On this 'Conflict' thing

My husband is great. He brought home this Marie Claire article (ripped from a gym mag) because he knew it would be right up my alley. I hadn't talked with him about the Badinter book which asserts that certain aspects of motherhood are oppressive and lower the status of women, but he knows how I feel about this stuff. I won't bother discussing too much of the overarching concepts, it's been done, and done well, already. One of the best discussions I've seen has been between Katie Allison Granju (of whom I'm not exactly a fan, but somewhat indifferent) and the notorious (to me) Hannah Rosin on Slate (it's a six-part thing, as of now). I'm just going to ramble a little about my personal thoughts and feelings on this thing.

I just have to say, I really, really don't care what other people do. I might used to have an axe to grind, but I am over that now. There have got to be little minor sparks of light that make people different and these things can just be more of those. What I do care about is when people sniff and snuff at the things I choose to do that are actually quite normal and suggest I am oppressed or brainwashed. I'm not. And I am certainly put off by the idea that as an "educated" woman, I have a responsibility to all of womankind to express my privilege and "liberation" in the manner prescribed by the leading feminist voices of the time, so as not to, you know, lower the status of women. Sorry, I'm more interested in the status of my daughter. Call me selfish.

I didn't even know about "attachment parenting" (AP) or that the things I would do quite naturally out of the box as a new mother were part of a philosophy. I did them mostly because they seemed like obvious choices (to me) and were easy (for me). Or, easier than the alternatives. (I recall a quick past post, Crunchy by Convenience...) Using formula and not being able to breastfeed just never even occurred to me. I don't remember my mom breastfeeding, though I know she did. I remember giving a baby I babysat bottles, but I guess I was kind of clueless about the formula versus breastmilk thing. I hate having to have a bunch of very specific supplies for things (I use wine bottle as a rolling pin and have minimal kitchen gadgets, for example, I like running because all you need is shoes, you get the idea) and I hate cleaning, so bottles, for me, would have been a nightmare. Easier to just whip out my breast as needed! It was no problem having to be with the baby all the time because I wanted to be with the baby all the time. I'd gone out partying for, like, at least 15 years before having a baby at 35, so I wasn't really itching for that. I was, you know, a grown up with a baby!

As far as co-sleeping, quite frankly, it was the best way I could actually get sleep while my kid was a baby and it rolled into an arrangement I'm quite comfortable with still to this day. I lay down with her and read my Kindle (or pass out) while I cuddle her and she falls asleep. Then after a while I break out and enjoy the rest of my night, if I'm not too tired. She can go to sleep on her own, of course, it comes with some argument when it must happen, because who wouldn't prefer to be cuddled to sleep? Oh right...my husband! Which is why not sleeping in bed with him when I don't feel like it doesn't matter. Sex and sleep are two very different things, which many co-sleeping critics just can't seem to get their heads around. And they must be very unimaginative. 

This is one of Badinter's gripes, that co-sleeping and such creates a rift between husband and wife. It doesn't have to, though. After skimming the article and homing in on Badinter's emphasis on the importance of not letting sex fall to the wayside after becoming a mother, I asked my husband if he thought breastfeeding and co-sleeping, or having a kid in general has affected our sex life. He said, "Well it's more vanilla..." I argued that the frequency was about the same (and better than most from statistics I read) and that I am not willing to pay a babysitter for us to go "swing" (haha). So we'll have to be like those 60-year-olds we saw on our honeymoon when we went to Cap D'Adge. But, I digress, quite frankly, it's not the childcare that saps my sex drive, its the vicissitudes of life and my own head. Nothing about the logistics of where people sleep.

And, more about husbands and AP. All I have seen from the culture, now that I am aware of it, has been really involved dads who babywear, et cetera, and are on-board with it all. My personal take is that early infancy is largely the domain of the mom, and for me there was little escaping that and I didn't want to. As my child started getting older, though, and certainly now, my husband plays a huge role, especially for someone who works full time outside of the home. He often spends whole Saturday afternoons with her while I read or do some other stuff I want to do and have "me" time.

