Emma Tom, Attack of the Fifty-Foot Hormones: Your One-Stop Survival Guide to Staying Sane During Your Pregnancy, Harper Collins, 2009.
As a Proselytiser About Truth in Pregnancy, I have been frustrated by the lack of written information available around about the emotional aspects of pregnancy. Uncertainty, terror, anxiety, agitation, despair... all of these reactions are mentioned only in passing, if at all. At times, this silence has appeared to confirm that I am the only woman in the entire world to have not been thrilled at being pregnant, which in turn has led me to feeling isolated and something of a freak.
In fact there is a lack of literature on pregnancy that is in any way irreverent or light, as if preganancy were simulatenously unquestionably wonderful, but also very significant and serious. There is one notable exception, Kaz Cooke's Up the Duff, which has for a decade reassured women that having to buy supersize undies is to be expected, that relatives and in-laws can be both well-meaning and excruciatingly annoying, and that being pregnant is quite uncomfortable, thankyou very much. Cooke's book is divided into weekly sections and features both hard information, and a fictionalised pregnancy diary written by Hermione, a character who clearly has much in common with Cooke herself. It was with Hermione's experiences that I most readily identified, though I also appreciated Cooke's sarcastic or sly asides on some of the advice commonly given to women at various stages of pregnancy.
A new book, however, has taken over Cooke's mantle as the most relevant and hilarious book available on pregnancy. Attack of the Fifty-Foot Hormones, by Emma Tom, though furnished with absolutely dreadful cover, provides an invaluable addition to the pregnancy book market. It focuses far more upon the emotional aspects of the experience than on the physical - and what a relief that is. As Tom writes,
'Thousands of words are devoted to varicose veins and dicky knees and why your ginormous boobs are turning up at bus stops five minutes before the rest of you. But how you feel about about those things is glossed over as if it doesn't count. As if the panic, fear and depression are somehow less difficult and debilitating than the nausea, fatigue and ouchy nipples.'
Hallelujah! The woman gets it! Of course there is a place for explaining physical changes, but there surely is a place for discussing emotional changes too, and it is this that has been overlooked. 'For me,' writes Tom, 'the emotional aspects of pregnancy were far more taxing than the physical ones because so few of my preggers books took them seriously or provided useful advice.' Hence this book, which sprang from her experience of being pregnant with and giving birth to her daughter Alice.
Like Cooke, Tom includes a weekly pregnancy diary, but with a difference. This time the character is not fictionalised, but presented as Tom herself. Of course, I am sure there is still embellishment and retrospective editing at work here: the diaries are too funny, too eloquent, and too attentive to detail to represent a pregnancy in real time. (Or am I excusing my own lack of regular diary-keeping here? Hmmm.) However, just knowing that a real person would claim these experiences as their own gives this diary a power that Cooke's Hermione never possessed. Hermione, I sensed, was a composite picture, a carefully constructed woman who experienced just enough of the ridiculousness of pregnancy to be comical, but not enough trauma to scare other women off. Emma Tom, meanwhile, just lays it all out for us to read: the physical changes, the change to her plans represented by the pregnancy, and most of all, her emotional rollercoaster ride through nine months. It is remarkable that she manages to make this a hilarious account as well.
In doing so, she has provided a heroine for those of us who struggle with the emotional side-effects of what she calls fifty-foot hormones. Not only that, but in the other sections of the book devoted to providing information, she unpicks the emotional issues plaguing both herself and, potentially, her readers. Consider these subheadings, scattered through the book: 'So you're psychiatrically mobid', 'Glowing schmowing' and 'I hate being pregnant, does this mean I'll be a bad mother?'. That last one in particular made me want to weep: so terrified was I of the answer to this question (definitely 'yes', I thought) that I didn't even have the courage to ask it in the first place. And yet here Tom is, laying it bare and reassuring me that the answer is, 'In a word: no'. Thank the Goddess. I mean, really.
Tom also includes testimony from other women about their pregnancy stories, gathered over what she claims were 'hundreds of interviews', testimony that focuses on emotional reactions. This to me is a slightly less successful device than either the diary or the practical information. Many of these 'interviews' seem more likely to be written accounts by professional women, women with access to computers and an eloquence that undoubtedly gives the book a seamlessness, but does little to portray the confusion that so often accompanies what is emotionally taboo. It is not that I didn't identify with these women, it is more that their accounts were, like Hermione's, constructed well after the fact with a few to being logical, readable and simple. Which is fine - it's just that emotions are not like that at all! They are messy and contradictory and at times debilitating. Perhaps it is simply a function of these women reflecting back on their experiences from a distance; perhaps women in the throes of antenatal depression (or just confused by pregnancy) would be better able to explain how hard it really can be when you are in it.
In any case, I am so excited by the publication of this book just a couple of months ago. My best friend sent it to me after hearing Tom interviewed, and I am so grateful she did. If you or anyone you know is experiencing pregnancy confusion or antenatal depression, this the book to track down. Emma Tom will make you feel normal, sane and in good company while exploring your reactions to being up the duff.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Intersex matters
Last night a South African athlete, Caster Semenya, won the women's 800m at the World Athletics Championships. She won by a whopping 2.4 seconds, and is only 18 years old.
Both of those factors alone would be worthy of comment for sports fans - she was almost unheard of, yet clearly the best runner in that distance competing in the women's events by some distance. Now, however, there is even more chatter surrounding Semenya amid widespread reports that she is to undergo a complex 'gender identity test', to prove that she is in fact a woman and eligible to run in women's events.
Semenya is certainly strong and muscular, with a build that is different to many of her rivals' lean physiques. At first sight it is easy to see why she is considered to be unfeminine; she does not sport long hair and has not been 'blessed' with a narrow waist or noticeable bust. Comment has centred on whether she is 'male' or 'female', as if she could only ever be one or t'other. Her coach and South African officials have insisted that they are 'completely sure that she is female', suggesting that doubters should enlist Semenya's roommates for corroborating evidence. 'They have already seen her naked in the showers', said one official, 'and she has nothing to hide.' Meanwhile, media outlets have taken great delight in asking the question, 'Is she a MAN?' (or, its variant, 'Is SHE a HE?'). The only indication that it may be more complex than that comes from those who admit that determining gender can be a fraught business; it has been reported that Caster Semenya will have to undergo a series of tests involving a gynaecologist, internal medicine, a geneticist, an endocrinologist and a psychologist. If we are all absolutely male or female, how come it will take all of that to decide which Semenya should be classified as?
The fact is that there is a group of people who are neither male nor female, but who are accorded no recognition by our society at all. These people are intersex. I do not mean to suggest that Semenya herself is necessarily intersex - I am no gender scientist, and I am less interested in her gender identity as such than I am in the absence of the word 'intersex' from what has been a pretty loud and sensationalised debate so far. In fact, this omission nothing new. Intersexuality has long been misunderstood, overlooked and ignored, so much so that I feel obliged to give a definition of it here. The Intersex Society of North America defines intersexuality as 'a general term used for a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive or sexual anatomy that doesn’t seem to fit the typical definitions of female or male.' In practice this means that intersex persons display physical attributes that are considered 'male' as well as physical attributes that are 'female'. It is estimated that 1 in 100 live births can fall into the category, with 1 in 1000 undergoing 'corrective' surgery to restore 'normal' gender identity. Thus, although intersexuality is rare, it is not that rare. It's not so rare as to be completely ignored by wider society, I'd have thought.
Of course, there are many reasons why Caster Semenya and her team's officials would be reluctant to even suggest such a possibility in her case. She would be disqualified from racing against women, given that women's events have to be contested by people who are determined to be female. This would end both her reign as world champion and her career. But again, I sense more than this is at stake. For many newspaper reporters and their readers, there seems to be a reluctance to even countenance the possibility of anything other than male and female. After, all our society is built on the importance of the heterosexual pair, the organisation of men and women into individual partnerships. We simply don't have a place for intersexual politics, an identity that falls outside of the male/female binary.
As well as leading to injustice and discrimination meted out to intersex people - ranging from social ostracism to invasive surgery - there are other, possibly even larger implications resulting from our reliance on a binary understanding of gender. If we as a society really do think that everyone is male or female, we are closing down the possibility of 'playing' with gender, the possibility of seeing more variety than we currently admit to. This is the sort of rigid thinking that leads to women and men being considered inherently different to each other, and being assigned complementary roles, e.g. women as nurturers and men as providers. I don't mean to argue that all men and all women fall into those roles in an uncomplicated way, but as long as we rely on this way of viewing gender, we will have trouble giving each other the flexibility we might well benefit from. For example, I would like very much for Simon and I to both be considered nurturers and providers; and yet it is only I that is questioned as to my career plans after the baby is born.
I wish Caster Semenya all the best in what is about to happen to her - invasive tests, international scrutiny and perhaps being stigmatised for the rest of her career. I also wish we could perhaps move to a more empathic level of comment and debate when such people come to our attention. We could all benefit from widening our horizons on gender, I reckon.
Both of those factors alone would be worthy of comment for sports fans - she was almost unheard of, yet clearly the best runner in that distance competing in the women's events by some distance. Now, however, there is even more chatter surrounding Semenya amid widespread reports that she is to undergo a complex 'gender identity test', to prove that she is in fact a woman and eligible to run in women's events.
Semenya is certainly strong and muscular, with a build that is different to many of her rivals' lean physiques. At first sight it is easy to see why she is considered to be unfeminine; she does not sport long hair and has not been 'blessed' with a narrow waist or noticeable bust. Comment has centred on whether she is 'male' or 'female', as if she could only ever be one or t'other. Her coach and South African officials have insisted that they are 'completely sure that she is female', suggesting that doubters should enlist Semenya's roommates for corroborating evidence. 'They have already seen her naked in the showers', said one official, 'and she has nothing to hide.' Meanwhile, media outlets have taken great delight in asking the question, 'Is she a MAN?' (or, its variant, 'Is SHE a HE?'). The only indication that it may be more complex than that comes from those who admit that determining gender can be a fraught business; it has been reported that Caster Semenya will have to undergo a series of tests involving a gynaecologist, internal medicine, a geneticist, an endocrinologist and a psychologist. If we are all absolutely male or female, how come it will take all of that to decide which Semenya should be classified as?
