How Talking About Child-Free or Childless Made My Head Explode
I just read this and sent it on to a friend and wasn’t going to blog it and got halfway up the stairs and said to myself, “if you don’t write it out, you won’t get anything accomplished today because it will bother you for the next six hours.”
Read it and come back.
My largest problem is her strident stance without knowing the history or division within the larger community of those living child-free. That there truly is meaning behind the word choice within infertility. That the term “childless” is used prior to resolving infertility and “child-free after infertility” is often used after the person has stepped onto that path out of infertility. That “childless not by choice” is equally used and accepted. That not everyone who is without children wants to be without children. And that this woman’s post would be especially hurtful to every woman living child-free after infertility because seriously, does she need to figuratively hold up her infant and rub it in the face of every woman who is unable to have children whether it is due to infertility or life circumstances?
Her commenter apparently stated that she preferred the term child-free over childless, and this suddenly becomes an attack on a person’s decision to have children? If I don’t buy a house and state that I’m an apartment-dweller, does it make me anti-house, hateful of everyone who has to mow their lawn? If I don’t eat meat and say that I’m a vegetarian, does it mean that I hold those who eat hamburgers in complete disgust, wondering how they could make such a hateful choice?
I’m a vegetarian. I cooked steak for Josh last night. I made the twins chicken. Seems like you can make your own life decisions and not negate another person’s if you wish.
My head exploded off my shoulders because she takes a step from someone asking for respect in regards to their own life decisions to attacking those who apparently listen (hence, read) her in the first place. She could have opened the door to a conversation about terminology, about why those who are child-free by choice prefer the term child-free over childless and why others utilize different terminology. She could have explored the many reasons why people do not build their families.
To answer her question, as a mother, I would tell the child-free that I’m grateful that they write their blogs so I can walk in their shoes and try to understand their world because it is a person’s unique life that makes the world a beautiful and interesting space and I am just thankful that everyone else has not conformed their life to match my own. And that my heart goes out to those who are unable to build their families and I will always support you and take your lead in how you are resolving your infertility and continuing to live life.
August 27, 2009 77 Comments
The 67th Circle Time: The Show and Tell Weekly Thread
Show and Tell is wasted on elementary schoolers. Join several dozen bloggers weekly to show off an item, tell a story, and get the attention of the class. In other words, this is Show and Tell 2.0. Everyone is welcome to join, even if you have never posted before and just found out about Show and Tell for the first time today. So yank out a photo of the worst bridesmaid’s dress you ever wore and tell us the story; show off the homemade soup you cooked last night; or tell us all about the scarf you made for your first knitting project. Details on how to participate are located at the bottom of this post.
Let’s begin.
Lest you think I am the only person in the family with brilliant ideas, the ChickieNob and Wolvog dreamed up bringing a chocolate cake to Josh’s office and having him write a mock-angry email to the staff asking who left a cake in the lounge because it was now crawling with worms–and decorating the cake with GUMMY WORMS TO FREAK THE SHIT OUT OF A BUNCH OF NON-PROFIT DO-GOODERS.
They were positively gleeful, dancing around the kitchen, imagining the surprise of the staff as they encountered what we dubbed the Worm Cake. They were so excited that they were turning into Ed Grimley, running back and forth in the kitchen, breathlessly describing the revulsion and horror that would rock Josh’s workplace while…um…I did the majority of the baking. They were so busy running that no one helped me; the deliciousness of their trick was unbearable.
They did curl up two gummy worms underneath the pool of “watery dirt” (aka, Leah’s chocolate icing. Go bother her for the recipe because it is so damn good) and placed a few crawling on the top. And this was their creation.
Except the horror show that was to happen was never to be because the ChickieNob got a turn of conscience right before bedtime and cried over the idea of people being freaked out in their offices because they thought there was an army of worms on the top floor. And she wanted me to call her father and make him promise that he would tell his coworkers the truth. That it wasn’t dirt and worms despite the overwhelmingly realistic evidence in the eyes of a five-year-old. It was just chocolate cake with chocolate icing and gummy candy. It was breaking her heart to consider the alternative that almost was.
Instead, her new idea before she went to sleep was to somehow coax everyone into the hallway for a giant, five-minute dance party. Dream big, little girl. She went to bed muttering, “they’re trying to work. But I want them to dance. They are trying to work. But it would be funny if they would just dance.”
