hospital in February. So yes, In addition to being the most beautiful girl in the world, I'm also the luckiest.