The fact is that there is a group of people who are neither male nor female, but who are accorded no recognition by our society at all. These people are intersex. I do not mean to suggest that Semenya herself is necessarily intersex - I am no gender scientist, and I am less interested in her gender identity as such than I am in the absence of the word 'intersex' from what has been a pretty loud and sensationalised debate so far. In fact, this omission nothing new. Intersexuality has long been misunderstood, overlooked and ignored, so much so that I feel obliged to give a definition of it here. The Intersex Society of North America defines intersexuality as 'a general term used for a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive or sexual anatomy that doesn’t seem to fit the typical definitions of female or male.' In practice this means that intersex persons display physical attributes that are considered 'male' as well as physical attributes that are 'female'. It is estimated that 1 in 100 live births can fall into the category, with 1 in 1000 undergoing 'corrective' surgery to restore 'normal' gender identity. Thus, although intersexuality is rare, it is not that rare. It's not so rare as to be completely ignored by wider society, I'd have thought.
Of course, there are many reasons why Caster Semenya and her team's officials would be reluctant to even suggest such a possibility in her case. She would be disqualified from racing against women, given that women's events have to be contested by people who are determined to be female. This would end both her reign as world champion and her career. But again, I sense more than this is at stake. For many newspaper reporters and their readers, there seems to be a reluctance to even countenance the possibility of anything other than male and female. After, all our society is built on the importance of the heterosexual pair, the organisation of men and women into individual partnerships. We simply don't have a place for intersexual politics, an identity that falls outside of the male/female binary.
As well as leading to injustice and discrimination meted out to intersex people - ranging from social ostracism to invasive surgery - there are other, possibly even larger implications resulting from our reliance on a binary understanding of gender. If we as a society really do think that everyone is male or female, we are closing down the possibility of 'playing' with gender, the possibility of seeing more variety than we currently admit to. This is the sort of rigid thinking that leads to women and men being considered inherently different to each other, and being assigned complementary roles, e.g. women as nurturers and men as providers. I don't mean to argue that all men and all women fall into those roles in an uncomplicated way, but as long as we rely on this way of viewing gender, we will have trouble giving each other the flexibility we might well benefit from. For example, I would like very much for Simon and I to both be considered nurturers and providers; and yet it is only I that is questioned as to my career plans after the baby is born.
I wish Caster Semenya all the best in what is about to happen to her - invasive tests, international scrutiny and perhaps being stigmatised for the rest of her career. I also wish we could perhaps move to a more empathic level of comment and debate when such people come to our attention. We could all benefit from widening our horizons on gender, I reckon.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Preggers photos
Well, thar she blows! I'm getting to be quite proud of my bump, especially as for so long I just looked like a fatty. Note the blinding Alice Springs sunshine, a feature of many photographs taken here. Also note the beard (not pictured).
Monday, August 17, 2009
The lighter side of pregnancy, I: I have a beard
I did promise to return and give light-hearted pregnancy updates as and when they occurred to me - as opposed to agonising updates covering mental health and existentialism - and I have one today.
I'm sure some of you are sick of hearing about my pregnancy symptoms. Heck, I'm sick of hearing about them. But get this.
Last night I had finished brushing my teeth and was examining myself critically under the flourescent tube that looms over the bathroom mirror, when I noticed something. Turning to Simon, who was gravely brushing his own teeth while reading a book (a fascinating habit, which sometimes sees him brush his teeth for more than half an hour), I said,
'Could I get you to look at this?'
'Loo' a' wha'?' he managed.
'This. My jawline. I seem to be growing a pregnancy beard. Don't you think?'
He started laughing then quickly spat his toothpaste, I presume to prevent choking.
'Have I always had this? Tell me the truth!'
He laughed and laughed. And then said, 'No you haven't always had that. But I must say, it's a fine set of whiskers.' And then sauntered out, giggling. (It wasn't that funny.)
So I followed him. Many people assume that having a GP in the house at all times must be a great advantage, and indeed it can be when one wants to, I don't know, take one's own blood pressure with a fancy blood pressure machine. (I do this most days.) It can also be handy when there is an urgent need for a prescription, such as when a dog we were looking after was savaged and needed antibiotics, and Simon just wrote a child-size prescription so we wouldn't have to pay vet fees. For many other situations, however, having a GP in the house is just infuriating.
'Will it go away?' I asked my GP-partner-man-boy, who looks after numerous pregnant women every day with what I assume is a professional attitude. He just laughed.
'Simon, will my beard go away?'. More cackling.
'SIMON, AM I A BEARDED LADY FOR LIFE?' He sobered up.
'Well,' he began. 'It really depends on how your homones settle after the birth. The whiskers might go away, they might not. Some women have grown really impressive beards after being pregnant.'
I was horrified. 'Have any of the mothers that come into your clinic had a beard?'
'Oh, sure. The other day I saw one lady who had dyed hers rainbow colours.'
I saw the glint in his eye. 'You're lying, right?'
He couldn't help it. 'Yeah.'
'So my beard is temporary?'
'Definitely.' We both started laughing at that point.
'And I think it looks good on you anyway. You're a hot bearded pregnant lady.'
(OK, he didn't say the last part, but he would have if he'd thought of it, I'm sure.)
So I am temporarily a bearded lady. The hairs are fine and blonde (another anomaly - I am as brunette as they come) and long and numerous. Just another experience to add to the list of weird bodily experiences, I guess. And now everyone reading this will examine me closely and not necessarily covertly when we next meet - hopefully by then I won't have resorted to combing or braiding or dyeing my whiskers, but you never know. He might have been lying about lying, after all.
I'm sure some of you are sick of hearing about my pregnancy symptoms. Heck, I'm sick of hearing about them. But get this.
Last night I had finished brushing my teeth and was examining myself critically under the flourescent tube that looms over the bathroom mirror, when I noticed something. Turning to Simon, who was gravely brushing his own teeth while reading a book (a fascinating habit, which sometimes sees him brush his teeth for more than half an hour), I said,
'Could I get you to look at this?'
'Loo' a' wha'?' he managed.
'This. My jawline. I seem to be growing a pregnancy beard. Don't you think?'
He started laughing then quickly spat his toothpaste, I presume to prevent choking.
'Have I always had this? Tell me the truth!'
He laughed and laughed. And then said, 'No you haven't always had that. But I must say, it's a fine set of whiskers.' And then sauntered out, giggling. (It wasn't that funny.)
So I followed him. Many people assume that having a GP in the house at all times must be a great advantage, and indeed it can be when one wants to, I don't know, take one's own blood pressure with a fancy blood pressure machine. (I do this most days.) It can also be handy when there is an urgent need for a prescription, such as when a dog we were looking after was savaged and needed antibiotics, and Simon just wrote a child-size prescription so we wouldn't have to pay vet fees. For many other situations, however, having a GP in the house is just infuriating.
'Will it go away?' I asked my GP-partner-man-boy, who looks after numerous pregnant women every day with what I assume is a professional attitude. He just laughed.
'Simon, will my beard go away?'. More cackling.
'SIMON, AM I A BEARDED LADY FOR LIFE?' He sobered up.
'Well,' he began. 'It really depends on how your homones settle after the birth. The whiskers might go away, they might not. Some women have grown really impressive beards after being pregnant.'
I was horrified. 'Have any of the mothers that come into your clinic had a beard?'
'Oh, sure. The other day I saw one lady who had dyed hers rainbow colours.'
I saw the glint in his eye. 'You're lying, right?'
He couldn't help it. 'Yeah.'
'So my beard is temporary?'
'Definitely.' We both started laughing at that point.
'And I think it looks good on you anyway. You're a hot bearded pregnant lady.'
(OK, he didn't say the last part, but he would have if he'd thought of it, I'm sure.)
So I am temporarily a bearded lady. The hairs are fine and blonde (another anomaly - I am as brunette as they come) and long and numerous. Just another experience to add to the list of weird bodily experiences, I guess. And now everyone reading this will examine me closely and not necessarily covertly when we next meet - hopefully by then I won't have resorted to combing or braiding or dyeing my whiskers, but you never know. He might have been lying about lying, after all.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Some good news for the capitalist within
Finally, at the age of 31, I have bitten the bullet and gone down the capitalist road of home ownership. And in style. Simon and I went to Victoria last week to look for a house, and we found a giant one with lots of land, beautiful kitchen, incomplete studio and wood fire. And horse boxes. And dams. Eh? Dams...? Anyway, this morning our offer was accepted on the property, and we have entered into the process of pre-purchase inspections, final home loan arrangements, contracts and looking for movers.
(This sort of development makes a mockery of antenatal depression. Feeling blue? Borrow heaps of money and buy a giant house! It will make you feel giddy and excited and powerful!)
If you'd like to see photos, here is the address:
http://www.domain.com.au/Public/PropertyDetails.aspx?adid=2007527844
And you are all invited to come and join us for visits whenever you want. We will have a baby to squeeze as well, you know....
(This sort of development makes a mockery of antenatal depression. Feeling blue? Borrow heaps of money and buy a giant house! It will make you feel giddy and excited and powerful!)
If you'd like to see photos, here is the address:
http://www.domain.com.au/Public/PropertyDetails.aspx?adid=2007527844
And you are all invited to come and join us for visits whenever you want. We will have a baby to squeeze as well, you know....
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Antenatal Depression, part II, or, How can one person be so lucky and yet feel so doomed?
It's taken a while to work up the courage to write this post. I've thought about it often: what I would write, what the narrative arc would be, how I would explain myself. But waiting for inspiration hasn't worked; I still don't know how to do this. I've just decided to take the plunge, see what comes out, and hope that it makes sense.
My previous post laid out in somewhat impersonal terms the fruits of my research into antenatal (or prenatal) depression. It should be fairly obvious that the interest I have in the topic is not impersonal at all, but rather touches on some of the darker moments of my pregnancy. I am now in my seventeenth week, which is just over three months of real time given that two weeks is added to the date of conception when calculating how 'far along' a pregnancy is. It's been a really hard few months, I must say, and not how I expected it to be at all.