And I am willing to put down money that she figures it out–that she somehow gets everyone dancing in the hallway, if not at the same time like a Coke commercial, then for their own five minutes of enjoyment.
What are you showing today?
Click here or scroll down to the bottom of this post if this is your first time joining along (Important: link to the permalink for the post, not the main url for your blog and use your blog’s name, not your name. Links not going to a Show and Tell post will be deleted). The list is open from now until late Friday night and a new one is posted every week.
- If you would like to join circle time and show something to the class, simply post each Wednesday night (or any time between Wednesday morning and Friday night), hopefully including a picture if possible, and telling us about your item. It can be anything–a photo from a trip, a picture of the dress you bought this week, a random image from an old yearbook showing a person you miss. It doesn’t need to contain a picture if you can’t get a picture–you can simply tell a story about a single item. The list opens every Wednesday night and closes on Friday night.
- You must mention Show and Tell and include a link back to this post in your post so people can find the rest of the class. This spreads new readership around through the list. This is now required.
- Label your post “Show and Tell” each week and then come back here and add the permalink for the post via the Mr. Linky feature (not your blog’s main url–use the permalink for your specific Show and Tell post).
- Oh, and then the point is that you click through all of your classmates and see what they are showing this week. And everyone loves a good “ooooh” and “aaaah” and to be queen (or king) of the playground for five minutes so leave them a comment if you can.
- Did you post a link and now it’s missing?: I reserve the right to delete any links that are not leading to a Show and Tell post or are the blogging equivalent of a spitball.
- If you want it…
I’ve now placed a Show and Tell archive on the sidebar that will be updated each week in case you miss it. And click here for the icon code if you wish to have it for your blog. It links to the archives.
August 26, 2009 27 Comments
I Watched Funny People and What I Learned about Male Factor Infertility
Updated at the bottom:
Perhaps don’t read at work…
We live in a penis obsessed culture.
A penis obsessed, testicle obsessed, t’aint obsessed culture.
And by default, we live in a sperm obsessed, sperm power obsessed, sexual prowess obsessed culture.
In Funny People–a 136 minute film–how many times do you think male genitalia was mentioned by the parade of comedians marching across the screen? 487. 487 times in a 136 minute film about a comedian dying of a blood disease.
Okay, so I didn’t count, but it felt like 487 times. It was probably somewhere close. Judd Apatow–how many times did you mention male genitalia in the film? This seems like it should be a Twitterable fact. Penis counting.
But the county fair was closed, I only thought about going swimming post-shower, and we weren’t in the mood for a meal out on our date night (the siren song of ramen is that loud). So we stuck with the original plan of seeing Funny People, despite the fact that it has a blood disease in it. Despite the fact that I had been warned that it wasn’t just a long movie; it felt like a long movie.
I cannot think of a profession that I’d be less suited to hold than comedian. I think I could do a better job with marine biologist despite the fact that I don’t actually understand how oysters exist. I mean, first and foremost, I’m not funny. Secondly, I’m not good at memorizing things or getting up in front of people or leaving my house. But I love watching movies that show you the backstage life of comedians such as…well…The Comedian. Or The Aristocrats. Or…The Comedian because these are the only two movies I can think of that show you that life offstage.
The only reason I would ever want the job of comedian (even though, as we’ve already decided, I can’t have it because I would suck at it) is for that offstage camaraderie that passes from one comedian to the next. I like to imagine myself around the table back stage, nursing a diet coke and listening to everyone exchanging their best jokes (I’m not really participating in these daydreams because I wouldn’t really have anything to contribute despite the fact that if I’m backstage, it would mean that at some point, I would have to go on-stage).
And I’m savvy enough on backstage life (you know, from watching The Aristocrats in a theater) to know that the jokes that come from the men or are directed to men usually contain at minimum cock, balls, sperm, or a combination of two or more from the list. Men do not talk about their elbows or the size of their calves and if they refer to other body parts at all, it is usually to draw attention to their lack of definition.
And that’s just the way it is. We live in a dick obsessed culture–not just figurative dicks like the ones Colbert skewers in his opening monologues–but actual dicks. When we see them, it’s titillating. When we don’t, it’s comedy.
