I don’t know if it will fix my Whoofle-chewed pelvis, but I felt fantastic while in the studio yesterday, and I feel fantastic (although a tad sore) today. Strong. No, I didn’t walk through the yoga studio doors and transform into a graceful, light-on-my-feet butterfly. Still cumbersome & awkward, yes. But more in control of, or maybe at peace with, my body.
One other pregnant woman in the class – I thought she was at least a month behind me, but no, I learned afterward she’s further along by a month. Just, you know, smaller and cuter. I took a moment to envy her definitely-not-whaline figure, then decided to give myself a break and let it go. Remember, at peace with the body. I’m getting too old and pregnant for body issues. Let’s hold on to the fantastic.
The Ever-Suffering Mother isn’t suffering quite so much. She has a lifetime supply of peanut M&Ms in the cupboard, a loving husband (who buys her M&Ms) and a darling daughter, and lots of writing time during the day. But by the endof Act I, she develops a sore throat. This can’t be good.
Like any valiant heroine, she attempts to help herself through lots of naps, liquids (milkshakes count, right?), and more naps. (Medication is, given her pregnancy, pretty much out of the question. Further helping us define the meaning of “suffering.”)
Despite her valiant efforts, the sore throat has grown into a Sore Throat of Doom.
By the end of Act II the sore throat has gone away (hooray!) only to be replaced by copious amounts of snot. Act II is plagued with phegmatic and lethargic dialogue, lots of adenoidal voice-overs, mouth-breathing, and we’ll throw the World’s Shortest Rejection Time on a Short Story in there as a subplot (5 hours 11 minutes).
In Act III, the Ever-Suffering Mother overcomes the rejection, but not the snot, and the Cold replays itself for other beloved members of her family, compounding its effects through sleeplessness, irritability, and general malaise.