I've written before, repeatedly, about the physical challenges associated with early pregnancy. For me, these have been accompanied by a noticeable if uneven descent into emotional volatility that was unexpected and difficult to deal with. After all, this was a planned pregnancy; we were successful at our first attempt at pregnancy; and we are financially secure. What's not to be excited about? My love of lists dictates I must set this out in a list form for clarity, so here goes:
1) Dependence/independence. The physical symptoms of pregnancy have been so debilitating as to make me dependent on Simon for almost everything- at one stage he had to shower me and wash my hair because I couldn't do it myself. He has consistently done the food shopping, the cooking and the dishes since my earliest symptoms and has been pretty good at laundry and house-cleaning as well. While on the one hand I rejoice in having bagged such a good man, on the other I have found myself feeling quite helpless and weak, unable (or unwilling?) to complete the basic household tasks that have been part of my life for over a decade. This has not been good for my confidence or self-esteem. (How do single women who are pregnant do it? I salute them and what surely must be their untidy houses, stacks of empty takeaway containers and frustrations at having run out of milk/shampoo/washing powder, again.)
2) Control. The control that I have lost during this process has been shocking. If this is what it means to put another being first - by which I mean that the baby has been taking my energy first, leaving me with whatever is left over, forcing me to acknowledge that I am not important after all - then I am not sure I want to be a parent! So many of my former pleasures have been foresaken for this pregnancy. I do not enjoy eating, even the junk food that occasionally is the only thing the baby will accept as fuel. I do not enjoy sleeping, as the baby will wake me whenever it needs me to eat more. I do not enjoy choosing an outfit in the morning, as I have packed away my civilian clothes for a time when I am less rotund. I do not enjoy sex, as my libido has almost entirely disappeared. And so on. My life is just not my own any more, and working out what to do for fun is difficult indeed.
3) Finally, and I reckon this may actually be the crux of it, I am absolutely terrified of being a parent. My appalled reaction to the issues of discomfort and dependence has lent itself to a suspicion that actually, I am too selfish to be a parent. My own mother faced similar soul-searching questions when I and then my brother were born, and was not always successful in negotiating the balance between her needs and ours. I grew up with the notion that children are a lot of hard and at times unrewarding work, and that they are a drain on one's professional and social opportunities. Not suprisingly, this resulted in my a) feeling somewhat in the way, and b) feeling that I wouldn't be having any children of my own, thankyou very much. Meeting Simon dissolved my conviction about the latter, and it has only been pregnancy that has reminded me of the former, in vivid terms. I do not want my children to feel like they are a burden or a drain on me; and yet, that is how I have experienced this pregnancy, as something to be endured until it is all over.
As a result of all of these things, self-doubt has taken over my mind and functioned to dilute my excitement about the prospect of having a child, to the point of its being almost non-existent. Sometimes I can hear my inner voice saying, 'I don't want this child'; at this point, weeping is common and apocalyptic predictions are rife. ('What if I am not cut out for this and have to leave the baby with Simon and run away, like that woman does in The Riders?') Which is terrible - what has this child done wrong? Come to that, what has Simon done wrong? (Answer: absolutely nothing.) The baby may be oblivious (though I suspect my depression must impact on it in some way) but Simon is not; he is living it all with me, the lack of enthusiasm, the fear, the pessimism. He is as shocked and possibly more bruised than I am. This is not how it was meant to be.
And of course, the vicious circle that is depression makes escape difficult, much more so than one can understand, I sometimes think, from the outside. I often fall into the trap of presuming that the power of positive thinking must help me. So when I am unable to do this, unable to convince myself through repetition or just blind determination, that I will be happy and it will all be fine, then I blame myself again, for being weak, or disorganised, or ill-disciplined. Which in turn brings on further self-hatred and despair, in the face of a looming deadline (only 23 weeks to go!) when I really do have to pull myself together and take responsibility for another little human.
Having said all this, I do not wish to leave you with a completely bleak outlook. I am actively engaging with the things I can do to help myself and help Simon, according to all the prevailing wisdom. I am swimming at one of the hotel pools and doing antenatal yoga for exercise; I am eating reasonably well; I cooked dinner last night and experienced the gratification of a job well done; and I am having counselling. We are also in negotiations to buy a house in Castlemaine, which may lead us to finally move to a place we can settle down. Simon and I, though frustrated and experiencing some hard times emotionally, seem to be getting through it ok by keeping lines of communication open, and being as honest and as gentle as we can be with each other. And although I avoided my friends for a long time so as to not have to admit to being ungrateful or unappreciative of my good fortune in being pregnant with a wonderful man, I have now started to make contact again.
Indeed, if you are reading this and have recently been aware of a certain lack of communicatory zeal from me... please forgive me. I need you all, even if it doesn't look like it from where you are. I certainly haven't forgotten you. I've just been fighting these inner demons that have crept up on me and made me feel overwhelmed, trapped and unworthy.
May none of you experience such darkness at what is, rationally speaking, an exciting time in life. And may I be able to return at some point in the not-too-distant future and report that I have recovered, been emancipated, and am back to where I expected to be, happy and planning for a bright if complex future of parenthood and responsibility.
My previous post laid out in somewhat impersonal terms the fruits of my research into antenatal (or prenatal) depression. It should be fairly obvious that the interest I have in the topic is not impersonal at all, but rather touches on some of the darker moments of my pregnancy. I am now in my seventeenth week, which is just over three months of real time given that two weeks is added to the date of conception when calculating how 'far along' a pregnancy is. It's been a really hard few months, I must say, and not how I expected it to be at all.
I've written before, repeatedly, about the physical challenges associated with early pregnancy. For me, these have been accompanied by a noticeable if uneven descent into emotional volatility that was unexpected and difficult to deal with. After all, this was a planned pregnancy; we were successful at our first attempt at pregnancy; and we are financially secure. What's not to be excited about? My love of lists dictates I must set this out in a list form for clarity, so here goes:
1) Dependence/independence. The physical symptoms of pregnancy have been so debilitating as to make me dependent on Simon for almost everything- at one stage he had to shower me and wash my hair because I couldn't do it myself. He has consistently done the food shopping, the cooking and the dishes since my earliest symptoms and has been pretty good at laundry and house-cleaning as well. While on the one hand I rejoice in having bagged such a good man, on the other I have found myself feeling quite helpless and weak, unable (or unwilling?) to complete the basic household tasks that have been part of my life for over a decade. This has not been good for my confidence or self-esteem. (How do single women who are pregnant do it? I salute them and what surely must be their untidy houses, stacks of empty takeaway containers and frustrations at having run out of milk/shampoo/washing powder, again.)
2) Control. The control that I have lost during this process has been shocking. If this is what it means to put another being first - by which I mean that the baby has been taking my energy first, leaving me with whatever is left over, forcing me to acknowledge that I am not important after all - then I am not sure I want to be a parent! So many of my former pleasures have been foresaken for this pregnancy. I do not enjoy eating, even the junk food that occasionally is the only thing the baby will accept as fuel. I do not enjoy sleeping, as the baby will wake me whenever it needs me to eat more. I do not enjoy choosing an outfit in the morning, as I have packed away my civilian clothes for a time when I am less rotund. I do not enjoy sex, as my libido has almost entirely disappeared. And so on. My life is just not my own any more, and working out what to do for fun is difficult indeed.
3) Finally, and I reckon this may actually be the crux of it, I am absolutely terrified of being a parent. My appalled reaction to the issues of discomfort and dependence has lent itself to a suspicion that actually, I am too selfish to be a parent. My own mother faced similar soul-searching questions when I and then my brother were born, and was not always successful in negotiating the balance between her needs and ours. I grew up with the notion that children are a lot of hard and at times unrewarding work, and that they are a drain on one's professional and social opportunities. Not suprisingly, this resulted in my a) feeling somewhat in the way, and b) feeling that I wouldn't be having any children of my own, thankyou very much. Meeting Simon dissolved my conviction about the latter, and it has only been pregnancy that has reminded me of the former, in vivid terms. I do not want my children to feel like they are a burden or a drain on me; and yet, that is how I have experienced this pregnancy, as something to be endured until it is all over.
As a result of all of these things, self-doubt has taken over my mind and functioned to dilute my excitement about the prospect of having a child, to the point of its being almost non-existent. Sometimes I can hear my inner voice saying, 'I don't want this child'; at this point, weeping is common and apocalyptic predictions are rife. ('What if I am not cut out for this and have to leave the baby with Simon and run away, like that woman does in The Riders?') Which is terrible - what has this child done wrong? Come to that, what has Simon done wrong? (Answer: absolutely nothing.) The baby may be oblivious (though I suspect my depression must impact on it in some way) but Simon is not; he is living it all with me, the lack of enthusiasm, the fear, the pessimism. He is as shocked and possibly more bruised than I am. This is not how it was meant to be.
And of course, the vicious circle that is depression makes escape difficult, much more so than one can understand, I sometimes think, from the outside. I often fall into the trap of presuming that the power of positive thinking must help me. So when I am unable to do this, unable to convince myself through repetition or just blind determination, that I will be happy and it will all be fine, then I blame myself again, for being weak, or disorganised, or ill-disciplined. Which in turn brings on further self-hatred and despair, in the face of a looming deadline (only 23 weeks to go!) when I really do have to pull myself together and take responsibility for another little human.
Having said all this, I do not wish to leave you with a completely bleak outlook. I am actively engaging with the things I can do to help myself and help Simon, according to all the prevailing wisdom. I am swimming at one of the hotel pools and doing antenatal yoga for exercise; I am eating reasonably well; I cooked dinner last night and experienced the gratification of a job well done; and I am having counselling. We are also in negotiations to buy a house in Castlemaine, which may lead us to finally move to a place we can settle down. Simon and I, though frustrated and experiencing some hard times emotionally, seem to be getting through it ok by keeping lines of communication open, and being as honest and as gentle as we can be with each other. And although I avoided my friends for a long time so as to not have to admit to being ungrateful or unappreciative of my good fortune in being pregnant with a wonderful man, I have now started to make contact again.