As far as diapering, I did use disposable for about 9 months. I felt like I didn't want to be bothered with diapers til I had the mothering thing down. Then my baby got so deliciously fat from all the breastmilk she was drinking around the clock that the disposables didn't fit her chubby little legs right so I explored cloth and fell in love with the cute styles and that was it. It was no big deal to wash them either. Really, no big deal. 

I could go into the same boring details about making my own baby food. I mean, why shouldn't babies, when they're ready to eat, just eat mashed up versions of real food anyway? And how hard is it to mash up an avocado, a banana or a baked sweet potato? Uhm, not hard.

When it was time for my maternity leave to be over (16 weeks where I live, which I funded through acquired sick leave over the course of my 7 years with the organization), I decided she was too precious and I couldn't leave her. Thus began my lovely now nearly 5-year sabbatical from full-time office drudgery, including the hour commute, and my foray into independent consulting. I fear (fear is not the right word, but am not exactly chomping at the bit to...) going back to the grind one day, actually, as inevitable as it seems as my kid gets older and goes on her way through school.

So, I don't get the oppression. It's "oppressive" to have to work for a living, but most adults accept that.

My part-time hobby has been hate-reading (I've really got to stop, but...) and so I would actually love to read The Conflict, but I refuse to give this bitch any of my money, and it doesn't appear to be in the library system, yet. I've purchased other books of people I don't particularly care for, but I can't do it for this one. As Granju points out in her Slate posts, Badinter is a billionaire executive of a PR company representing some of the biggest formula interests out there. And while I am not as much a formula/big business hater as some, I do think they push the envelope when it comes to being the ones who truly pressure women, so it is more than a little disingenuous for Badinter to come out with these high-minded views about pressure on mothers today.

It seems to me the AP contingent is pretty limited and it's still looked on as "funny" (or quaint, or "isn't she a cute little hippie) to do a lot of the things we do, like extended breastfeeding especially and the co-sleeping. So I would hardly say there's this huge pressure. Also, most moms, whether they want to or not, do go back to work after six months probably at the longest. I'm the one that feels a little like the freakish weirdo here—not that I don't secretly like that a little bit!

On a broader scale policy level (because I guess I just do have to go there) I think that denying women's biology—we have babies, we lactate, most of us actually want to be with the babies for at least a good number of months probably beyond six when they're first born—and forcing them into the mold of maleness in the name of equality is not the answer. Setting up state-run creches, having moms strap machines to their breasts while they're working, or manufacturing faux milk so they can work (work, work, work—how some idolize work) seems all like trying to jam square pegs in round holes to me. I think a truly progressive society allows for different types of people to contribute and does best to be innovative in coming up with ways to enhance what people naturally want to do instead of patchworking or slapping band-aids on reality to make a woman match up perfectly with a man.

New perspectives on family support, no thanks to contemporary feminists

The recent discussion of The Conflict (French "philosopher" Elisabeth Badinter's screed blaming what she calls "natural" and "intensive" mothering for lowering women's status) has predictably turned into a moanfest among Americans on the NYT Motherlode, and other internet venues, that we just don't get the same support they do in France (and other European countries) and doesn't that suck.

In my last post I questioned how so many Americans are saying that they can't afford to stay home OR to put their children in day care. I mean, they afford it because they have to do one or the other, obviously, but is it really such a crunch? I was accused of living in a bubble and so on and so forth and I will admit here and now that maybe that is somewhat true. The people I know all can afford it—either staying home or using childcare. I suspect most of the people who read and post to the NYT can also afford it, which is what gets me so cranky. These are the people who have cable, smart phones, minivans, multiple children, get professional portraits taken of their multiple children, shop at Gymboree for their multiple children, have parties at non-home venues for their multiple children, go on nice vacations, eat premium foods—you get the picture. No slam against these people, but please don't tell me how hard it is to get along. But, maybe that's just my bubble.

