Notes on a Scandalous Life

While pursuing the news at work (Since my boss blocked Facebook, I have become the most crazed "news" junkie I know. Trump vs. Obama? Pictures of tornado damage in Missouri? Celebrity gossip? Oh, yeah. I knew about all of that before you did.), I came across this article, which cites a study saying that the use of medications during pregnancy is up - 50% of pregnant women used at least one prescription or over-the-counter drug during their first trimester, compared to 30%, 30 years ago.

I was initially a little apprehensive to even click on the link, because, well, uh, it was on Fox News. The fact that I actually visited the website of and read something put out by the same network that airs The O'Reilly Factor should be heralded as a testament to my open-minded, bipartisan nature. For real. But, anyway.

The article didn't exactly lament the rise of women's use of medications during pregnancy; it simply cited the need for more complete information about which drugs are safe to use during pregnancy, and which are not. And the researchers also said that women should not be afraid to take medication for chronic conditions during pregnancy, even if those medications haven't been "proven" safe. I use the word "proven" rather loosely, because my doctor gave me a list of only around five over-the-counter drugs that I could use during my pregnancy - the only ones, apparently, that I should use without feeling soul-crippling guilt.

To my knowledge, medications for pregnant women are divided up into three categories: the ones that are known to be safe, like Tylenol (but, if you're a really good mom, you won't use any of those, either - why take chances on something that's proven harmless?!), ones that are known to cause birth defects, like Acutane, and all the rest. No sign that these cause birth defects, but, you know, just in case, you shouldn't take them unless you have one of these "chronic conditions".

What, exactly, entails a chronic condition? Well, that's debatable. And not by you, but by your doctor. According to everything I've read about pregnancy, your doctor should be the ultimate authority during your time as a human incubator. No matter that doctors are human, and they all have different opinions. Some doctors, for instance, will tell you that a glass of wine is okay, and some doctors (like mine) will tell you that alcohol is not permissible in any amount, at any time. Who has the final say, here? It's not you, not even if you read every study there is, and concluded that a glass of wine will not harm your baby. It's your doctor, who read all the same studies that you did, and decided that it's better to tell all her patients not to drink, just to make sure she doesn't send a message to patients that might overdo it that drinking is OK.

Before you got pregnant, medicine was about making sure that you were healthy and comfortable. Sure, that back injury would heal if you rested, anyway, but a muscle relaxer and pain killer definitely made the resting easier. But, now that you're pregnant, probably one of the most uncomfortable and painful times in a woman's life, how you feel suddenly no longer matters. Crippling nausea and vomiting? Eat some crackers. Agonizing labor pains? Well, you should really go for natural child birth, but, if you're a selfish, pain-intolerant degenerate, we'll give you an epidural. It'll work... maybe. And, what if you do have a chronic condition? It'll probably get better while you're pregnant, as my doctor told me about my bursitis (it hasn't), so just be patient and suffer in silence. Take a Tylenol if you must.

And, let's face it, one of the main reasons that pharmaceutical companies don't conduct more surveys of women who used certain drugs during pregnancy is because, even if they were deemed them safe, most doctors still wouldn't prescribe them, and most pregnant women still wouldn't take them, because of the social stigma attached to pregnancy. You see, the moment you get knocked up, you, as a person, disappear. Your pain, your sickness, your mental health, are no longer important - you are gestating! Nothing else matters!

Unfortunately, the fact is that women do not spontaneously morph into angels when we become pregnant. We still have problems, physical and psychological ones, and, if crackers and ginger tea couldn't fix them before we got pregnant, they probably can't now. And, while the health of our children unquestionably comes first, our health still matters - and, actually, it makes a big difference in the health of our unborn children, as well. Hopefully, someday, the medical community, and the community at large, will realize this. Until then, we will continue to be invisible.

Since letting the fetus out of the bag and telling the world that I'm pregnant, I've had a few people approach me and say "I'm really surprised that you're keeping the baby. I thought you were pro-choice!" It's a legitimate question - I am very vocal in my support of women's reproductive rights, and I absolutely think that having a child is a big step that far too many young parents aren't ready to take. Not to say that I'm necessarily ready (Is anyone really ever ready for that kind of responsibility? It's pretty heavy, man.), and I definitely considered my options when I first found out that I was pregnant. But, since I've decided to be a parent, let's cut the whining, and just buy me some baby stuff, k?