Indeed, if you are reading this and have recently been aware of a certain lack of communicatory zeal from me... please forgive me. I need you all, even if it doesn't look like it from where you are. I certainly haven't forgotten you. I've just been fighting these inner demons that have crept up on me and made me feel overwhelmed, trapped and unworthy.
May none of you experience such darkness at what is, rationally speaking, an exciting time in life. And may I be able to return at some point in the not-too-distant future and report that I have recovered, been emancipated, and am back to where I expected to be, happy and planning for a bright if complex future of parenthood and responsibility.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Antenatal Depression, part I
If you've read the posts below, you will know that I haven't found pregnancy to be the easiest thing I've ever experienced. I won't reiterate every single point I've made already, but let's just remind ourselves that it was the physical discomfort that had been the top of my list of 'hard things about pregnancy', things that as a Proselytiser for 'Truth In Pregnancy' I felt you should know.
Now, however, I have a new offering: mental health. It is not well-known that women can suffer from depression and anxiety throughout pregnancy. When you look into it however you find that it is suggested that around 10% of all pregnancies are accompanied by serious depression. Some even suggest that around two-thirds of pregnant women will suffer depressive episodes at some point during their pregnancies. These are quite big numbers, and do not reflect the relative lack of recognition accorded to the syndrome. We all know about postnatal depression, the 'baby blues', that see women lose their stability when faced with the care of a newborn child. But I for one had never heard of antenatal depression, or if I had, would have ascribed it to women who faced unplanned or unwanted pregnancies. Indeed, unplanned or unwanted pregnancy is a major trigger for antenatal depression, but it is by no means the only one. So what could pregnant women who want to be pregnant have to be depressed about? Turns out I was, as so often the case, inexperienced, uninformed and about to embark on a steep learning curve.
So first things first: what is this antenatal depression? Well, duh: it is depression experienced during pregnancy. In some ways it presents in very similar ways to other types of depression, leading to feelings of worthlessness, an inability to lead a normal life, and even to self-harm or harm to an unborn baby. But it can be harder to diagnose than other depressions, for the following reasons.
1) Breaking news! Depression can be hormonally related.
Those of us who have had the pleasure of experiencing emotionally-charged PMT, or Pill-induced mood swings, will know that hormones are prime agents in the regulation of mood, and in some cases mental health. When pregnant and during in the first trimester especially, a woman is treated to not only an increase in hormone levels overall but also to a new mixture of them swirling around. These are, after all, what encourage the baby to grow and develop. It follows that one of the casualties of this process will be her ability to maintain equaninimity in the face of, oh, I don't know, an attempt to show her affection, let's say. Or someone giving the 'wrong' birthday present. Or someone being ill on her birthday. That sort of thing. The sort of thing that might (depending on the individual and of the individual's time of the month) be passed off as 'life' and all its charm normally, but in pregnancy takes on the hue of being Very Distressing Indeed, and which are greeted with a variety of responses, such as hissing, spitting, weeping, 'you-don't-really-care' speeches, or locking herself in the toilet to avoid all eye contact. Under such circumtances, it is difficult to tell whether the root cause is simply hormonal imbalance, or a deeper malaise involving self-doubt, self-loathing, fear and anger.
2) Pregnancy actually involves many of the same physical symptoms as depression.
The checklist for depression includes problems sleeping, problems concentrating, extreme fatigue, changes in appetite, loss of libido, and difficulty achieving everyday tasks. Sound familiar? For many women in their first trimester, this describes their situation pretty well, and is considered 'normal' in the context of an otherwise troublefree pregnancy. 'It will pass', the doctors, the books, the fellow mums-to-be all say. Which leaves very little lee-way for an alternative response, which might be something along the lines of 'Perhaps you need some help...'
3) Pregnancy is supposed to be this glowing, wonderful time of contentment and hope.
I have written about this before, and it is the reason for my self-proclaimed title of Proselytiser for Truth In Pregnancy. The idea that women enjoy being pregnant is endemic, even or especially among women who have had babies themselves. I am not sure if that is 'aftermath glow', by which I mean an anticipation of the happiness of a child in our lives in the future, or whether it is altogether more vague than that, a sort of universal 'wah' that mythologises and idealises the pregnant body. Either way, the expectation is that women will be over the moon about being pregnant, especially if they are not too young, too old, too sick, etc. Even if women are not the ideal candidate for pregnancy, should they decide to continue with a pregnancy it is generally assumed to be a source of happiness and positive expectation. This leads to a situation where the expectant mother's mental health is not given the support it may need, as so few people are on the lookout for potential problems.
So there you have it. Depression does happen in pregnancy, and it is often overlooked for various reasons. It is not often acknowledged by experts either: even the BeyondBlue website has only one information sheet buried in among many others devoted to postnatal depression. There is one website in Australia that specialises in both antenatal and postnatal depression: see http://www.panda.org.au/index.html
And what do I have to do with all of this? Well, folks, if you thought I was laying the groundwork here for some kind confessional post, you were absolutely right. But that will have to come another day. Right now, I have to eat some lamb carry, struggle with basic tidying, and head out for the daily highlight of a swim in one of the hotel pools. I will be back, however, with Part II soon.
Now, however, I have a new offering: mental health. It is not well-known that women can suffer from depression and anxiety throughout pregnancy. When you look into it however you find that it is suggested that around 10% of all pregnancies are accompanied by serious depression. Some even suggest that around two-thirds of pregnant women will suffer depressive episodes at some point during their pregnancies. These are quite big numbers, and do not reflect the relative lack of recognition accorded to the syndrome. We all know about postnatal depression, the 'baby blues', that see women lose their stability when faced with the care of a newborn child. But I for one had never heard of antenatal depression, or if I had, would have ascribed it to women who faced unplanned or unwanted pregnancies. Indeed, unplanned or unwanted pregnancy is a major trigger for antenatal depression, but it is by no means the only one. So what could pregnant women who want to be pregnant have to be depressed about? Turns out I was, as so often the case, inexperienced, uninformed and about to embark on a steep learning curve.
So first things first: what is this antenatal depression? Well, duh: it is depression experienced during pregnancy. In some ways it presents in very similar ways to other types of depression, leading to feelings of worthlessness, an inability to lead a normal life, and even to self-harm or harm to an unborn baby. But it can be harder to diagnose than other depressions, for the following reasons.
1) Breaking news! Depression can be hormonally related.
Those of us who have had the pleasure of experiencing emotionally-charged PMT, or Pill-induced mood swings, will know that hormones are prime agents in the regulation of mood, and in some cases mental health. When pregnant and during in the first trimester especially, a woman is treated to not only an increase in hormone levels overall but also to a new mixture of them swirling around. These are, after all, what encourage the baby to grow and develop. It follows that one of the casualties of this process will be her ability to maintain equaninimity in the face of, oh, I don't know, an attempt to show her affection, let's say. Or someone giving the 'wrong' birthday present. Or someone being ill on her birthday. That sort of thing. The sort of thing that might (depending on the individual and of the individual's time of the month) be passed off as 'life' and all its charm normally, but in pregnancy takes on the hue of being Very Distressing Indeed, and which are greeted with a variety of responses, such as hissing, spitting, weeping, 'you-don't-really-care' speeches, or locking herself in the toilet to avoid all eye contact. Under such circumtances, it is difficult to tell whether the root cause is simply hormonal imbalance, or a deeper malaise involving self-doubt, self-loathing, fear and anger.
2) Pregnancy actually involves many of the same physical symptoms as depression.
The checklist for depression includes problems sleeping, problems concentrating, extreme fatigue, changes in appetite, loss of libido, and difficulty achieving everyday tasks. Sound familiar? For many women in their first trimester, this describes their situation pretty well, and is considered 'normal' in the context of an otherwise troublefree pregnancy. 'It will pass', the doctors, the books, the fellow mums-to-be all say. Which leaves very little lee-way for an alternative response, which might be something along the lines of 'Perhaps you need some help...'
3) Pregnancy is supposed to be this glowing, wonderful time of contentment and hope.
I have written about this before, and it is the reason for my self-proclaimed title of Proselytiser for Truth In Pregnancy. The idea that women enjoy being pregnant is endemic, even or especially among women who have had babies themselves. I am not sure if that is 'aftermath glow', by which I mean an anticipation of the happiness of a child in our lives in the future, or whether it is altogether more vague than that, a sort of universal 'wah' that mythologises and idealises the pregnant body. Either way, the expectation is that women will be over the moon about being pregnant, especially if they are not too young, too old, too sick, etc. Even if women are not the ideal candidate for pregnancy, should they decide to continue with a pregnancy it is generally assumed to be a source of happiness and positive expectation. This leads to a situation where the expectant mother's mental health is not given the support it may need, as so few people are on the lookout for potential problems.
So there you have it. Depression does happen in pregnancy, and it is often overlooked for various reasons. It is not often acknowledged by experts either: even the BeyondBlue website has only one information sheet buried in among many others devoted to postnatal depression. There is one website in Australia that specialises in both antenatal and postnatal depression: see http://www.panda.org.au/index.html
And what do I have to do with all of this? Well, folks, if you thought I was laying the groundwork here for some kind confessional post, you were absolutely right. But that will have to come another day. Right now, I have to eat some lamb carry, struggle with basic tidying, and head out for the daily highlight of a swim in one of the hotel pools. I will be back, however, with Part II soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Home births threatened in Australia
Not enough noise is being made over plans that will threaten Australian women's right to give birth at home with the help of a midwife. Proposals contained in the draft Health Practitioner Regulation National Law, due to come into force in July 2010, will effectively eliminate midwives' ability to legally attend home births in a professional capacity. As I understand it the bill requires midwives to be able to access insurance to be able to be registered, insurance that in turn is only available for midwives working in hospitals. This precludes the possibility of registered midwives attending home births, and for good measure the bill proposes a $30 000 fine for midwives who do attend home births in professional (but unregistered) capacity. (More information on the bill is found at http://www.joyousbirth.info/homebirth-is-not-a-crime.html , with further links at the bottom of the page.)
I find this proposal absolutely abhorrent, for three reasons.