Now, if you're talking about seriously poor ghetto or Appalachia types, that's another story. Of course. I guess the problem for me is—where one ends and the other begins. Is there a sharp line, is it just a matter of degree, and, I am sort of coming around to the idea that collective help for everybody might be a good idea. I just can't escape what I know about how everyone I know, and even people with less money than my peers and I, live. It seems like there's a lot of excess there and why can't we just help the people who really need help rather than sign up for some weird feminist/socialist utopia that seems to me to be more about bolstering over-educated women who didn't marry well and want to be assured of their fulfillment that they are not open-minded enough to find in the children that nobody is forcing them to have.

I think yappy feminists have ruined it for me.

Let me just say that I consider myself a feminist in the sense that I think women should have full sovereignty over their own bodies and lives. Articles like this, highlighting the egregious flaws of "personhood" measures, for example, make my blood begin to boil. I think women should be able to do and be whatever they want to be. BUT the voices that proclaim women who want to dedicate themselves to motherhood (or for whatever reason, NOT doing all the stuff feminists say they should want to do) make me seriously want to distance myself from feminism. Those who warn of husbands leaving, women losing themselves, those who say they'd be so bored at home with a small child (implying it's because they are just so intellectual they couldn't bear it), these are the types that ruin it for me.

But then I learn about people that actually are disadvantaged, that actually do need help and I can change my tune about not wanting to support others.

A couple nights ago we watched a doc called The Interruptors. The film tells the story of three "violence interrupters" who try to protect their Chicago communities from the violence they once employed. It examines a year in which Chicago drew national headlines for violence and murder that plagued the city. A key player in the film is Gary Slutkin, M.D., Executive Director of Ceasefire, an organization that uses a public health model to mitigate urban violence in Chicago. Dr. Slutkin, an epidemiologist, explains in the film that violence is like a disease. His group's strategy is to treats it like a disease and prevent its spread. He says "When one event doesn't occur, other events don't occur and the neighborhood remains safer. Treating violence like a disease is something that we began to do about 15 years ago when we began to see that violence had characteristics like other infectious diseases. That is to say, one event, in this case a shooting, leads to another shooting just the way a case of flu or case of measles leads to another case of flu or another case of measles. So therefore, of course, we need to interrupt the spread."

And it dawned on me that these people are the people who need the free quality childcare and got me thinking that problems with education and general development, beyond violence and criminality, can also be viewed as a "disease" and that the people are not necessarily bad people, they are just afflicted with this disease.

I don't want to sound greedy. I don't want it to sound like I don't want to be taxed for a program that might help people who don't really need it—like my peers and those a little "poorer" than us—if such a program would also help those really in need.

At the same time, I feel like my way of life and the way I grew up with—mom at home with small children, the freedom, the creativity, the opportunity to bolster individuality—is under attack to some extent. We are called "privileged" when all we've done is work, get an education and prioritize, things that seemingly anyone could do, but for some reasons they don't. We are derided as living in a bubble when what we are doing is focusing on making our lives work.

All I can say at this point is that I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to give my kid the kind of early childhood I want for her. The rest will have to simmer in the murky gurglings of my brain for a while, because I don't have a clear cut position.

Sick of it all, going to hang with my 'Friends'

I want to stop blogging. So stop, right?

Like one or two people read this, aside from the random times I might post a link in a comment to something else on the web.

I find that so much of what I read online is hate-reading. I know I am going to disagree or get riled about something and I read it and I do. Is this a valuable use of my time? Am I wasting precious moments of my life on foolish things?

When I first made the decision to stay home with my kid for a few years I told a friend I would have so much fun...on the side, you know...learn Portuguese, learn to play guitar...while caring for my child and working part-time, of course. She sneered, "Good luck with that!" Knowing, I guess, because her sister had kids that it might have been a bit of an ambitious hope. I also wanted to learn to code (that very generic phrase people use about getting more technical: maybe Javascript, Ajax, JQuery, Ruby, Python—but so far, it has not been something I've enjoyed after trying and I have to admit, I'm not feeling motivated toward that). Thing is, it would NOT have been all that ambitious if I didn't waste so much goddamn time reading and arguing about "parenting" (and related feminist, political, etc....) issues online!

