We attended a lovely 3-hour breastfeeding class the other night. It was an interesting experience. The following post is excerpted from an email sent to Sarah and Shannon about the evening:
The class will go into my list of essays about this experience. Some working titles:
"The Indignities of Parenthood: Insipid Classes or
Learning to Parent with The Lowest Common Denominator or
For the LOVE OF ALL THE PREGNANT LADIES WHO ARE UNCOMFORTABLE DO YOU HAVE TO EXTEND THE CLASS BY ASKING YET ANOTHER QUESTION THAT 3.6 SECONDS OF THOUGHT OR INTERNET SEARCHING WOULD SOLVE? CAN'T YOU SEE THE FEET THAT ARE STARTING TO LOOK LIKE DOUGHY MACY'S THANKSGIVING BALLOONS?
Or, perhaps, An Open Letter to the Tattooed Guy in the Darfur Shirt who Made a Five Minute Question About the Insanity of Our Society Drinking Cow's Milk While He Drinks Soy Milk Because He is Accustomed to Having Something On His Cereal. Dude.
Finally, this one might make a good off-off Broadway show: Yes, I Realize That you are an authorized Medela Dealer, and I would like to club myself unconcsious using your fantastic array of fine Medela products to avoid hearing another minute of sales pitch in the midst of a class that we paid for: The Musical.
ARRRRRRUUUGHHHHHHHH!! /robert dean off.