1) It isolates and stigmatises the work that midwives do at homebirths by implying that it is dangerous and unreliable medicine, and thus cannot be insured.
Midwives are highly trained professionals with specialist knowledge. Those that attend home births have particular knowledge of how to make women comfortable in their own home and how to encourage women to listen to their bodies. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that such elements of birth - safety, familiarity, autonomy and control - are crucial to positive outcomes from the birth process. There is also plenty of evidence to suggest that hospitals often do not have or exercise such knowledge, preferring to implement protocols and regulations, often against women's wishes. In particular, women giving birth in hospitals frequently complain of being prevented from moving around during labour, of being given interventions they do not want, and of being given set time-limits in which to give birth. This sort of medicine should not be considered any more 'safe' or 'reliable' than giving birth at home, given the emotional and physical trauma that can be involved.
2) It penalises women who wish to exercise their choice to give birth at home.
Women have been fighting for decades to increase their choices and autonomy throughout the reproductive process. In 1973 the Boston Women's Health Book Collective published their ground-breaking and best-selling guide/polemic, Our Bodies Ourselves, which not only taught women about their bodies but also proposed radical alternatives to conventional Western medicine. Central to their analysis was the importance of autonomy: a woman's ability to choose according to her needs, needs which she herself determined. The book drew upon and inspired the work of many women setting up alternative healthcare services for women (and by 'alternative' I don't necessarily mean anti-Western, I mean services for women run by women) and was part of a wave of women demanding that their rights around healthcare be recognised.
Against this backdrop, the move to restrict homebirths to those that are either a) unassisted or b) illegally assisted by midwives, risking a $30 000 fine, is a major step backwards. It is paternalistic and patronising, and assumes that women (and midwives) do not know what is best for women giving birth. It prevents women from trusting their bodies, and will damage some women's ability to have an empowering experience.
3) It sends the message that home birthing is not a natural or safe practice.
This is simply not true. Women experience complications in childbirth wherever they happen to be, at home or in hospital. If a professional midwife is in attendance at home, it is her responsibility to make the decision to move a woman to hospital, should she need intervention, with plenty of time. This is a crucial part of her job. Thankfully, such cases are in the minority, and usually result in a positive outcome. Of course, hospitals cannot guarantee a live birth, and every year women face the tragedy of the death of the baby even when they have followed all conventional advice. Furthermore, as mentioned above, there is evidence to suggest that women experience less trauma when made comfortable in their own home, than they do within the unfamiliar and at times confronting environment of a hospital. Naomi Wolf (Misconceptions) and Sheila Kitzinger (Birth Crisis) have both written considered but passionate critiques of the ability of hospitals to bring about anxiety and stress during childbirth, seeking to change the very attitudes that are contained in this draft legistlation: that doctors know best, that hospitals are the best (only) place to give birth, and that women who argue otherwise are ignorant. They are not alone, and there are thousands of books, pamphlets, websites and support groups designed to push for greater recognition of the relatie benefits and/or dangers of both hospital-assisted and home births.
Many women value their ability to give birth at home and will be devastated if this option is taken away from them. I myself have been put off this option due to the uncertainty surrounding the future of home-births (and it must be said, the prospect of making arrangements for a birth in Castlemaine from Alice Springs). I hope that for future pregnancies I will be more settled (waiting to settle down, after all) and will be able access a registered, legal midwife to help me labour at home. But this won't happen if we don't fight. To make your opposition to this bill known, write to:
The Health Minister, Nicola Roxon (Nicola.Roxon.MP@aph.gov.au)
Your state or territory Health Minister - they are all in this together.
Sign the petition here
And tell your friends and family all about this - it's vital we make MORE NOISE!!
I find this proposal absolutely abhorrent, for three reasons.
1) It isolates and stigmatises the work that midwives do at homebirths by implying that it is dangerous and unreliable medicine, and thus cannot be insured.
Midwives are highly trained professionals with specialist knowledge. Those that attend home births have particular knowledge of how to make women comfortable in their own home and how to encourage women to listen to their bodies. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that such elements of birth - safety, familiarity, autonomy and control - are crucial to positive outcomes from the birth process. There is also plenty of evidence to suggest that hospitals often do not have or exercise such knowledge, preferring to implement protocols and regulations, often against women's wishes. In particular, women giving birth in hospitals frequently complain of being prevented from moving around during labour, of being given interventions they do not want, and of being given set time-limits in which to give birth. This sort of medicine should not be considered any more 'safe' or 'reliable' than giving birth at home, given the emotional and physical trauma that can be involved.
2) It penalises women who wish to exercise their choice to give birth at home.
Women have been fighting for decades to increase their choices and autonomy throughout the reproductive process. In 1973 the Boston Women's Health Book Collective published their ground-breaking and best-selling guide/polemic, Our Bodies Ourselves, which not only taught women about their bodies but also proposed radical alternatives to conventional Western medicine. Central to their analysis was the importance of autonomy: a woman's ability to choose according to her needs, needs which she herself determined. The book drew upon and inspired the work of many women setting up alternative healthcare services for women (and by 'alternative' I don't necessarily mean anti-Western, I mean services for women run by women) and was part of a wave of women demanding that their rights around healthcare be recognised.
Against this backdrop, the move to restrict homebirths to those that are either a) unassisted or b) illegally assisted by midwives, risking a $30 000 fine, is a major step backwards. It is paternalistic and patronising, and assumes that women (and midwives) do not know what is best for women giving birth. It prevents women from trusting their bodies, and will damage some women's ability to have an empowering experience.
3) It sends the message that home birthing is not a natural or safe practice.
This is simply not true. Women experience complications in childbirth wherever they happen to be, at home or in hospital. If a professional midwife is in attendance at home, it is her responsibility to make the decision to move a woman to hospital, should she need intervention, with plenty of time. This is a crucial part of her job. Thankfully, such cases are in the minority, and usually result in a positive outcome. Of course, hospitals cannot guarantee a live birth, and every year women face the tragedy of the death of the baby even when they have followed all conventional advice. Furthermore, as mentioned above, there is evidence to suggest that women experience less trauma when made comfortable in their own home, than they do within the unfamiliar and at times confronting environment of a hospital. Naomi Wolf (Misconceptions) and Sheila Kitzinger (Birth Crisis) have both written considered but passionate critiques of the ability of hospitals to bring about anxiety and stress during childbirth, seeking to change the very attitudes that are contained in this draft legistlation: that doctors know best, that hospitals are the best (only) place to give birth, and that women who argue otherwise are ignorant. They are not alone, and there are thousands of books, pamphlets, websites and support groups designed to push for greater recognition of the relatie benefits and/or dangers of both hospital-assisted and home births.
Many women value their ability to give birth at home and will be devastated if this option is taken away from them. I myself have been put off this option due to the uncertainty surrounding the future of home-births (and it must be said, the prospect of making arrangements for a birth in Castlemaine from Alice Springs). I hope that for future pregnancies I will be more settled (waiting to settle down, after all) and will be able access a registered, legal midwife to help me labour at home. But this won't happen if we don't fight. To make your opposition to this bill known, write to:
The Health Minister, Nicola Roxon (Nicola.Roxon.MP@aph.gov.au)
Your state or territory Health Minister - they are all in this together.
Sign the petition here
And tell your friends and family all about this - it's vital we make MORE NOISE!!
Friday, July 17, 2009
'Oh, yes! Pregnancy is horrible, dincha know?!'
Well, Simon and baby and I have passed the twelve week mark and have made the big announcement to all of our friends. Many congratulations have poured in, and even the first gift - some teeny tiny socks, jumpsuits, rompers and singlets, all in neutral colours, from Chris, Paula, Georgia and Isabel. (Thankyou!) There has been a lot of goodwill sent in our direction, promises of visits to Castlemaine, and too many emailed exclamation marks to count!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What also came through, though, were a few emails from friends who for various reasons are not pregnant but would like to be. Confessions of slight jealousy at our good fortune have not surprised me; I have expressed exactly the same sentiments to previous mothers-to-be of my circle, when they have made announcements that I wished I was making. Well, ladies and germs, I want to relate to you a conversation I had on Sunday morning with my old school friend Kirsty, mother of two:
Me: 'Hello?'
Kirst: 'Ohmigod! You're pregnant! I just read your email and I started crying! I am so excited for you it is such amazing news!'
Me: 'Kirst, thankyou.'
K:'Are you excited?'
Me: 'Actually, Kirst, I'm finding that pregnancy is quite hard...'
K: 'Oh yes! Pregnancy is horrible, didn't you know?'
Me: 'No one told me....'
K: 'I told you.'
Me: 'I don't think I was listening...'
K: 'No, you weren't. It's really a terrible experience.'
Now, I don't want to confuse 'being pregnant' with 'having a child', because I am told that the latter is much more a) pleasant and b) permanent than the former. So please don't think I am not looking forward to having a little Jess or Simon to name, influence, discipline, and do craft with. No, I am talking about the nine months preceding the start of that phase, those months that are, in the scheme of things, quite short, but by their nature seem to pass glacially slowly.
I can hear the clicking of tongues and the furrowing of brows from here. What could be so terrible about growing new life? Isn't that the crowning achievement of womanhood, should one be lucky enough to be able?
Well, consider this. How would you like it if suddenly you lost all ability to stand upright for more than ten minutes? And stay awake for more than about six hours? Have to eat every two hours, but not too much at a time? And could no longer eat some of the most convenient foods around, that might give you sustenance without too much effort (sushi, premade salads, ham)? And could on many occasions stomach nothing but hot chips and lemonade anyway? Had to give up all activities based in standing up/walking/cycling? Alternated constipation and diarrhoea for weeks and weeks? Had to endure mystery stomach aches for days on end? (Don't anyone dare say anything about the chips and lemonade.) Headaches that lasted for days? A runny nose permanently? Sensitive teeth, anyone? Muscle loss due to lying in bed all day? Pretending none of it happening so as to preserve the secret? And finally, the piece de resistance: massive, unpredictable, extreme mood swings, from despair to jubilation in a matter of hours.
Oh yes, pregnancy is horrible. Do not be fooled. Do not aspire to it. See it as a necessary stage of life that will, all going well, produce a bundle of joy that will be your most amazing achievement. But it is not fun.