While we're here, let me answer some more questions, just so everyone's minds can be at-ease.

Q: Are you going to be a stay-at-home-mommy SQUEEEEALLL?!?!
A: I would rather chew my right arm off. While I intend to care for my own child while I'm not at work or school (I still work full-time, and am signed up for the GRE in July, so I'm slated to go to grad school in the fall.), I don't intend to abandon everything I've worked hard for in order to narrow my life's work to an attempt to control my child's future by spending every possible second with it. I can pay somebody else to do that, because I have a job.

Q: Are you getting married?
A: I think people tend to misinterpret my lack of desire to get married as a lack of desire to commit myself to my partner. This isn't it, at all - I just don't feel the need to obtain a piece of paper in order to legitimize our relationship for everybody else. Plus, I'm not about to try to squeeze into a wedding dress right now.

Q: When are you going to trade in your Camaro for a 4-door mommy-mobile?
A: When I decide to, if I decide to, and not a second sooner. I know lots of people who haul their kids around in a two-door car, and, although this probably has more to do with lack of access to a four-door car than refusal to give up driving a fast car, they seem like they're still surviving.

Q: Are you having a natural birth? The pain is SOOO much fun!
A: Hell, no.

Q: Why even bother having a baby if you aren't going to bring it into an uber-sterile environment controlled only by you?
A: Hillary Clinton said it takes a village, and I'm a liberal, remember?

The first time I was tsk-tsked for sticking up for another woman was when I was living in Fayetteville, North Carolina, married to a soldier. We went to a bar with some of my ex-husband's friends, one of whom was a notorious womanizer (or, so he frequently informed us - as Ferrol Sams says, "Religion is like sex - them that talks about it most is practicing it least.") who had flown in a girl from his hometown to spend the weekend with him. My ex told me that this was a common practice for his friend, who considered it a great way to get a full weekend of sex for the price of a plane ticket, and then send the sperm vessel back home and out of his way.

Every time I make the mistake of leaving my house while intoxicated, I seem to come home with an issue of Cosmo. I hate Cosmo, really. Its only redeeming quality is the Chelsea Handler feature, and one page does not an entire magazine save.

This month, as usual, even Chelsea Handler advising me to make new friends, because you never know what might be prescribed to them did not keep me from getting really irritated with pretty much everything else in the magazine. Maybe I buy Cosmo because I like to be angry, because it's not like I really ever expect to read anything in there but the same old sexist, insecure, hetero-man-pleasing trope. But, at least they could offer some novel sex tips. And the cover always sounds so promising...

For example, this month's was "75 Sex Moves Men Crave!" I already knew that what's going on in the minds of the men that most Cosmo-reading women are aiming to please isn't really worth knowing, but, what the hell, I read it anyway. This one was a boring, tasteless smattering of testimonials from guys, who were whining about things their ex-girlfriends never did in bed. Nothing like anecdotal evidence from some douchebags to help me make decisions about my love life!

Because these guys were talking about their exes, they were free to let it all out without fear of reprecussion, and, judging by the kinds of things most of them were after (swallowing! buttsex! sex during my favorite time of day or night - who cares if you want to! crazy positions and tactics that require no work whatsoever from me!), it was pretty obvious who had probably done the breaking up. Although, supposedly, all of these guys never admitted these "secret" desires to their exes, I'm willing to bet that at least one of them found themselves single and without any sex at ALL after saying "Our sex is cool and all, but, I gotta admit, I'll never be totally satisfied until you start interrupting your sleep schedule more often to wake me up in the middle of the night with surprise sex. Don't worry, I'll be laying here, motionless, while you do all the work and I have all the orgasms."

I think that, from now on, I'll just pick up Maxim or Playboy. At least they don't pretend to have my best interests in mind.

This afternoon, I watched a six-months-pregnant woman smoke three cigarettes in two hours.

I recently had the opportunity to write for Fictionista Workshop, an online community for female writers, which is pretty badass. My piece was about feminism and chick lit, which I didn't think was an overly-controversial topic. I thought I had examined the issue from every angle and reached a pretty moderate conclusion: while chick lit doesn't represent a very vast swath of the female experience, it's not exactly repressive. And yet, a commenter still managed to log in and declare that my essay was a white, middle-class piece of trash. WELL.