That 15 minutes of fame laps the stadium of one’s life rather quickly on the odd occasions it shows its face at all.

From thousands to hundreds to just my regulars in a matter of a few days.

Ah, well. As the sutras say, best not attach one’s self.

While I wasn’t gracing WordPress’s Freshly Pressed page, I was catting about my other haunts. The mom’s blog is rocking with new writers and I strive to fit in. School news was all about the sex and orientation.

I am immersed in yoga this weekend. Training.

Yesterday we talked about prenatal students. Enlightening and amusing.

First, I was right about the whole “bodies cannot come back after childbirth”. Like most things in life, people who make claims to something so obviously untrue have agendas ranging from misleading to delusional.

Second, if more mothers honestly spoke about motherhood, fewer women would rush into it.

A little less than half the class have been pregnant and given birth. Most of the students are Edie’s age, mid-ish to late twenties. While the moms shared the kind of things that still don’t come up on even the most tmi parts of the webosphere, all the child-free ladies grimaced and choked back a little bile.

I should not be amused by this because it is not yoga and because I don’t approve of those pregnancy in the trenches stories that some moms gleefully get off on telling, normally around newly PG women, but never PG’s will do in a pinch. The purpose of talking about the experience should be to enlighten not deliberately unnerve.

I always oblige those who query about the realities of pregnancy and birth, but only because I think a woman should go into it armed with factual info – just as preteens should be similarly armed as they bravely – and with foolish haste – step onto the hormone gridiron.

Back on Monday with a follow-up to Jillian Michaels (someone scraped my post and put it on a message board).

Namaste, y’all.