We live in a culture that, rightly, exults the process of pregnancy and childbirth. It is a tough business and women should be praised to the skies for it. But don't romanticise the process too much. I am told there are some women who 'love' being pregnant. All power to them. For the rest of us, it's akin having to a giant hangover, PMT, and chronic fatigue syndrome all at once.
So says Jess, proselytiser for Truth About Pregnancy.
Questions? Comments? Challenges? Bring it on! I'll fight the lot of yer! Gah...
I'm off to eat baked beans from the tin, shuffle into the shower, and then have a nap.
What also came through, though, were a few emails from friends who for various reasons are not pregnant but would like to be. Confessions of slight jealousy at our good fortune have not surprised me; I have expressed exactly the same sentiments to previous mothers-to-be of my circle, when they have made announcements that I wished I was making. Well, ladies and germs, I want to relate to you a conversation I had on Sunday morning with my old school friend Kirsty, mother of two:
Me: 'Hello?'
Kirst: 'Ohmigod! You're pregnant! I just read your email and I started crying! I am so excited for you it is such amazing news!'
Me: 'Kirst, thankyou.'
K:'Are you excited?'
Me: 'Actually, Kirst, I'm finding that pregnancy is quite hard...'
K: 'Oh yes! Pregnancy is horrible, didn't you know?'
Me: 'No one told me....'
K: 'I told you.'
Me: 'I don't think I was listening...'
K: 'No, you weren't. It's really a terrible experience.'
Now, I don't want to confuse 'being pregnant' with 'having a child', because I am told that the latter is much more a) pleasant and b) permanent than the former. So please don't think I am not looking forward to having a little Jess or Simon to name, influence, discipline, and do craft with. No, I am talking about the nine months preceding the start of that phase, those months that are, in the scheme of things, quite short, but by their nature seem to pass glacially slowly.
I can hear the clicking of tongues and the furrowing of brows from here. What could be so terrible about growing new life? Isn't that the crowning achievement of womanhood, should one be lucky enough to be able?
Well, consider this. How would you like it if suddenly you lost all ability to stand upright for more than ten minutes? And stay awake for more than about six hours? Have to eat every two hours, but not too much at a time? And could no longer eat some of the most convenient foods around, that might give you sustenance without too much effort (sushi, premade salads, ham)? And could on many occasions stomach nothing but hot chips and lemonade anyway? Had to give up all activities based in standing up/walking/cycling? Alternated constipation and diarrhoea for weeks and weeks? Had to endure mystery stomach aches for days on end? (Don't anyone dare say anything about the chips and lemonade.) Headaches that lasted for days? A runny nose permanently? Sensitive teeth, anyone? Muscle loss due to lying in bed all day? Pretending none of it happening so as to preserve the secret? And finally, the piece de resistance: massive, unpredictable, extreme mood swings, from despair to jubilation in a matter of hours.
Oh yes, pregnancy is horrible. Do not be fooled. Do not aspire to it. See it as a necessary stage of life that will, all going well, produce a bundle of joy that will be your most amazing achievement. But it is not fun.
We live in a culture that, rightly, exults the process of pregnancy and childbirth. It is a tough business and women should be praised to the skies for it. But don't romanticise the process too much. I am told there are some women who 'love' being pregnant. All power to them. For the rest of us, it's akin having to a giant hangover, PMT, and chronic fatigue syndrome all at once.
So says Jess, proselytiser for Truth About Pregnancy.
Questions? Comments? Challenges? Bring it on! I'll fight the lot of yer! Gah...
I'm off to eat baked beans from the tin, shuffle into the shower, and then have a nap.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Close the Uluru climb now
Last week we went to Uluru with friends. They had never been there; I have been once, and this was Simon's third trip. Off we trundled in two camper vans, making the compulsory stop at Stuart's Well to see Dinky the Singing Dingo (don't ask - but if you already know about Dinky and want to see him for yourself, be aware that he has been fed many snaggers over the years and no longer feels inclined to get up on the piano to sing, preferring to yowl from his position flaked out on the floor. It's quite disturbing). We were unaware, when we left, that this would be the week when the question of who can/should climb Uluru would be revisited at a federal level, but we sure found out when we got there.
To recap: the Uluru-Kata Tjuta national park is owned by its traditional owners, the Anangu, but was leased to the federal government in 1985 for 99 years, which now regulates access to the site. Prior to this arrangement, a climb had been established that allowed people to ascend, with the help of a chain bolted into the rock, the 800m to the top. More recently, the Anangu have requested that visitors do not attempt the climb, partly because it crosses a significant Dreamtime track and partly because of the danger involved. Thirty-five people have died attempting the climb, and it is frequently closed on days of high temperatures or high winds. Nevertheless it is still an experience that is freely available, and it is down to the choice of the individual visitor whether to climb or not to climb.
When we visited, I was struck - as I had been the first time - by how many appeals in numerous languages have been signposted at the foot of the climb, urging visitors to refrain from doing it. It can scarcely escape the notice of any visitor that the traditional owners of the site do not wish people to climb what it an extremely important place for them. And yet, there is a steady stream of people, moving like ants up and down the climb. Furthermore, numerous conversations overheard or entered into with other tourists confirmed that the wishes of the Anangu are often barely considered.
It was during these conversations that we learned that the federal Environment Minister, Peter Garrett, had been flirting with the idea of closing the climb permanently, on the grounds that it was dangerous and culturally insensitive. The reactions to this at Uluru were furious. 'Well, we climbed it today because who knows when we will get another chance? It's ridiculous!' and 'Tourism will suffer if the climb closes - people won't want to visit any more.' Echoing these sentiments elsewhere, Australians then chorused that it was their right to climb Uluru (or Ayers' Rock) and that to close it would be unfair, unwise and extreme. Prime Minister Kevin Rudd immediately bowed to this kind of populism and contradicted Garrett, stating that the climb should stay open for the enjoyment of everyone. The debate ended there.
Such sentiments fly in the face of the Rudd Government's significant and moving gesture of apology toward the indigenous people of Australia, for the injustices associated with the Stolen Generations. The apology means nothing if traditional owners cannot enforce their wishes over their land, especially on a matter as trivial (for white people) and as dangerous as the Uluru climb. Visiting Uluru and not climbing it is not a hardship: there is a 9km base walk around the whole thing that allows tourists to access caves, waterholes, traditional art, rock formations and unbelievable beauty. Visitors should respect this place as the cathedral that it is, and not even think about climbing all over it. Peter Garrett has been a most ineffectual Environment Minister - just this week he approved the first new uranium mine in Australia for decades - but here he was on to something.
We thoroughly enjoyed our visit. We all felt, we agreed, that this was not a place for white people to stay, as if we were intruding slighly. This was not due to a lack of facilities or a lack of welcoming spirit. It was more to do with a sense that here was a place so complex, so vast, and so different from Western norms of living, that we were groping for words and concepts to explain it to ourselves. On this basis, we all felt that the Anangu and their understanding of Uluru's significant has to prevail - they are better placed, culturally, historically, politically and morally, to explain what Uluru is to visitors. And visitors we are, all of us.
Stop the desecration of this stunning, overwhelmingly significant site, and the disregarding of its traditional owners' histories. Close the Uluru climb now.
To recap: the Uluru-Kata Tjuta national park is owned by its traditional owners, the Anangu, but was leased to the federal government in 1985 for 99 years, which now regulates access to the site. Prior to this arrangement, a climb had been established that allowed people to ascend, with the help of a chain bolted into the rock, the 800m to the top. More recently, the Anangu have requested that visitors do not attempt the climb, partly because it crosses a significant Dreamtime track and partly because of the danger involved. Thirty-five people have died attempting the climb, and it is frequently closed on days of high temperatures or high winds. Nevertheless it is still an experience that is freely available, and it is down to the choice of the individual visitor whether to climb or not to climb.
When we visited, I was struck - as I had been the first time - by how many appeals in numerous languages have been signposted at the foot of the climb, urging visitors to refrain from doing it. It can scarcely escape the notice of any visitor that the traditional owners of the site do not wish people to climb what it an extremely important place for them. And yet, there is a steady stream of people, moving like ants up and down the climb. Furthermore, numerous conversations overheard or entered into with other tourists confirmed that the wishes of the Anangu are often barely considered.
It was during these conversations that we learned that the federal Environment Minister, Peter Garrett, had been flirting with the idea of closing the climb permanently, on the grounds that it was dangerous and culturally insensitive. The reactions to this at Uluru were furious. 'Well, we climbed it today because who knows when we will get another chance? It's ridiculous!' and 'Tourism will suffer if the climb closes - people won't want to visit any more.' Echoing these sentiments elsewhere, Australians then chorused that it was their right to climb Uluru (or Ayers' Rock) and that to close it would be unfair, unwise and extreme. Prime Minister Kevin Rudd immediately bowed to this kind of populism and contradicted Garrett, stating that the climb should stay open for the enjoyment of everyone. The debate ended there.
Such sentiments fly in the face of the Rudd Government's significant and moving gesture of apology toward the indigenous people of Australia, for the injustices associated with the Stolen Generations. The apology means nothing if traditional owners cannot enforce their wishes over their land, especially on a matter as trivial (for white people) and as dangerous as the Uluru climb. Visiting Uluru and not climbing it is not a hardship: there is a 9km base walk around the whole thing that allows tourists to access caves, waterholes, traditional art, rock formations and unbelievable beauty. Visitors should respect this place as the cathedral that it is, and not even think about climbing all over it. Peter Garrett has been a most ineffectual Environment Minister - just this week he approved the first new uranium mine in Australia for decades - but here he was on to something.
We thoroughly enjoyed our visit. We all felt, we agreed, that this was not a place for white people to stay, as if we were intruding slighly. This was not due to a lack of facilities or a lack of welcoming spirit. It was more to do with a sense that here was a place so complex, so vast, and so different from Western norms of living, that we were groping for words and concepts to explain it to ourselves. On this basis, we all felt that the Anangu and their understanding of Uluru's significant has to prevail - they are better placed, culturally, historically, politically and morally, to explain what Uluru is to visitors. And visitors we are, all of us.