There are just so many annoying things out there that stick in my craw and I feel compelled to respond to. But why? The people putting out that stuff surely don't care what I say. And there is a whole, huge, big nation of people in middle America...Kansas, Indiana, Minnesota...small towns in my home state of Illinois, even blue-collar background types like myself in the city of Chicago...who think all this political/feminist/parenting philosophy stuff is hogwash, bullshit, waste of time, nobody's business and they are just going along with their lives, working their low-paying retail jobs part time, or even staying home in their crappy fixer-upper houses with their 2.5 kids and having wonderfully happy lives. So, I need to stop getting stuck in the idea that everyone's a NYT-reading socialist feminist that I have to argue with.

The places I land on the web tell me different, of course. The latest annoyances being: feminists who actually think griping to Lego about their cute "Friends" line is important, worthwhile work; another article that devolves into highlighting the Lego Friends gripe as an example of modern feminism at work; and a discussion on the NYT Motherlode about the Badinter book on Conflict, bemoaning the "Depressing Lot of the Conflicted American Mother."

On the last point, a discussant caries on about how it's not an ideology that is causing the conflict for American mothers, but rather, economics. (In her post she also notes how Hanan Rosin's breastfeeding article had freed her from the notion that breastfeeding was very important, and so I can make the judgment that she's not very bright—beside the point, but worth noting.) She writes:

I suppose my parting thought about this would be that for most women who don’t have incredibly high paying jobs or wealthy spouses, these “choices,” about work and family aren’t actually choices. We weigh our particular circumstances and attempt to figure out the best course of action. The notion that scads of women are chucking fulfilling jobs to be handmaidens to idealized, natural motherhood just doesn’t ring true to me.

And my thought was that, what on earth are people spending all their money on that they can't afford either staying home, or child care, without thinking that the government should kick in to help them manage their personal affairs? Aside from any value judgment on what is better, both options seem reasonably affordable for normal middle-class working people who don't expect the world for nothing, right? Data shows that 30-40% of mothers with children under 6 do stay home, so it's not unheard of or impossible. I had neither an "incredibly high paying job" nor a "wealthy spouse" and I don't think our family is all that unique. Maybe we are? I don't know. On one hand, I am not completely closed to the idea that some government help might be, overall, in the long run, valuable to society and might help elevate everyone. But on the other hand, I don't see philosophically why these sorts of things should be the government's business and I would worry about abuse of benefits and huge waste, as well as the danger of giving the government a foothold into our personal lives...

In any case, I am so over all this. So, for my own well being I am going to take a break from the sphere of parenting "news" and instead of reading and commenting on stupid articles slamming Lego Friends blocks, I am going to play with my kid with her Lego Friends blocks...and maybe learn some Portuguese and guitar in my spare time, too! I may not have much longer in this at-home-mom gig and I don't want to waste my time!

Perfection ends at home

* colors are weird! see footnote!

I'm a bit of a perfectionist professionally. I've never missed a deadline. Once my computer died right in the middle of a client's newsletter cycle. I went out and bought a new one, installed all the needed software and got the job done on time—with my near two-year-old in tow the whole time. Somewhere on the internet there is a press release posted to a website, dated my child's birthday. The actual day my kid was born. I think I posted that early in labor, sometime mid-day. Not only am I on time for clients (and employers) but I'm on point. Everyone makes mistakes once in a while, of course, but a perfectionist genuinely feels bad about a mistake, fixes it promptly, apologizes and does better next time.

In my personal life, it's a whole other story!

The past couple of weekends I've been doing some home improvement projects and my lack of perfectionism in my own life for my own things really was thrown in my own face—by me. I paint as well as I can. I hate the process of taping off ceilings and trim, though, and while I told myself this time I'd do it, I did about 4 feet of taping, got impatient and decided—screw it, I have a good and steady hand and I can do it without tape. For the most part I did and it looks fine. That's me. Fine. The hallway by our bedrooms still isn't done and I don't think I'm going to make my self-imposed deadline of this Friday because I'm just over it, and I am totally OK with that. It will get done when it gets done.

