Baby Shaming and Smiles
So if you didn't already know this, I'm a writer. (I mean, outside of this blog. I've been published and all. So that counts.) I read a book about writing earlier this year, which gave me a great writing exercise I've used a bunch of times, and I love the poetic prose I get out of it. I time myself for 15(ish) minutes and write continuously on a topic. So here's one I did about pregnancy:
I feel like a goddess. Full body, full belly, creating, nurturing, feeding new life. Life giver. (Sorry dudes - this is a lady's job. What would happen to famiy leave if men had to push through something called a ring of fire and regularly tear their perineums?)
I feel like a witch. This is a woman's job, born of some secret, clandestine pact, not sure with whom. Some say the devil, Eve, a snake. But what more god-like power is there than giving life?
Did it hurt God(dess) to give birth to the vast entity of humanity?
I feel power. I'm doing tthis, not my husband, not my male friends. This power is in my blood veins uterus belly brain heart self. This is a power men don't get to have.
Is that why the lesser ones fear us?
I feel... left behind. Why did I wait? Now I must suffer comparison, something I hate. I don't want to know why what you did was better or worse. I hate unsoliciited advice. I am an adventurer, forging my path on the seas of life.
I know it's weak to not want advice. Though I work out my muscles, sometimes my compassion and patience could use a good bicep curl. I know it. And yet I resist. I crave being differrent, unique (while at the same time craving acceptance and belonging - the human conundrum). I want to be me.
I don't want to be you.
I want to be a goddess. Powerful. Life bearing and giving.
Do I secretly want to be left behind? To be some kind of martyr? Another way to stand out in the crowd, draw attention to myself. Do I crave that? Probably.
But I wish I didn't. I wish my heart opened, blossoming in nothing but a lily of unconditional love. For all of us. For humanity.
For myself. No matter what precipice I stand on. Honoring me and where I am today.
Not comparing myself to others.
You know. That thing I hate.
(End of writing exercise)
So, you know, it's not a perfect piece of writing, I'm a bit vulnerable putting it out there, but that's kind of the purpose of this anyway.
I do feel the blog has strayed a bit from where it started. It began as such a struggle, and now there's a lot of joy and happiness and "yay, we're having a baby!" But not everyone out there is. Not everyone out there is as lucky as we are, having our IVF take the first time. And I don't want to rub that in.
(Although I'm pretty sure at this point everyone who's left reading this knows me personally and isn't necessarily going through what we went through. Although some are struggling with fertility, even if not actively and aggressively seeking treatment for it... Anyway. I'm rambling.)
In other news, I've had a few society-forcing-its-baby-values on me (us?) moments recently. I posted this on Facebook a few weeks ago, so forgive me if you already read it. But I'm going to expand on it anyway.
"Only Human"
Today (August 5) in Target a woman saw my obvious pregnancy, looked at her daughter, and said happily, "She's got a big belly," and turned to me to give me the biggest, warmest smile.
It made me feel really nice.
And then I thought, wouldn't it be nice if we could all just smile at each other like that? For no reason at all?
Pregnancy and babies seem to make those who have been there so happy for those who are currently there, like they're in on some big secret together. We now have something in common!
But what about those who don't want children? Or those who are struggling to have them? Do those people not deserve the same warm smile because they're differrent? Are they somehow less?
Because I'll tell you something - without babies and pregnancy, we already have something in common.
We're human.
And this is true not just of pregnant women. It's true of people of all races. All colors. All sexualities. All abilities. All of us. No matter what we look like or feel like or believe or study or profess, we're all human. We all share that basic trait. We spend so much time tearing each other down, pointing out our differences, even amongst our friends these days. (Social media much?)
We know we have differenes, and we don't ignore them. But how about, instead of pointing them out, we just smile at each other and offer each other a genuine, heartfelt look because, really, whatever anyone is going through, we've all felt some degree of that.
We're all human.
Just a thought.
__________
Another instance of baby-value forcing. Today we went to the volunteer fire department to get our car seats inspected and make sure they're in correctly. Everyone there was exceedingly kind and showed us how to do pretty much everything. They even had a heavy baby doll to strap into the seat, which served to make me more nervous about my nails, which I keep relatively long, scratching Lily than getting her strapped in properly.
Anyway, one of the men there was telling us how he and his wife put their baby into their car seat. And then he said, "Don't worry. By the time you have your second one, you'll know exactly what to do."
I smiled and nodded and bit back my liberal-splaining retort. I'm not a fan of how we haven't even had the first kid yet, and everyone (if I had to give a percentage of people, I'd say at least 90%) makes the assumption we're having at least one more. Like you're inhuman if you only want one! Ugh! How very... ugh. Why would you only want ONE?
Hmm. Maybe because monetarily you just can't afford to have two. Maybe because you're dead exhausted after the first and can't fathom going through that again. (I know someone who does feel this way, and there's nothing wrong with that.) Maybe because you know the world is overpopulated and you don't need to leave it having burdened it with the same amount (or more) of lives as you and your significant other are leaving behind. Maybe because literally at least 70% of people you know can't stop complaining about their second kid and how they're never the same as the first. And having multiples means less you time. You'd be completely overwhelmed with more than one! (Is there something wrong with being an only child, anyway? I'm an only child, and I don't think I'm any better or worse off because of it!)
I'm not saying I'm going to feel any of these things. I'm saying I have no idea how I'm going to react to motherhood. And society shouldn't force it's preconceived values on me before I'm ready to figure out what my own are.
And we struggled. And, as I said, I know plenty of people who have one and are struggling to have their second. There's no comfort in, At least you already have one to those who are trying unsuccessfully for another. Biologically, I'm sure it's as raw and painful and gaping wound-esque as those of us who struggled for a first.