Stop the desecration of this stunning, overwhelmingly significant site, and the disregarding of its traditional owners' histories. Close the Uluru climb now.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Pregnancy sites
I have been doing a lot of internet based research during my time with chronic morning sickness, and I can recommend the following sites:
- Mama-Is. http://www.mama-is.com/ This lady sure has some strong ideas about mothering, mainly that it is awesome and a total reasons to respect and worship women. We disagree on some points (she doesn't want women separated from their babibes AT ALL for the first two years... so tough if you want a career) but I love her affirming cartoons. The latest, 'Inspiring People', is a good example.
= Blue Milk http://bluemilk.wordpress.com/10-plus-things-about-feminist-mothers/ .
- The Age Essential Baby forums. http://members.essentialbaby.com.au/index.php? The threads on this are enormous! They cover every possible topic to do with babies. Plus they set up a forum of each two-week window for due dates, so my group is Due January 15-31. Together we chat about what we are going through and what our hopes and fears are. Right now there is a lot of morning sickness, worries about getting through to twelve weeks, intimidation by the idea of first-time motherhood (for some of us!) and how we are coping with the fatigue. Oh and what to buy, how our partners are reacting, and whether we are showing yet... and so on.
I will post more as I find them... :-)
- Mama-Is. http://www.mama-is.com/ This lady sure has some strong ideas about mothering, mainly that it is awesome and a total reasons to respect and worship women. We disagree on some points (she doesn't want women separated from their babibes AT ALL for the first two years... so tough if you want a career) but I love her affirming cartoons. The latest, 'Inspiring People', is a good example.
= Blue Milk http://bluemilk.wordpress.com/10-plus-things-about-feminist-mothers/ .
- The Age Essential Baby forums. http://members.essentialbaby.com.au/index.php? The threads on this are enormous! They cover every possible topic to do with babies. Plus they set up a forum of each two-week window for due dates, so my group is Due January 15-31. Together we chat about what we are going through and what our hopes and fears are. Right now there is a lot of morning sickness, worries about getting through to twelve weeks, intimidation by the idea of first-time motherhood (for some of us!) and how we are coping with the fatigue. Oh and what to buy, how our partners are reacting, and whether we are showing yet... and so on.
I will post more as I find them... :-)
Women and the AFL
I have been a fan of Australian Rules football for a long time. I believe I still have somewhere a VHS copy of the 1994 Australian Football League (AFL) Grand Final, won by my beloved West Coast Eagles. It is labelled in multi-coloured ink 'My most treasured possession', a record of a game that saw my fabourite player of all time, Dean Kemp, awarded the Norm Smith medal for best afield on Grand Final Day. The memories. The glory. The memories!
Being a female footy fan didn't seem all that unusual to me as a kid, but as I grew up I came to realise that football is pretty much a man's world. The players, the officials, the administrators, the commentators, the journalists and many of the most vocal fans are men. The violence of the game is both a product of and feeds into some basic staples of masculinity: physical strength, aggression, denial of pain, and a desire to dominate (or defeat) other men. These men's bodies are bruised and broken by the time they retire; an average match can see upwards of four serious injuries to ankles, kness, ribs, or shoulders. This is part of the appeal of Australian Rules: watching grown men throw themselves around with blind courage is almost as fun as watching the more graceful parts of the game, such as running, passing the ball and scoring goals.
Be that as it may, the culture of masculinity that is so entrenched within the AFL has in recent days come under some scrutiny. Not enough scrutiny, I would argue, but a little. The former president of the Carlton Football Club, John Elliott, a bankrupt and odious man, has stood by his claims a week ago that while he was president during the 1990s, Carlton paid 'three or four' women wads of cash in exchange for their not pressing rape claims against players. In the context of a year already featuring public soul-searching by the National Rugby League (NRL) regarding sexual assault cases, these relevations - seemingly made to entertain a corporate audience - are serious indeed.
Or are they? The AFL's top administrator, Andrew Demetriou, has distanced himself from Elliott by calling him a 'dinosaur' from an 'age that is a bygone era'. Carlton has made no comment at all, while rumoured to be taking active steps from preventing life-member Elliott from having any further role at the club he used to run. By focusing on Elliott himself rather than on the substance of his allegations, the club and the competition's top administrator have neatly sidestepped the question of whether indeed there were cover-ups regarding sexual violence by Carlton players, and the implications of such cover-ups. The 1990s are not so long ago, as Victorian police acknowledged when they promptly called on Elliott for interview regarding what they rightly view as a criminal investigation. That these incidents might have involved real women, with real grievances, seems not to have occurred to the AFL or to Cartlon. How can this be so? The only conclusion I can draw is that they think it self-evident that either Elliott, or the women of whom he has spoken, are lying.
There have been rumblings of discontent regarding such a muted, indirect response. The ABC's Offsiders programme demanded this morning that if this was a story from a bygone age, the AFL should hire some archaeologists and start digging. Caroline Wilson, the only senior woman journalist reporting on the AFL, has made the links between the AFL's response and its attitudes to women overall. (http://www.theage.com.au/news/rfnews/regard-for-women-still-plagues-afl/2009/06/28/1245961459479.html?page=2). Indeed, Wilson has herself been the target of outrageous sexism in the past, with a mock-up of her body physically attacked on prime-time television by the AFL media's resident shock jock, Sam Newman. She is best-placed to make such a comment, and I applaud her courage in once again being the only female voice permitted to raise the issue of what it means to be a woman in the AFL, where men's bodies and men's voices take centre stage. But Wilson is like David to the AFL's Goliath, surrounded by less critical colleagues and facing a wall of 'no comment' from the senior playmakers.
The AFL has made some overtures towards women of late; a handful sit on club boards, and there is always a thrill in seeing the one female umpire, a young goal umpire, adjudicating the big matches on television. But if it wants to retain its image as a quintessentially Australian sport to be enjoyed by all the family, the AFL needs to rethink its attitudes to violence against women. It is a serious issue, and not just because it can be embarassing. It is serious because it is violence, because it is against women, because it is a crime, and because it is unacceptable at any level in society. And the AFL, like it or not, influences plenty of kids, just as it did me many years ago when I cheered my team on to bloodied, bruised victory.
Being a female footy fan didn't seem all that unusual to me as a kid, but as I grew up I came to realise that football is pretty much a man's world. The players, the officials, the administrators, the commentators, the journalists and many of the most vocal fans are men. The violence of the game is both a product of and feeds into some basic staples of masculinity: physical strength, aggression, denial of pain, and a desire to dominate (or defeat) other men. These men's bodies are bruised and broken by the time they retire; an average match can see upwards of four serious injuries to ankles, kness, ribs, or shoulders. This is part of the appeal of Australian Rules: watching grown men throw themselves around with blind courage is almost as fun as watching the more graceful parts of the game, such as running, passing the ball and scoring goals.
Be that as it may, the culture of masculinity that is so entrenched within the AFL has in recent days come under some scrutiny. Not enough scrutiny, I would argue, but a little. The former president of the Carlton Football Club, John Elliott, a bankrupt and odious man, has stood by his claims a week ago that while he was president during the 1990s, Carlton paid 'three or four' women wads of cash in exchange for their not pressing rape claims against players. In the context of a year already featuring public soul-searching by the National Rugby League (NRL) regarding sexual assault cases, these relevations - seemingly made to entertain a corporate audience - are serious indeed.
Or are they? The AFL's top administrator, Andrew Demetriou, has distanced himself from Elliott by calling him a 'dinosaur' from an 'age that is a bygone era'. Carlton has made no comment at all, while rumoured to be taking active steps from preventing life-member Elliott from having any further role at the club he used to run. By focusing on Elliott himself rather than on the substance of his allegations, the club and the competition's top administrator have neatly sidestepped the question of whether indeed there were cover-ups regarding sexual violence by Carlton players, and the implications of such cover-ups. The 1990s are not so long ago, as Victorian police acknowledged when they promptly called on Elliott for interview regarding what they rightly view as a criminal investigation. That these incidents might have involved real women, with real grievances, seems not to have occurred to the AFL or to Cartlon. How can this be so? The only conclusion I can draw is that they think it self-evident that either Elliott, or the women of whom he has spoken, are lying.
There have been rumblings of discontent regarding such a muted, indirect response. The ABC's Offsiders programme demanded this morning that if this was a story from a bygone age, the AFL should hire some archaeologists and start digging. Caroline Wilson, the only senior woman journalist reporting on the AFL, has made the links between the AFL's response and its attitudes to women overall. (http://www.theage.com.au/news/rfnews/regard-for-women-still-plagues-afl/2009/06/28/1245961459479.html?page=2). Indeed, Wilson has herself been the target of outrageous sexism in the past, with a mock-up of her body physically attacked on prime-time television by the AFL media's resident shock jock, Sam Newman. She is best-placed to make such a comment, and I applaud her courage in once again being the only female voice permitted to raise the issue of what it means to be a woman in the AFL, where men's bodies and men's voices take centre stage. But Wilson is like David to the AFL's Goliath, surrounded by less critical colleagues and facing a wall of 'no comment' from the senior playmakers.
The AFL has made some overtures towards women of late; a handful sit on club boards, and there is always a thrill in seeing the one female umpire, a young goal umpire, adjudicating the big matches on television. But if it wants to retain its image as a quintessentially Australian sport to be enjoyed by all the family, the AFL needs to rethink its attitudes to violence against women. It is a serious issue, and not just because it can be embarassing. It is serious because it is violence, because it is against women, because it is a crime, and because it is unacceptable at any level in society. And the AFL, like it or not, influences plenty of kids, just as it did me many years ago when I cheered my team on to bloodied, bruised victory.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Feminist Pregnancy
I have never been pregnant before, except for one brief and all-too-quickly terminated opportunity in 1998. And I have to say, I am shocked by the experience.
