Some People Shouldn't be Allowed to Have Children...

The other day while I was lolling idly on my sofa reading the supplement magazine that comes with my weekend paper, I came across something that genuinely frightened and appalled me. Now I am, if I'm honest, the sort of person that often tuts at articles in the newspaper - it is a rare day indeed that I find myself short of things to tut at - but it is not often I find an article that makes me balk in quite the way this one did.

The article - written by Jenny Kleeman - was about an American woman named Barbara Harris who runs a charity in the US called Project Prevention. Now Barbara Harris is of the belief that some people shouldn't be allowed to have children and has therefore made it her lifes mission to try to prevent them from doing so. So convinced is she of the rightness of her mission and the efficacy of her methods that she is now intent on exporting Project Prevention to the U.K. In fact she has recently spent time here, trawling our most deprived areas, dropping leaflets, talking to local people and making the most of various media opportunities with a view to spreading the word, managing to bag herself a wealthy British donor in the process.

What Harris does essentially is buy peoples fertility. She pays people to get sterilised. Almost all of the people whom she offers money to in return for their ability to have children are women. Women with drug and alcohol problems. Her website claims that her goal is to "reduce the number of substance exposed births to zero." Harris herself has been directly quoted as saying that she and her charity are "preventing child abuse."

It's an easy throw away comment to make isn't it? 'Some people shouldn't be allowed to have children.' I've heard it said many a time. I've seen it written in the comments sections of other peoples blogs in response to some awful story or another. Hell, I've probably even said it myself without really thinking. But now here we have a woman who has taken that common knee-jerk reaction and is doing her best to put it into practice (or at least to put her own ideas about what it might mean into practice) and the horrifying implications of what the impact might be on real peoples real lives begin to become clear.

Personally I choose to avoid the obvious comparisons with the Nazi eugenics programme that have been made by other critics of Project Prevention. I find them a little bit crass to be honest and I worry that others may find them offensive. I also think that Harris' complete and utter lack of even basic ethics are plain for any thinking person to see and so I will not focus long on those either. Instead what I would like to look at are her beliefs and aims themselves.

Harris believes that if you are an addict then you have no right to become a parent. There seems to be no space in her world view for ideas of redemption and recovery. Becoming a mother is an extremely meaningful occurrence in a womans life and can be the catalyst for all sorts of positive changes in her habits and behaviour. This can be true for any woman (I'm sure we can all think of changes that we might have made in our lifestyles for the sake of our children) but comes all the more sharply into focus when you consider that former addicts will often cite their children as being the main motivating factor in their decision to kick their habits.

Harris believes that she is preventing child abuse, but the deliberate infliction of harm upon children cuts across class and social barriers. Why then is she only concentrating her efforts on the most deprived and run-down areas of Britain and the U.S? Homing in on some of the poorest, most vulnerable and disadvantaged members of our society and coercing them into becoming sterile does nothing to reduce the appalling rates of physical and sexual abuse of our societies children. If a woman gives birth to a baby who is suffering from neo-natal abstinence syndrome, (or who in plain English is going through the symptoms of withdrawal) the harm inflicted on that child is not the result of deliberate violence or malice on the part of the mother, but rather her inability to manage her addiction during pregnancy. It is a terrible thing by anybodies standards, but not the same as deliberate child abuse.

Harris believes that she has the right to decide who is worthy of the gift of parenthood and who is not. She has amassed serious funding and is garnering a degree of credibility amongst some professionals involved in child protection, aswell as a lot of serious opposition. Where will the line be drawn? How about women who are addicted to anti-depressant or anti-anxiety drugs that are legally prescribed by their doctors? How about women who smoke? Or who live below the poverty line and so are unable to provide their children with everything they need? How about women who have mental health problems, or a significant chance of passing on a debilitating and hereditary disease or disability? What about women who have a history of being abused themselves as lots of addicts do? Where will it end?

For those of you who think that Harris may have a point and that she is being unfairly lambasted by a gutless media (and a rather mediocre blogger) I would ask you to consider her next plan for Project Prevention. She intends to go to Haiti and pay women food stamps for their fertility. I quote: "Women in Haiti are having children they can't even feed, so why are they getting pregnant?" She thinks African women who are HIV positive shouldn't be allowed to have children either.

Like I said.... where will it end?

CBeebies is for Girls. Salami is for Boys.

