Disappearing feet (or, The View From Here)

Please, oh large free world, for the last time; never again confuse mandatory bed rest with “the luxury of lying around all day”. May I remind you, being restricted to a small space without human contact is called solitary confinement. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, solitary confinement is a punishment given to prisoners, people in jail. Because it’s the only thing worse than being in jail. You know that scene in the movies where they yank the prisoner out of ‘the hole’…now, do they have a good stretch and thank the jailer for granting them the luxury of laying around all day, or are they wasted and mumbling and swatting away imaginary vermin?

Also, if it’s not too much trouble, I’ve heard enough about the effortless pregnancies and births. The supra Earth Mother Goddesses who suffer not one bit from nausea, hemorrhoids, back pain, edema, acne, rashes, varicose veins, anemia, diabetes, high blood pressure, yeast infections, bladder infections, eczema, blurred vision and migraine; never mind any of the hundreds of thousands of things that can go wrong with the baby in utero. Women who work with pre-pregnancy vigor right up to the moment they begin their two-hour labor (described later as “not as bad as menstrual cramps”). A labor so short it leaves them barely enough time to grab their hospital bag, finish the rest of the baby shower thank-you’s, and give the house a quick go over with the vacuum.

Know what story I like? I like the one about the old codger who had an exclusive diet of pork fat, bottom-shelf rye, and unfiltered cigarettes, who engaged in an extremely physically/mentally demanding hobby (rock climbing, backyard rocket science…) right up until the day he died…at a hundred and two. Of all the mythical people and life circumstances I hear about, I like that one best.