I am now at the Leslie Nielsen stage (9 and a half weeks.... geddit?) and have spent much of the last three and a half weeks lying on the couch. I am so tired. I feel so sick. I have to keep eating constantly, but not just anything. Oh no. I have to negotiate at length between my body and mind so as to discover what will be acceptable to both. One day hot chips will be the peak of heavenly food consumption, the next hot chips will be an evil I cannot tolerate even thinking about. Our cupboards and fridge are full of things I thought I might like to eat, or even started eating, but which have been cast aside. For the record, today I am keen on passionfruit, strawberries (but I don't have any), lemonade, chocolate, hot chips (it's one of those days). I am not keen on any other fruit, vegetables, eggs, Yogo, leftover curry, or black jellybeans.
Why am I so shocked? I thought that pregnancy was a fairly inocuous thing during the first trimester - no one knows, no one can tell (ha! My waist has, as they say, 'thickened' dramatically) and morning sickness just meant throwing up occasionally if you were lucky, often if you were not. WRONG. Morning sickness is not just about nausea, although that aspect of it can be crippling. It's about motion sickness: moving around anywhere seems very unnatural, and my body pleads with me to lie down if I overdo it. I cannot cook, I cannot do the shopping, I cannot exercise. This is extreme, peeps! Who knew?
Further to that, my digestive system has gone ballistic. This could be down to the odd diet I have been negotiating, plus the lack of exercise. I won't go into detail, but let's just say that knowing when to force down some prune juice is fast becoming an essential skill of this pregnancy.
And then there's the emotional aspect. I am not ready for a baby! I only just got back from London! I only just decided to switch careers! I have no friends in Alice Springs, where I live! Poor Simon has been on the receiving end of this. I lash out at him when I am at my sickest, and I cry on him when I am plumbing depths I thought were some way off (like when the baby was born). True, there have been happy moments too but they are usually brought on by Simon himself, an emotional oasis in the desert that provides encouragement, hope and excitement.
For of course I am excited. I am excited to be doing this and to be doing it with Simon. As he himself says, sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the blessing, but a blessing it undoubtedly is.
My question though, is this: Why are women fooled into thinking that pregnancy is this glowing, wonderful state? No woman I have spoken to has enjoyed their first trimester. Every single one I have confided in has clucked with sympathy when I speak of sickness, nausea, fatigue, uncertainty and boredom. They all know what I am talking about. Some are adamant that the second trimester is fun, but no one has argued yet that the third trimester, when you look like you have swallowed a watermelon, is all that brilliant. That means that for the vast majority of us, at least two trimesters out of three are a physical challenge that we are, arguably, unprepared for. We are led to believe that we will look beautiful, feel great, and enjoy nesting as we prepare for the birth. I feel unlike I ever have before: I have lost control of my body, I can FEEL the hormones washing around, and at the end of the day the sickness actually cannot be predicted or neutralised. My boobs are sore, my belly is growing (and groaning), I nap in the afternoons and I contribute nothing, apart from an invisible embryo, to the household. I have lost my energy, my identity and my strength, and I really feel I had very little warning that this would happen.
When the baby is born and becomes the light of my life, I will of course forget all of this. I will be affected by the amnesia that allows women to go back, time and again, for more pregnancy, more babies. And in the end, I do not wish in any way to suggest that I suspect that this effort is not worth it.
I just wish that women had told me how hard this was going to be. It may be 'natural', but it sure doesn't feel that way.
I am now at the Leslie Nielsen stage (9 and a half weeks.... geddit?) and have spent much of the last three and a half weeks lying on the couch. I am so tired. I feel so sick. I have to keep eating constantly, but not just anything. Oh no. I have to negotiate at length between my body and mind so as to discover what will be acceptable to both. One day hot chips will be the peak of heavenly food consumption, the next hot chips will be an evil I cannot tolerate even thinking about. Our cupboards and fridge are full of things I thought I might like to eat, or even started eating, but which have been cast aside. For the record, today I am keen on passionfruit, strawberries (but I don't have any), lemonade, chocolate, hot chips (it's one of those days). I am not keen on any other fruit, vegetables, eggs, Yogo, leftover curry, or black jellybeans.
Why am I so shocked? I thought that pregnancy was a fairly inocuous thing during the first trimester - no one knows, no one can tell (ha! My waist has, as they say, 'thickened' dramatically) and morning sickness just meant throwing up occasionally if you were lucky, often if you were not. WRONG. Morning sickness is not just about nausea, although that aspect of it can be crippling. It's about motion sickness: moving around anywhere seems very unnatural, and my body pleads with me to lie down if I overdo it. I cannot cook, I cannot do the shopping, I cannot exercise. This is extreme, peeps! Who knew?
Further to that, my digestive system has gone ballistic. This could be down to the odd diet I have been negotiating, plus the lack of exercise. I won't go into detail, but let's just say that knowing when to force down some prune juice is fast becoming an essential skill of this pregnancy.
And then there's the emotional aspect. I am not ready for a baby! I only just got back from London! I only just decided to switch careers! I have no friends in Alice Springs, where I live! Poor Simon has been on the receiving end of this. I lash out at him when I am at my sickest, and I cry on him when I am plumbing depths I thought were some way off (like when the baby was born). True, there have been happy moments too but they are usually brought on by Simon himself, an emotional oasis in the desert that provides encouragement, hope and excitement.
For of course I am excited. I am excited to be doing this and to be doing it with Simon. As he himself says, sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the blessing, but a blessing it undoubtedly is.
My question though, is this: Why are women fooled into thinking that pregnancy is this glowing, wonderful state? No woman I have spoken to has enjoyed their first trimester. Every single one I have confided in has clucked with sympathy when I speak of sickness, nausea, fatigue, uncertainty and boredom. They all know what I am talking about. Some are adamant that the second trimester is fun, but no one has argued yet that the third trimester, when you look like you have swallowed a watermelon, is all that brilliant. That means that for the vast majority of us, at least two trimesters out of three are a physical challenge that we are, arguably, unprepared for. We are led to believe that we will look beautiful, feel great, and enjoy nesting as we prepare for the birth. I feel unlike I ever have before: I have lost control of my body, I can FEEL the hormones washing around, and at the end of the day the sickness actually cannot be predicted or neutralised. My boobs are sore, my belly is growing (and groaning), I nap in the afternoons and I contribute nothing, apart from an invisible embryo, to the household. I have lost my energy, my identity and my strength, and I really feel I had very little warning that this would happen.
When the baby is born and becomes the light of my life, I will of course forget all of this. I will be affected by the amnesia that allows women to go back, time and again, for more pregnancy, more babies. And in the end, I do not wish in any way to suggest that I suspect that this effort is not worth it.
I just wish that women had told me how hard this was going to be. It may be 'natural', but it sure doesn't feel that way.
The childcare debate in Australia
Regarding Sarah Hanson-Young and her child in the Senate.
There has been very little sympathy for the Greens Senator from South Australia, who committed the sin of allowing her infant daughter into the Senate Chamber during a vote and who was ordered to remove said child by the Chamber President. The resulting critique of her actions has centred around three propositions:
1) That this was a stunt organised by a political party ‘known’ for its stunts, a grab for publicity that has detracted from the ‘real’ business of running the country (see http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/06/19/2602777.htm?section=justin)
2) That Senator Hanson-Young is paid to be a Senator and should observe the responsibilities associated with that by turning up to vote as and when required, in a professional manner that excludes being accompanied by a child (http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25665273-5000117,00.html)
3) That politicians have no right to luxuries not afforded the rest of us, ie the ability to bring children into the workplace when they wish to (see comments on the ABC news website and the Melbourne Herald Sun website among others)
One first issue, I have to say I admire and support the Greens wholeheartedly, especially their propensity for what are called ‘stunts’. This is because the Greens are the only party in Parliament who have the imagination to see past the usual rigmarole of what passes for standard political discourse in this country. Without their activists coming up with great demonstrations, banners, costumes, and slogans, we would not have had nearly as much fun debating the merits of the war in Iraq, deforestation, increased uranium mining, or even the GST, if you can remember that far back. The Greens are thinking outside the square, and yes, sometimes they do do outrageous things to get our attention. I applaud that. No one else has the courage to say what they say, especially about war and the environment, and it is such a relief not to be oppressed by grey suits, sensible hair or unthinking conformity.
On the second issue, I think that condemning Senator Hanson-Young’s professionalism reflects the masculine bias that has weighed Parliament down for centuries. The notion that ‘professional’ is antithetical to ‘family’ is an ancient idea, and reflects the notion of ‘separate spheres’, where the public sphere is associated with work and business, and the private is associated with family and emotion. Not coincidentally, the public sphere is most often coded as masculine, and the private sphere is most often coded as feminine, despite the strong challenges made by feminism over the last hundred years and more. For women who work in the public sphere, the question of what to ‘do’ with their children has been much more fraught than it has been for men, who have more often had access to partners and family who look after children for them. Childcare in this country is woefully inadequate (though I do not deny that Parliament itself has childcare provisions).To me there is no sense in maintaining the ideology of separate spheres. We need to work out a way for every individual to have a good balance between the different aspects of their lives. For now, women are struggling to be working mothers, and need support. Without it, Senators like Hanson Young, at 26 a very young woman, will be excluded from a governing body that is nominally meant to represent all Australians. The Senate should not be only institution to change its attitude to children, but it should be among many to do so, so that women and men can fulfil their roles as parents and professionals as and how they see fit.
Which leads me to my final point. When challenged, many commentators on this issue have fallen back on the point that politicians should not be given privileges. If doctors, teachers, or nurses cannot take their children to work, so the argument goes, why should politicians be allowed to? This is a red herring. I would argue that Senator Hanson-Young and the Greens were not arguing for special privileges in the Chamber; in fact, they argued that the incident highlighted the need for more family-friendly workplaces across the country.
Which in turn leads me back to the first point, that about this being a ‘stunt’. I am not convinced that this incident was planned – Senator Hanson-Young only took her daughter in to the Chamber after a short-notice call was put out to Senators that they were required for a vote – but I am sure as hell supportive of the Greens using this incident to question Australian attitudes around work and family. I think we have a long, long way to go before families and work are better integrated, but that a struggle to do so will only benefit the country. The Senate should relax its rules around children in the chamber, and employers across the country should think about how best to integrate childcare into their structures.
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