Going "Native"

I didn't think that the Westside had gotten to me even after living here for almost ten years now. I scoffed the Beamer-SUV driving, chronic car honking, chicken skin-less requesting, yoga mat carrying, Ugg boot wearing, cell phone talking, Latin American nanny hiring, "the biz" working Westsiders.
Until...Tomie arrived. "Attachment parenting" baby book in hand, I went to the Pump Station (the "Chump" Station according to Davis) in search of a baby sling so that my precious girl could get the adequate bonding and closeness to mommy that would avert years and years of therapy in mid life. I took the class (twice) so that I could learn how to shove Tomie into this big ol swath of fabric that I forked out $48 for. I was appalled the first time cuz Tomie looked so scrunched up, but as soon as I crammed her in (with a shoe horn no less), she got all comfy and had that otherworldly look of bliss. So I was sold. And we look like this.


Cute, huh. (the carriee, not the carrier)

Okay, but here's the thing. This glorified bed spread is called the "Maya" wrap and Josh got a similar one from his co-workers called the "New Native." Who knew that bourge-y parenting was so "primitive". Ewwww...this kind of rubbed my early 90's critical-muliticultural-politics of representation sensibility when I thought about the problematic implications of romanticizing and profiting off of so called "Native" or first nations peoples.

Maybe I should have spent $60 more and gotten the "rocking" mama version instead.