We are going through a funny phase in our house at the moment, or at least the youngest is. She has become inexplicably convinced that everything in her world can be categorised and sorted into two distinct camps - the boy camp and the girl camp. Everything is either for boys or for girls and woe betide anyone who is caught doing or touching anything that she considers to be outside the boundaries of their gender based confines. Extracts from recent conversations include:

"CBeebies is for girls. It's not for boys. Not for boys with short hair anyway" (WTF?)

(Pointing at a strange man in the street who is daring to wear white trainers with a small dark pink motif) "Look mummy, that man is wearing giiiirrrls trainers!"

(Looking suspiciously at some new foodstuff) "That looks bisgusting. I think that must be for boys" (I am ashamed to say that that one made me laugh. A lot.)

The thing is, it's all getting a bit random. It started off predictably enough with the obvious gender stereotypes being applied to colours and toys and the like, but these days anything - food, inanimate objects, words even - can be assigned masculine or feminine status by my three year old daughter. She is the worlds self-appointed leading authority on what is supposedly for boys and what is for giiiirrls.

Where is it all coming from? Before I had children I was convinced that gender was, for the most part, socially constructed. As a mother I am now less convinced by that argument, but not much less. I still think that boys and girls simply learn very early on what is expected of them in terms of demeanour and behaviour and that no matter how much we as parents try to guard against gender stereotyping, our children are still receiving messages about what it means to be either masculine or feminine from many different sources. It is a very human trait to seek approval by behaving in ways that you know are expected of you. Some of the earliest lessons we learn are in how to tow the line. But still... CBeebies is just for girls???

So I have started gently challenging my daughter when she makes these sweeping declarations. I ask her why she thinks girls shouldn't like the blue Power Ranger and why salami is only for boys, but her reaction is simply to look at me as if to say, 'Good lord I really have got my work cut out with you haven't I...'

Do you believe that gender differences are to a more or lesser extent innate? Do you go out of your way to avoid gender stereotyping at home? Is there a limit to how much we as parents can do? And how the hell has my daughter got it into her head that salami is boy food?!

Pornification

First things first: If there are kids of reading age around, you might want to read this post later. It contains some parts that are not appropriate for children.


I wanted to write a post about the pornification of our popular culture.

But it's not an easy post to write. I have thought about what I want to say and how difficult it is to say it without appearing puritanical or judgemental, and so with that in mind I'm going to begin with a disclaimer: I love good sex as much as the next person. I think that what truly consenting adults choose to do with each other in private is entirely up to them. I am very much pro the sexual empowerment of women and I do not for one minute buy into the notions of shame that surround female sexuality and impede its liberation. Clear? Good. Then I shall begin my post proper...

Years ago I read a book called The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf. The essence of its argument was that the more liberated women became in their day to day lives, the greater the pressure became on them to live up to an unachievable beauty ideal. Wolf argued that ever more unrealistic beauty standards caused women to become ever more insecure about themselves thus keeping them firmly in their (inferior) place. How can we move confidently towards true equality, she argued, if we are collapsing under the weight of our own insecurities?

I am really interested in Wolfs idea that as we achieve more freedom in some areas of our lives, we become yet more oppressed in others, and that this serves to redress the balance and maintain the status quo. I believe that there is clear evidence for this in the increasing sexualisation of women and girls and the insidious pornification of our culture.

My how things have changed. When I was a girl growing up in the eighties, we had the odd topless model lurking about on page 3 of the newspaper and people tutting disapprovingly over Madonna singing Like a Virgin on Top of the Pops (god I thought she was amazing.) Now soft-core pornography is everywhere - it's completely mainstream - and totally in your face. I went to the Co-op today to buy some milk. On the newspaper stand just at childs eye level was a picture of a woman on the front cover of a tabloid. She was naked apart from a thong, and posed on all fours. The photograph was taken from behind with her vulva clearly outlined through the thin fabric of the strip of material that covered it. She was contorting uncomfortably, her head twisted over her shoulder in order to pout at the camera. I drove home with the radio on and a song by Taio Cruz came on. In it a female singer called Kesha sang explicitly about taking 'dirty' pictures of herself and sending them to him. It was half past two in the afternoon. My three year old daughter was with me. When did society suddenly deem these things to be appropriate for children?

