Last Day
This whole induction thing has some odd consequences. For one thing you pretty much know the kid’s birthday, April 27th or perhaps 28th. For another you know the last day before you’ll become a parent. Okay, yes, the length of labour could push that back a bit but days spent in the hospital hardly count.
You know it’s interesting, within moments of birth we’re already converted into heartless numbers. Pounds, dates, a social insurance number for the RESP…The closer the big day gets the more convinced I become that I am NOT going to reveal my son’s birth weight to the world. I’ve always disliked how the first thing, or perhaps second if gender is unknown, that everyone seems to ask is the weight.
I get it that the number is somewhat tied to the baby’s health and the ordeal the mother went through but really…my baby’s not a fish. I’m not going to be posing for pictures holding him by his feet with a tape measure. Silly cultural idiosyncrasy.
So what am I doing the day before? Wearing blue jeans against my will. Stupid charity. Why force us to wear uncomfortable clothes for a $5 donation? How about I give you $20 and I get a receipt for my taxes and wear whatever the hell I want? You get more money, I get a tax break, and my jeans can gather more dust. It’s win-win across the board.
What about those pricks at Levis? Ha! They’re owned by Dockers. So there goes that argument. No one loses. Why not have a wear your khakis to work day? Again make it a $20 donation so we get the tax break…now all we need is a charity.