Another weekend project was installing a backsplash in my kitchen. Overall, for a non-handy person, I think it looks pretty good and I am proud of it. Is it perfect? No! And I'm not going to waste my time detailing all the ways it's not perfect. No normal person who comes to the house would probably notice (OK, they might, no slam against them, but would they care? I sure don't think so!)

As long as we're talking about imperfection and missed goals, let's talk about my body! I've been scribbling out and rewriting weight loss goals on my calendar all year. I have been losing weight, and I am generally fine with my body, but ideally, I need to lose 10-15 pounds. I have small victories, in fits and starts, and I have no doubt that eventually I will reach my goal, but, if I was doing this weight loss and getting in shape work for a client, I'd have been fired by now!

And...this is so unlike me...this Sketchbook Project thing I signed up for? Due postmarked next week? I'm scrambling to get it done. I never scramble at the last minute on projects for others. But, that's just how it goes sometimes when you are self-employed, your own projects come only after your client projects—and all the work of holding the house together—are done. (I won't even go into detail on how far behind I am on my Code Academy lessons!)

Taking a break from all the home improvement projects, I went to hot yoga yesterday. Here, my imperfection smacked me upside the head like a 2x4! Sweating my ass off, struggling to hold poses I'm not nearly as deep into as I should be, feeling so tired, almost broken. But instead of breaking, I melt. I ooze into my imperfection and my thoughts go to my dear husband and child at home, playing together, somehow getting along with out me so I may have this time. And I think of how much they love me, as imperfect as I am, and it's so wonderful!

Clients and bosses don't love you. They may like you a lot, you may do a great job for them, like I do. I get so much satisfaction from a job well done and having people paying me for my work being very pleased with what I've done for them. But, oh, how much more satisfaction do I get from people who love me NOT for my perfection, but without even a thought of my imperfection! They love me because I am me and because I am theirs! They just appreciate that I do things like paint and try to keep up our house and make them food and cuddle them. I don't have to be a professional at any of it for them—though I am a damn good cook!

* A word about color: The color in these photos looks a little off and I don't have time to futz with the settings, but in person, I'm happy with it! A friend asked which shot best represented the color and it kind of depends where you stand and which lights are on. Neither pic looks quite right to me, but the rosier I think are closer. I would say the colors are fairly neutral bluish greys, but the darkest grey, when you're in the room picks up the purple-ish counters (which I don't want to keep forever anyway, but felt like I had to work with for the time being...) just wanted something very basic and neutral without being just plain white or cream.

Unexpected wisdom

So I mentioned in last week's post that I was reading Bloom (finding beauty in the unexpected) by Kelle Hampton and that it was helping me fall asleep (perhaps implying it was boring). I never read her blog, but I'd heard about the book and thought it would be up my alley in the sense that I like to read about how people overcome hardships. It's inspirational for me and I like to be reminded that I should be grateful for my life. See, she had a baby who was born with Down syndrome, Nella, and she was totally not ready for this. I thought the book would detail the hardships, the sorrow, the awful feelings, the difficulties.

It wasn't like that at all, though, it was mostly about joy and how she had so many friends that helped her through it, and so, yeah, it was a little boring, til somewhere along the line, about halfway through, she seemed to dig deeper into the challenging feelings she was having and it started to hit me. And I saw, too, that including so much good stuff is really necessary in her telling her story.

Sure, in the beginning, she admitted some pretty heavy feelings of disappointment that Nella was not the "perfect" baby she'd imagined, even saying she wanted to take her older, "normal" child and run away. I totally got this and didn't judge at all. I am pretty sure I would have felt the same—and worse. But the sadness in the beginning was quickly (and I mean quickly) trumped by the fact that she had a really, really strong support system of friends and family. Hampton is one of those women who is really into ceremony, pretty things, celebrations, making big, crafty, coordinated deals out of stuff—which is soooo not me and was mildly grating at first. But, in a way, it made her memoir all the more intense because of the contrast that provided when she didn't have the "perfect" baby. In the end, though, her flair and attention to beauty, and her inclusion of her baby Nella in her cutesy ways, I think was part of what helped her overcome the emotional challenges of the situation (that and her network of friends). Hampton just tried to approach life one day at a time and keep things are "normal" as possible—and Nella is absolutely adorable in the many pictures included in the book.