I'm not a prude. I just think that the encroachment of pornography into our everyday lives sends out messages to young women and girls (and to young men and boys too) that are incredibly damaging. Images and portrayals of women objectified and offered up for mindless consumption, abuse and distort everyones sexuality. We can try to teach our daughters that they have a right to be treated with respect, that they can enter into sexual relationships on their own terms, that they can say no to things which make them feel uncomfortable or turn them off, and that they have the right to claim their own pleasure; but how successful can we be in instilling those values, that self worth, when Every. Single. Day. they are bombarded with music videos and adverts and song lyrics and magazine covers that send out a clear message that they are not worthy of respect - that they are little more than decorative sex toys to be gawped at and played with and used - and that if they want to be considered desirable they'd better just shut up and play along.

Although designed for their pleasure and the reinforcement of their superior status I think that ultimately the ubiquitous peddling of female bodies for titillation and entertainment does men and boys a huge disservice too. As avid consumers of internet pornography and so called 'lads mags' such as Zoo and Nuts, young men just starting out on their own sexual journeys are coming to the table with completely warped expectations. The advice columns of these magazines are full of young men horrified to discover that their girlfriends actually have pubic hair for example. How do they go about insisting that their girlfriend remove it they ask, after all aren't they entitled to a hairless partner? I should imagine that it also comes as a shock for some to discover that a lot of women don't actually want anal sex or to have their faces ejaculated over - that what they are looking for is a real connection and real intimacy and an orgasm or two for themselves thank you very much. Our cultures increasing pornification degrades and devalues sex for both genders. Sex that is devoid of intimacy or love ultimately becomes very unsatisfying for everyone.

Walk down any British high street on a Saturday afternoon and you will see young women everywhere sporting a certain look. It's one we all recognise: Long harshly dyed pale blond hair, heavily fake tanned limbs, pushed up breasts and make-up applied to the lips in such a way as to make them appear swollen and enlarged. Whether they are aware of it or not (and I suspect the majority are not) it is a porn aesthetic that has become steadily mainstream due to so much exposure. In much the same way that bikini waxes designed to remove all or most of the pubic hair became widespread as a result of pornography (actresses in the adult industry remove all pubic hair so as not to impede the view of penetration) so has mimicking the look of a soft porn glamour model now become an everyday fashion choice. I do not blame anyone for attempting to conform to what society makes clear is expected of them but it makes me so sad to see young women obviously spending vast amounts of their money, energy, and time on an effort to make themselves more closely resemble a real life blow-up barbie doll. It just seems such a waste of their resources.

What makes me really angry though is when the growing sexualisation of women and girls is presented as being somehow empowering. Who needs equal pay or anything to be done about the rape conviction rate when we have 'girl power' eh? We live in a post-feminist society apparently. Our bodies are nothing to be ashamed of so why not flaunt them in a Girls Gone Wild video? Pole dancing is fun and a celebration of the female form. "Girls rule, boys drool" cry my eldest sons female classmates as they wiggle around suggestively at the school disco copying the dance moves they have seen performed by supposedly empowered women in endless music videos. Twenty first century women are sexy and unashamed, liberated and in control.

It is a seductive argument. We all enjoy feeling attractive and confident, and being the focus of male attention and desire certainly can give one a superficial sense of personal power. But it is a trick. In the end it is just the same old bullshit wrapped up in different packaging. There is nothing for women to celebrate in the pornification of our culture because ultimately all it does is reinforce the notion that a womans intrinsic worth lies in her ability to attract and please men. Real empowerment and self-esteem come from valuing our skills and achievements. From believing ourselves to be good and capable people who have a positive impact on the lives of others. There is no strength to be found in the commodification of our bodies.

Our cultures pornification is damaging to the self-esteem of women and girls. It is a major step backwards in terms of our journey towards equality. And it doesn't lead to better sex for anybody.

True Blood.

Those of you that follow me on Twitter will probably already know that I am a huge fan of the American television series True Blood. Written by Alan Ball (who also wrote the amazing Oscar winning film, American Beauty) True Blood is set in the small, conservative Southern town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. Vampires are living amongst human society, surviving on synthetic blood and attempting to integrate and achieve equal rights despite the huge prejudice against them. The story line revolves around the relationship between the two main characters: Sookie Stackhouse - a human waitress with a powerful ability to read minds, and Bill Compton - a five hundred year old vampire.