So stop asking about second babies. Stop asking about first babies, for that matter. Stop shaming those who don't want children or don't want more than one.
Just accept that we're all human. We're all struggling. We could all use a little more love in our lives.
Just smile.
I feel like a goddess. Full body, full belly, creating, nurturing, feeding new life. Life giver. (Sorry dudes - this is a lady's job. What would happen to famiy leave if men had to push through something called a ring of fire and regularly tear their perineums?)
I feel like a witch. This is a woman's job, born of some secret, clandestine pact, not sure with whom. Some say the devil, Eve, a snake. But what more god-like power is there than giving life?
Did it hurt God(dess) to give birth to the vast entity of humanity?
I feel power. I'm doing tthis, not my husband, not my male friends. This power is in my blood veins uterus belly brain heart self. This is a power men don't get to have.
Is that why the lesser ones fear us?
I feel... left behind. Why did I wait? Now I must suffer comparison, something I hate. I don't want to know why what you did was better or worse. I hate unsoliciited advice. I am an adventurer, forging my path on the seas of life.
I know it's weak to not want advice. Though I work out my muscles, sometimes my compassion and patience could use a good bicep curl. I know it. And yet I resist. I crave being differrent, unique (while at the same time craving acceptance and belonging - the human conundrum). I want to be me.
I don't want to be you.
I want to be a goddess. Powerful. Life bearing and giving.
Do I secretly want to be left behind? To be some kind of martyr? Another way to stand out in the crowd, draw attention to myself. Do I crave that? Probably.
But I wish I didn't. I wish my heart opened, blossoming in nothing but a lily of unconditional love. For all of us. For humanity.
For myself. No matter what precipice I stand on. Honoring me and where I am today.
Not comparing myself to others.
You know. That thing I hate.
(End of writing exercise)
So, you know, it's not a perfect piece of writing, I'm a bit vulnerable putting it out there, but that's kind of the purpose of this anyway.
I do feel the blog has strayed a bit from where it started. It began as such a struggle, and now there's a lot of joy and happiness and "yay, we're having a baby!" But not everyone out there is. Not everyone out there is as lucky as we are, having our IVF take the first time. And I don't want to rub that in.
(Although I'm pretty sure at this point everyone who's left reading this knows me personally and isn't necessarily going through what we went through. Although some are struggling with fertility, even if not actively and aggressively seeking treatment for it... Anyway. I'm rambling.)
In other news, I've had a few society-forcing-its-baby-values on me (us?) moments recently. I posted this on Facebook a few weeks ago, so forgive me if you already read it. But I'm going to expand on it anyway.
"Only Human"
Today (August 5) in Target a woman saw my obvious pregnancy, looked at her daughter, and said happily, "She's got a big belly," and turned to me to give me the biggest, warmest smile.
It made me feel really nice.
And then I thought, wouldn't it be nice if we could all just smile at each other like that? For no reason at all?
Pregnancy and babies seem to make those who have been there so happy for those who are currently there, like they're in on some big secret together. We now have something in common!
But what about those who don't want children? Or those who are struggling to have them? Do those people not deserve the same warm smile because they're differrent? Are they somehow less?
Because I'll tell you something - without babies and pregnancy, we already have something in common.
We're human.
And this is true not just of pregnant women. It's true of people of all races. All colors. All sexualities. All abilities. All of us. No matter what we look like or feel like or believe or study or profess, we're all human. We all share that basic trait. We spend so much time tearing each other down, pointing out our differences, even amongst our friends these days. (Social media much?)
We know we have differenes, and we don't ignore them. But how about, instead of pointing them out, we just smile at each other and offer each other a genuine, heartfelt look because, really, whatever anyone is going through, we've all felt some degree of that.
We're all human.
Just a thought.
__________
Another instance of baby-value forcing. Today we went to the volunteer fire department to get our car seats inspected and make sure they're in correctly. Everyone there was exceedingly kind and showed us how to do pretty much everything. They even had a heavy baby doll to strap into the seat, which served to make me more nervous about my nails, which I keep relatively long, scratching Lily than getting her strapped in properly.
Anyway, one of the men there was telling us how he and his wife put their baby into their car seat. And then he said, "Don't worry. By the time you have your second one, you'll know exactly what to do."
I smiled and nodded and bit back my liberal-splaining retort. I'm not a fan of how we haven't even had the first kid yet, and everyone (if I had to give a percentage of people, I'd say at least 90%) makes the assumption we're having at least one more. Like you're inhuman if you only want one! Ugh! How very... ugh. Why would you only want ONE?
Hmm. Maybe because monetarily you just can't afford to have two. Maybe because you're dead exhausted after the first and can't fathom going through that again. (I know someone who does feel this way, and there's nothing wrong with that.) Maybe because you know the world is overpopulated and you don't need to leave it having burdened it with the same amount (or more) of lives as you and your significant other are leaving behind. Maybe because literally at least 70% of people you know can't stop complaining about their second kid and how they're never the same as the first. And having multiples means less you time. You'd be completely overwhelmed with more than one! (Is there something wrong with being an only child, anyway? I'm an only child, and I don't think I'm any better or worse off because of it!)
I'm not saying I'm going to feel any of these things. I'm saying I have no idea how I'm going to react to motherhood. And society shouldn't force it's preconceived values on me before I'm ready to figure out what my own are.
And we struggled. And, as I said, I know plenty of people who have one and are struggling to have their second. There's no comfort in, At least you already have one to those who are trying unsuccessfully for another. Biologically, I'm sure it's as raw and painful and gaping wound-esque as those of us who struggled for a first.
So stop asking about second babies. Stop asking about first babies, for that matter. Stop shaming those who don't want children or don't want more than one.
Just accept that we're all human. We're all struggling. We could all use a little more love in our lives.
Just smile.
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