A few years back when I was working as a freelancer, I took an assignment offered to me by the New York Post‘s Page Six Magazine. I will justify writing for them this way: $2 per word. The article I was asked to write was about the crazy things that a certain set of Manhattan ladies do to avoid getting fat while pregnant. At the time I was in my late 20s and the idea of pregnancy was about as foreign as say, exotic dancing. And here’s where these two seemingly disparate things overlap.
I managed to find a sweet, unsuspecting pregnant lady who was pole dancing while the fetus inside her was growing. I was invited to the class though I was told there was no watching. Only participating. So, there I was, in the basement of a synagogue where the studio had set up their overflow class (this is weird, I know, and what must the rabbi think?) watching a woman eight months pregnant swing around a pole in sweaty darkness to Prince’s “Sexy M.F.”
Needless to say, she was an easy target. A pregnant woman! Being sexy! Dancing around a pole! The gall! I wrote the piece and the tone was nothing short of nasty. And the editors (always blame the editors!) made it all the nastier. And when the piece came out I felt bad. Very bad. And then several years later when I was pregnant, I felt like a big old jerk. Who was I to judge?
I think about this a lot these days. In the world of mommying it seems there’s a whole lot of judging going around. And I just sometimes think that everybody should just take a big breath and mind their own business.
So, the next time you see a pole dancing pregnant lady, just remember that.