It wasn't the friends and the keeping things normal and the one day at a time that hit me most, though, it was her observations toward the end, after she faced thoughts of the future, realizing having an older child, or grown child with Down Syndrome would be very different from having a baby with it. She says:

The thing is, we don't really know what the future looks like. And that thought takes my breath away just as much as it calms me into a place where I am forced to enjoy this very moment.

How true are those words for anybody and everybody?

And what really got to me, and what is really lacking for me personally, is her revelation about the interconnectedness of people. She says:

I realized that day, for the first time, that finally Down syndrome meant something to me beyond my own girl. It was a part of my life, but I recognized it was a part of a lot of other people's lives too. And if it wasn't Down syndrome, it was something. I felt connected to everyone there is a way I hadn't in a long time, but I also felt guilty—ashamed that it took my own pain, my own connection to this new world to bring me here, to the larger picture...

...Since Nella was born I have contemplated my own selfishness and the need to feel comfortable in life to the point that I could write a thesis on it...challenged myself...to...open my comfort receptors to the vast degree of misfortune that exists in the world but ultimately thrusts us toward growth and understanding.

Just when you think someone is all matching jumpers, hot pink flower headbands and fluff, they go and drop serious knowledge like that on you, and you, too are so humbled. (At least I was.)

In researching for this post, I Googled "Kelle Hampton" to try to find other reactions and material on the web, and was a little surprised to find Google self-populate with terms like "Kelle Hampton hate" and "Kelle Hamtpon annoying." How can you actually hate on someone with a disabled child who is earnest and sweet and open, no matter what little personality clashes you may have with them? It seems like other people with disabled children feel they have license to hate because they're living it, too, and they resent Hampton's alleged veneer of "perfection." That's their prerogative, I guess, but it rubs me the wrong way in much the same way the Scary Mommy book in that it seems like so much bitterness and sour grapes to hate on someone who is "doing it," who is happy and having success, and totally rocking it. And make no mistake, Kelle Hampton set out to "rock it" with mothering Nella (and her older child) and she is. She worked hard putting herself out there and with fundraising for others before that baby was even a year old! She glows, her children glow and she is inspiring!

Bloom reminded me of the importance of people coming together, the importance of being open. I have a tendency to close myself in. To think I am so different from most people. To be judgmental. Even when I try to work on my spirituality for a couple of weeks, I then backslide into my old self. I shudder to think of what awful lessons and pain I might have to suffer through to internalize the lesson I obviously need to learn. I stop myself and am so grateful I have not, so far, had to suffer, and think I better take the lesson from books as I can and get more serious about an attitude change.


POSTSCRIPT:
I think if I had a child with Down syndrome, I would end up approaching it just the same way Hampton did in terms of trying to live life and "normally" as possible. Dressing the kid up cute. Doing as much as you could do NOT differently. I, too, would have trouble with support groups and I wonder if I would "succumb" as she did. I remember when I was pregnant I had what I felt was a "scare" about Downs syndrome. That she didn't test is huge, to me. I would always test, which I know says something kind of awful about me that I just don't know what else to say about. At the same time, I think that if I birthed a baby with a disability such as this, I would, too, fiercely rise to the occasion. Following is an old blog entry from that time.

From February 2007

So I’m feeling a little wacked out with what I guess are typical pregnant mom worries and just need to get it all out.

My stats: I’m 34 years old, 21 weeks pregnant with my fist child right now, will just have turned 35 when the baby is born. In my first tri, I had the nuchal fold screen for Downs, etc. done and got back very encouraging results showing a very low risk (like 1 in 6,000).