At this point, the bread of the sandwich ends, and the teller can add whatever meat they prefer, the raunchier, the better. This is a guesstimation of what I told; only one detail sticks out in my memory and was definitely in the version I told:
The father politely pulls out a balloon and blows it up, twisting it into the shape of dog. He hands the boy the balloon animal and he begins masturbating using the looped canine ear. As he cums, the man’s wife catches the semen in a saucier pan, boils it down on a small camp stove, and serves it to the talent agent over a roasted chicken breast on a bed of rice. The son in turn fucks his sister, who promptly has a baby fall to the floor from her vagina, picks it up, sings rock-a-bye-baby, and drops it into a portable cradle. The wife does three cartwheels across the room, landing in an upside down position with her knees over her husband’s shoulders. She unzips his pants with her teeth and begins sucking him off on the spot. Their children join in on the action, becoming a frenzied multi-armed, multi-legged sex creature out of a Danielle Steel nightmare, climax in a four-way orgasm, and land on one knee, their fingers wildly flailing in jazz hands.
The agent asks what the hell they call something like that and the father answers, “the Aristocrats.”
We were driving down this empty road, tears streaming down our faces as I told it. It was still before we were trying to conceive. It was back when sex equaled baby because all one needed was manly enough sperm. Right?
We never experienced male factor infertility–the problems were all mine–and I’m not sure I really understood the deeper secrecy surrounding male infertility until I started reading blogs. It’s just a medical condition, why would it be a bigger deal than having a wonky uterus or missing fallopian tubes or a clotting disorder? Why would it be harder to talk about in public?
I don’t know. It just is.
Because women do not joke with other women about the size of their uterus or the shape of their uterus. We don’t boast that our eggs are so fresh that they get impregnated in a second. If we boast at all, it’s about the prowess of our husbands (“he just has to look at me!”). Women may talk about how fertile they are, but they don’t joke about how fertile they are.
Maybe it is so difficult to talk about male factor infertility because of that current that flows whether it is from comedian to comedian or athlete to athlete or businessman to businessman–that size matters, that producing sperm matters, that having mobile sperm with a well-shaped head that can impregnate a woman matters. If not, why would it be at the center of all jokes?
By which, at its heart, we know there is only so much joking in our joking, and no man wants to be the one who is not seen as virile, who is not seen as someone Darwin would point out as a shoo-in to get to perpetuate the species. Not because it matters, not because it’s the sperm that makes the man, and we certainly know from Parenthood that any “butt-reaming asshole can be a father.” But because we have made it so taboo, so enormous, we have eleva
ted the importance of something microscopic, of something hidden, of something that is also a vessel of removing waste from the body. A tube. A sac of skin.
I don’t want my son to ever feel like he needs to compete in this oneupmanship and yet, at the same time, I want Josh to pass along every good comeback he came up with ten minutes too late to use himself. I want to coach him like comedians perform for one another as a form of exercise. I want him to be the end of this line of self-esteem bashing and I want him to ride the crest and be the one who skates through unscathed. I assume we can’t have it both ways.
I got my period the next day. Late movie tears explained.
And like so many things that are only funny up to a point, only funny when you’ve hit the right person, hit the jackpot in terms of a lack of backstory, we got in our car, not laughing, muttering about how we were sure that was funny in some world. It just really wasn’t funny in ours.
Cue laugh track.
Update:
Like Somewhat Ordinary says below, I too would love to hear from men who have male factor or women whose husband’s have male factor about how they processed their diagnosis in the face of a society who has their condition as the punchline.
August 25, 2009 38 Comments
Pull Up a Seat
It seemed like the perfect time to open the doors of the Virtual Lushary and encourage everyone to get good and figuratively drunk, distracting them from searching for a post that fits the first clue.
A toast: to Blogger Bingo! Long may it be played.
In addition to pouring drinks, I am serving ice cream today. Big scoops of rocky road or mint chocolate chip or vanilla.
My perfect moment (how many things can I work into one post–the Virtual Lushary, Blogger Bingo and now Perfect Moment Monday?) came on Saturday after the Our-Family-Beginnings-and-Stirrup-Queens crews went to get ice cream outside in the rain after surviving Costco (and grinding 6 pounds of coffee–just in case you ever wondered how I do so much. It’s the 6 pounds of coffee. Don’t judge me).
Which doesn’t sound like a good idea in theory (and perhaps wasn’t a good idea once it came time to walk back to our cars), but was excellent in practice. I got caramel explosion ice cream with bits of Twix cookie and we sat at a table under this huge umbrella. You could hear the rain hitting the thick umbrella, but we were all mostly dry. And we got to eat ice cream in the middle of the day, before dinner. Some of my favourite people all around one table, in the rain, eating ice cream. Talk about a perfect moment.
