But I needed a break from class work today, so I clicked over.
And there was this article: "Back off, pregnancy police! I know what I'm doing!"
And my gut reaction was "A-FREAKING-MEN!" without even reading the article. Because I'm not big on the whole policing others' bodies to begin with thing. And pregnancy is a time when my distended belleh seems to mean I am somehow prime for the petting in grocery stores, for the questions about my bowel movements in daily conversation, for the raised eyebrows every time I crack a Coke or put an ice pack on my ribs, or choose to eat three hard boiled egg whites and some carrots with hummus instead of the proverbial pickles and ice cream.
You just can't do pregnancy right for the general US population.
So I read the article.
And then I was annoyed. It's about a glass of wine. BUT it's a well-justified, off-the-books-doctor-recommended glass of wine, so it's okay! If only people would just leave her alone and trust that she knows what she's doing... and while I am totally down with the "buzz off, jerkwad" aspect of this, I am frustrated that the doctor's approval seems to be what makes this glass of wine better than others.
I like wine. I've even had some in the last nine months. Not because I have a differently formed uterus. Just because it tastes good. Same goes for lots of things: sushi, lunch meat, hot dogs (seriously, ew, but when you need one, you need one), three bottles of blueberry beer (turns out I still don't actually like beer), raw sprouts, medium-rare steaks, canned tuna, edamame, and raw honey. And if I could find unpasteurized cheese and it sounded good, I would have eaten that too, but it's really freaking hard to find unpasteurized cheese in the US.
It's not that I got a positive test and decided to do everything possible to flout the system. It's that I truly believe the system is broken, and the system currently in place is one that works to consistently undermine women's intelligence, power, and prerogative to run even the most basic unit of our lives, our bodies. We are watched, and have people attempting control, from every possible perspective--the well-meaning but thoroughly entrenched medical institutions and their representatives that take our blood, urine, weight, and vital signs every six weeks (and then every four weeks, and then every two weeks, and then every week); the well-meaning friends and family who share horror stories and advice and experience without thinking to ask whether we want to hear, or being willing to accept that our choices are different and yet equally valid; even the stranger who lectures us about the triglycerides in bagels and how they make people fat while glaring at our 34-week pregnant stomachs, or the friendly cashier who says "I know who doesn't get to drink this!" as she rings up an alcoholic beverage.
These are not usually people who look at us and say "person with a vagina. Must be stupid, time for me to step in." These are usually people who want to help. Who think they have valuable information that we cannot get anywhere else. Who believe we somehow want or need their stories. Who truly believe the hype around fetal alcohol syndrome and poisonous soft cheese and the evils of "undercooked" meat. To whom it apparently never occurs that I might well know what's going on and choose not to be an extremist in the same ways that they are.
Clearly, there's a desire to protect others going on here. Clearly, there are people who consider fetuses people, and want to protect them and give them the best possible start in life. But since we couldn't successfully use a flash drive to transfer Bugbear from my uterus to Michael's stomach through our navels, we've had to accept that I'm the one carrying him/her. And that means that my choices are the ones that go, because in the end it is my body.
And so I choose, consciously and with careful thought and research, to give my fetus the best possible start in life. On my terms. Which means a diet of mostly vegetables and whole grains, very little palm oil, hydrogenated oil, or high-fructose corn syrup, and healthy and realistic portion sizes with limited amounts of meat and unnecessary fats while increasing the amount of homemade, local, and organic foods we eat. Which means upping my commitment to get rid of BPA, SLS of both sorts, parabens, and petrolatum (relatively safe, but who really wants petroleum by-products on his/her skin?) in my home and on my body. Which means as few drugs as humanly possible, limited to what I truly need to get through the day.
I'm not perfect. I ate Jimmy John's for lunch, with a Coke and a banana and an apple. Only half of the flour in yesterday's zucchini bread was whole wheat, not all of it. When Bugbear demands a Snickers bar, you best believe I'm going to go "well, if you really want it..." and then eat a Snickers bar because I won't be able to concentrate on anything else until I do so. But I know my choices, my risks, and I'm making my decisions based on those.
Chances are good that our socio-political agendas aren't going to match. If you're concerned about babies being hurt in utero because they're going to grow up to be some variety of less productive and more dependent citizens, then our agendas don't match. None of us are as productive as we could be. None of us are independent. Those of us who can claim true self-sufficiency or community sufficiency aren't reading this because they're too busy producing their own food, clothing, power, and daily needs to be reading blogs. What we're trying to prevent with policing pregnant bodies is not bad pregnancies or unruly children; what we're trying to prevent is the wrong sort of bad pregnancy, the wrong sort of unruly child, the wrong sort of tween/teen/young/adult political subject who will do and say the wrong things. And if snarking at a pregnant woman seems to up our chances of making the world a better place for the children of tomorrow, then who wouldn't want to take a glass out of a stranger's hand and lecture her on what she should be doing?
I kind hope Bugbear is always a thinking citizen who never takes a glass out of someone's hand because it never occurs to him/her to judge others based on appearances. I hope that s/he responds to the inevitable "because I'm your parent, that's why" with "well that's stupid. What's your reason?" I hope s/he embodies my favorite magnet:
in his/her own way, with the addition of fighting ageism and ableism and general idiocy and unthinkingness as well. Not because I made the right choices, or the wrong choices, about what to eat and drink and wear and use while pregnant. Not because s/he wants our approval or love or extra spending money or the car keys. But because s/he grows up thinking and knowing that what we fight, and what we fight for, how we judge and how we respond to judgment, make a difference in how we know others and how others know us.
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