Then at the appropriate time, I got the quad screen. When my midwife called to tell me the results, she told me I was negative for NTDs and Trisomy 18, and that we didn’t need to worry about the Downs results, since I had already had the nuchal fold and those were so good. I accepted this at the time, and we discussed how the nuchal fold tests were much more reliable than the AFP/quad screen tests for Downs. But, what she did NOT tell me was that the results from the AFP were actually in for the Downs risk and they showed an increased risk of about 1 in 135 or something. I just happened to find this out yesterday when I came in for a checkup and actually looked through my chart myself.

Now, I understand that the AFPs are notorious for “false positives” and that the nuchal fold is better for detecting Downs, so I shouldn’t worry. And I understand that this is perhaps why the midwife who reported the results of my second screen reported them in the way she did…perhaps to avoid alarming me. I spoke to another midwife at the practice yesterday, and she concurred that I should not worry about the AFP results because the nuchal fold results were so good. She even said that once patients get the nuchal fold, they don’t even usually get screened again with a quad that includes Downs, but only a screen for NTDs.

But, I still am feeling a little weird about all this…I really don’t think getting an amnio is a good idea at this point, since by the time I get the results, it would be too late to do anything about them. So, I’m just trying to have a positive attitude and trust that all will be well…

I decided to go for an ultrasound as soon as possible, just to sort of assuage my fears by looking at the little organs and stuff, and since I heard that the 20-week ultrasound is standard practice in the traditional medicine. We’ll see how that goes. For now, we’re off to New York for a weekend getaway.

Hideous, kinky

I'm so over the male domination in sexuality thing.

I don't want to be dominated. I don't want to be spanked. I don't want to be tied up, pissed on, cummed on or passively fucked in the mouth. (I will give blowjobs, though...uhm to my husband, just to be clear, that's not an open invitation.)

Last night we watched A Dangerous Method, a historical drama wherein a patient of Carl Jung falls in love with him as they work through her issues, which include being turned on by humiliation and what I see as abuse. I just rolled my eyes and groaned. It was very timely in the wake of the much maligned Katie Roiphe essay in Newsweek linking BDSM to women's economic success, and its mention of the wildly popular book, Fifty Shades of Gray and HBO's new show Girls. Apparently, getting off on getting treated like shit is all the rage among the younger set. Or is it?

I can't really tell what sex-positive feminists (as they like to call themselves) think for sure except just that maybe everyone should do what they want to do, and if that includes getting spanked, then go for it? It does seem that they just like to dis Katie Roiphe because she copped to really digging her newborn baby (and stuff like that...)

I know old Dan Savage, who I like, and mostly find myself agreeing with, would say that as long as it's consensual and "safe," it's a go, and most other forward-thinking sex experts would agree.

My husband even agrees. When I say there's something wrong with you if you like pain, he says "But it's a controlled pain."

On one hand, I get it. I used to have fantasies about being dominated and humiliated, although not hit per se, but maybe spanked, sure. I remember thinking Secretary was hot, back in the day. When I was a teenager I had an Arab guy fetish for a while because of all the cultural stereotypes about how they boss around their women and are domineering (no matter that the Arab guys I had crushes on were totally Westernized and just hot). And I ended up marrying a Greek guy who actually did hit me and not for role-playing purposes (and the domination fantasies persisted even after we broke up).

But, all that stuff just seems so over to me now, though. And I remember when the news came out last year about the supposedly enlightening and groundbreaking live sex demonstration as part of a very liberated class at Chicago's Northwestern University, I was so disappointed to learn that it featured male penetration of a female, with a power-tool-like dildo. This is forward thinking? Sounds rather cliché to me. Same ol, same ol.

Does this mean I have not achieved the level of success and independence that would have me longing to play out the fantasy of being submissive? I don't think so. Even though I am sort of a housewife, who lives in a household wherein my husband's salary plays a huge role in supporting us, as I make half of what I used to when I worked full time outside of the home, I know that at any point I could go out and get a bigger job and somehow make it on my own, if I had to. And, more importantly, I work part-time in my field doing something I love, and isn't that what they say most moms want? So, while I am appreciative of my husband, I don't feel a huge, ultimate dependence on him. I feel pretty equal in ways that it matters.

