relax, folks. i'm just researching alternatives to the pill, since i'm fed up with consuming the added hormones. i want to know my options and this book is pretty much the best one out there. (and when it is time to add a face to our new little family, i'll be that much more informed and ready to roll.)
anyway. one of the author’s strongest beliefs is that women don’t know enough about their operating systems, so to speak. we basically act like squeamish, giggling 12-year olds anytime the subject of “down there” comes up and, unless a serious issue arises, our knowledge rarely goes beyond what we learned back then. it’s perfunctory at best.
she has a point.
so i’ve been learning a lot, enjoying the refresher course. and then today, on the bus ride back from visiting with my Gram, i read something that i know i knew in the recesses of my brain, but seeing it in print, especially today, sort of blew my mind.
since baby girls are born with all the eggs they’ll ever release (unlike boys who grow their stuff along the way), technically our maternal grandmothers carry us, too. translation: when Gram was pregnant with my mom, i was a teeny tiny egg inside my teeny tiny mother, who was inside my wonderful (not so teeny tiny at the time) Gram.
how cool is that?
yeah, OK, it technically wasn’t me in there. the egg from which i eventually sprouted needed the assist from my dad. but still—i read that bit just moments after i was once again contemplating how awesome it is to have the kind of relationship i do with my Gram: easy, funny, comforting, conspiratorial.
i always knew i had a lot of her in me. pretty neat to think she once had a bit of me in her, too.
mbm
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