Body Jam...or Jelly

Well, last night I tried a class at the gym entitled Body Jam. It was basically Hip Hop and Salsa moves to a JLo "Fame" infused soundtrack. Right up my alley. Sort of. I like to consider myself a fairly adept dancer, having been trained in ballet, jazz, tap, and musical theater choreography for may years. Those are all "white people firendly" styles of dance. However, last night while watching myself in the mirror during the class the truth became blazingly clear. I am a 24- year old white chick with old navy yoga pants and floppy boobies (the miracle of pregnancy). So while I had all the moves right, something was lacking next to the 2 Asian gay men and 14 African American women who were my classmates. My hips just don't move like that. At least there was one other new mommy and a 45 year old woman who I am fairly sure was a cheerleader for some Baptist college back in the day. They made me feel not quite so bad about my whiteness. But I will persevere. I am hoping my moves are just a little rusty, and over the next few weeks I will be ready to teach the darn class. (hey, a girl can dream) But I did have fun. That is until I got to the nursery to retrieve Grady and found him screaming all alone in a swing. So I may have to put this night class on hold until Chris can be home to watch the munchkin. Any of you who have seen the dramatic personality change my child undergoes at 5:45 pm will know what I mean. By the way, the scale at the gym says 127 again. Slow and steady wins the race!