With all I know about the horrible things that happen in the world like trafficking and abuse of women, with what I've read about the years and years of history in which women were systemically subjugated by men, I just can't now get turned on by the idea of someone being brutish to me, or doing the thing of "hurting" me, followed by sweet comfort, or humiliating me. I don't think we're out of the woods yet enough to play that way, and I'm not sold on the idea that it would ever be a good, healthy idea to play that way. Would I want my daughter, when she is of age, being treated this way? Maybe I just don't compartmentalize my life enough—sex here, work here, friends here, family here. It's whole for me, to a large degree. It's not that I'm not imaginative or capable of fantasy, either. Really, how imaginative is it for a woman to be dominated by a man? Like I said, it's been going on for millenia.

Right now, I want to be massaged. I want to be pampered. I want to be serviced, maybe even worshipped a little, like the goddess that I am.

Why I would have been turned on by abuse (feigned or not) in my younger years, I'm unsure of. It may be because I had a domineering father who hit me, but of course loved me, and that was my vision of what men were supposed to be? How did I grow out of that? Lots of living and reading, maybe. Maybe becoming a mother to a girl. What about men who like being dominated? Is growing out of it something all women should do, but just have not yet? I think most sex-positive types would say NO, it's not a pathology or something you need to grow out of or overcome, it's a choice. But, I'm not so sure...

My gift

I was supposed to get a massage today and have lunch with my husband in the city. It is his Christmas gift to me. I was so riled up this morning about how I was going to get down there (at least 30 minutes, but up to 45 or more depending on traffic and parking), get the massage, meet him for lunch, have lunch and get back in time for preschool pick up. It was really stressing me out. I rushed my daughter around to be sure we could drop off at school right when they opened. I felt bad about that. Then I knew I had to get gas. I was so nervous, I hit wrong keys on the pump and the thing froze so I had to go to a new pump. I only filled up halfway because I was in a such a hurry. I realized I forgot my gift certificate at home so I rushed back, got it, but left my sunglasses on my desk, and I am totally a sunglasses person! Then I took off—45 in a 25 through my neighborhood. I gunned the gas and passed some old man on the road. I was a little bit of a menace, actually. I was so nervous. So anxious. I knew I shouldn't be dashing around in a car like this. Something was sure to go wrong. I called the massage place and asked if I could cancel. Since it was a gift certificate they really couldn't impose their penalty on me, and I explained to them I just didn't think I could make it in time and I'd reschedule for a Saturday. They seemed cool with it. Then I called my husband and told him we were off for today. He protested mildly, but had no choice but to accept my decision.

I'd told him before thanks for the gift idea but it's really too much to pack in during preschool time with the driving and all. I'd be so freaked out and mortified if I was late for pickup. Plus, an hour massage doesn't just take an hour. You have to get there 10-15 minutes early. You have to ease out of it and not dash right off. And, you're really not supposed to down beer and pizza (as was his plan) right after a massage either. He just didn't get it and kept pushing.

He often pushes me into things that I'm not thrilled about. Too tight schedules. Too many errands. An outing I don't really want to do when I'd rather just spend time at home either relaxing to doing some much needed work that needs to be done (and there is always something.) I'm glad he's there to balance me, so that I do go out and do things and enjoy life, maybe stretch beyond my comfort zone sometimes...but I'm glad I put my foot down and said no this time. This massage, this lunch, these things are supposed to be my gifts. They are things I should be able to have on my terms, not rushed, not adding to my stress level.

So I turned around before I got on the highway and headed home. I got an iced Americano from Starbucks and set about getting my living room back in order after it had been torn apart for the last three days for painting (with items spilling over into our office). Things like this make me nuts, too. The disarray. Like an itch that needs scratching and won't be quelled. I put the furniture back. Hung pictures back up. Much better. Order. I listened to samba, sipped my drink. At times, I just sat on the sofa taking breaks and listening to the music, feeling the cool breezes from outside waft through the house. Now this was actually relaxing.