List your own perfect moment, not here, but at Lori’s list. You can even Twitter it and add the link to the Tweet on her linky thing. Pretty damn cool.
Over here, we’re just discussing what has been happening to you this past month.
As always, it has been about a month since we met, bitched, cried, comforted, and caught up each other on our cycles and lives. Pull up a seat and I’ll pour you a drink. Let everyone know what is happening in your life. The good, the bad, the ugly. My only request is that if a story catches your eye, you follow it back to the person’s blog and start reading their posts. Give some love, give some support, or laugh with someone until your drink comes out of your nose.
I have a ton of assvice in my back pocket and as a virtual bartender, I will give it to you unless you specifically tell me that this is simply a vent and you do not want to receive anything more than a hug.
So if you have been a lurker for a while (or if this is your first open bar as someone who found this space through IComLeavWe or Blogger Bingo), sit down and tell us about yourself. Remember to provide a link or a way for people to continue reading your story (or if you don’t have a blog–gasp!–you can always leave an email address if you’re looking for advice or support. If not, people can leave messages for that person here in the comments section too). If you’re a regular at the bar, I’ll get out your engraved martini glass while you make yourself comfortable. And anyone new, welcome. I’m glad you found this virtual bar.
For those who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say that the bar is open, click here to catch up and then jump into the conversation back on this current post.
So have an imaginary cocktail and tell us what is up with your life.
August 24, 2009 62 Comments
Last Minute Blogger Bingo Minutiae
Updated:
The first round of Blogger Bingo is about to get underway tomorrow morning and so it seemed like a fine time to go through the rules one more time. Just to explain how the game is played because it’s really very simple.
- Every morning, I will pick a card from the pack that has one of the categories found on your game board written on it. I will leave the category of the day in that permanent post found at the top of my blog that has a link to the current LFCA and current BlogHer post and general status. If I can’t post for some reason, there will be a note there directing you to the person who is posting the clue for me that day (I’m not sure how long the game will last–it could technically last 24 days!).
- In addition to the category, I will also give you a date range for the post, such as “before August 15, 2009” or “after September 2008.”
- You will use the participant list (which is super easy to find because I replaced one of the header buttons with a “Blogger Bingo” button–look up at the top of the blog, under the title banner–with a link to the post that holds the list) to find a post that matches the category. For instance, if the category is “a post that made you gasp written after August 3, 2009”, you will click around until you find something personally gasp-worthy that was written after August 3, 2009 from any blog on the participant list. You will bookmark that post or hold the url somewhere because you will need to send it in if you get bingo.
- Leave a comment on the post that tells the person you read their post (in other words, something beyond “great post!”).
- Once you use a post from a person’s blog, you can’t use that blog again for another square. It spreads out the love.
- When you get five in a row, email me with Bingo! in the subject line. In the email, list the name of the category, the url of the post, and why you think it fits (you can get creative here).
- The first person to do so wins. Except that everyone is a winner in my heart.
Oh–one thing I never said, but is certainly something you could do. If you don’t have time that day to search for a blog entry, at least stop by and write down the category of the day somewhere and look up two days worth the next day (or save up five days worth and do it on the weekend). I will erase the category of the day after 24 hours so you’ll need to write it down somewhere if you want to look up the posts later. Does the person who finds the entry every day have a leg-up? Sure. But the point of the game isn’t to make yourself anxious. And the timestamp on your comment doesn’t need to be from the day the category was listed; the timestamps just need to be a bit spread out to show that you didn’t wait until you were close to bingo to go backwards and comment.
Anything I didn’t answer? Questions you still have? Check here too because I went through a bunch of what ifs towards the end of the post.
It’s your last chance to sign up–the list closes tonight at 11 p.m. (EST) and then the game begins…
Moved the questions up from the comment box to answer them:
1. What if for one of the catagories I find a post in the right date range and from the list, but on which I had already previously commented? Is that comment good enough [assuming it was not a “great post” type of comment]?
Yes, that should definitely suffice. Because even an old comment would mark that you were there and read the post in full.
2. What about international players – the date stamp is it going to be affected by our time zones.
I don’t think that will be a problem. The timestamps don’t have to be on a certain day. They just have to be spread out so that someone doesn’t run backwards and only leave comments if they think they’re close to bingo. And when I say a date, it’s the date on the post–which means that you go by the time/day of when the post was written even if it would have been the next day or the day before where you are living.
August 23, 2009 11 Comments