It is a dark fantasy, richly imagined and blackly comic, sexy and bloody and over the top, and in my opinion one of the very few things actually worth watching on television. Not only is it grippingly entertaining, but it is also far more sophisticated than it may at first appear. The opening credit sequence is nothing short of stunning and could actually work as a short film on its own. Created by Digital Kitchen it uses stereotyped imagery of the rural Deep South, juxtaposing themes of sex, religion, and violence to set the scene and create a deep sense of unease. We see a rickety Lucky Liquor store on a dirt road segueing into glowing crosses that could almost be burning. A white preacher heals a black woman as the rest of the congregation sway and clap. A bar room brawl made murky under red lighting occurs in slow motion. The snippets of film and jerking, sometimes flashing images all culminate in a river baptism, a woman flailing and splashing in the dark as two men dunk her in.

What struck me the most about season one in particular were the observations that it appeared to me to make about female sexuality - in particular the way in which societal judgements and norms are set in place to rigidly control it. It is made clear from the beginning that Sookie Stackhouse is a good, traditional Southern young woman - in fact it is made explicitly clear almost from the start that she is still a virgin. In Bon Temps women who associate with vampires are generally viewed with disaproval and contempt. They are labelled 'fangbangers', and so when a woman who was known to sometimes frequent the vampire bar Fangtasia is discovered dead in her apartment, and a further woman (one of Sookies fellow waitresses) is also found murdered in her home with vampire bite marks on her body, the whisperings around the town are that they had somehow asked for it - that they had 'had it coming.' Of course then the irony is that whiter than white Sookie Stackhouse falls in love with a vampire herself - bestowing unto him her precious virginity - and so sullying her reputation. What is interesting is that the whole town appear to take it upon themselves to be horrified, as if her virtue somehow belongs to all of them and it is up to them as a community to safe-guard it. Meanwhile her brother Jason (who was a sexual partner to both the dead women) behaves like a child in a sweet shop - having sex with every willing woman he can find - and everyone simply smirks and shakes their heads. Boys will be boys after all. Of course it is not long before the body count rises and the murderer is on the hunt for Sookie. The good girl gone bad must pay the ultimate price it would seem.

One of the reasons I like True Blood so much is that it pokes fun at this sexual double standard. It exposes as ridiculous the notion that women can be judged good or bad, deserving or undeserving of violence, based purely on how they choose to conduct their sexual lives. With a cast full of telepaths, shape-shifters, vampires and rednecks True Blood manages to say an awful lot about the nature of inequality and prejudice whilst at the same time spinning a yarn so riveting, I defy anyone not to become hooked.

Roll on season three. I can't wait.

Domestic Abuse and the System.

Those of you that have been reading my blog for a while now will probably know that I work for Womens Aid. Mostly just once a week as a volunteer, but sometimes as a part time paid worker aswell, usually to cover someones sabbatical or sick leave. It's not something you'll often find me blogging about - even anonymously - as the work I do is highly confidential, but today sheer frustration has spurred me into writing a general post about domestic abuse, its effects, and specifically how both of these things tie in with the reform of the benefits system.

Women come into refuge because they need a safe place to stay. They come from all different walks of life, often with very few belongings, and stay for varying lengths of time. Some women stay untill they are suitably rehoused, and some women choose after a short (or long) period to go back to their homes and partners. That is their choice and they receive no judgement from us. We simply let them know that our doors are always open if they ever need to come back. It actually takes a woman seven attempts on average to leave an abusive relationship before finally making the break for good, which is hardly surprising when you consider that she must often leave behind friends, family, her home, her possessions and pets, in order to move somewhere where she will not be found and harassed by her ex-partner. Many women do continue to endure harassment and abuse even after they have left their relationship. Two women every week are murdered in Britain by their partners or ex-partners, and the first three months after she has left (aswell as during pregnancy when she is three times more likely to be assaulted) are widely recognised as being the most dangerous and vulnerable time for a woman.

It is a popular misconception that domestic abuse simply means physical violence. It is in fact an umbrella term for many different sorts of behaviours that abusive people will sometimes use to control and bully their partners, including:

Financial abuse: eg Controlling all the money and denying the partner access to funds. Racking up debts in the partners name. Making the partner solely responsible financially while spending irresponsibly themselves.

Isolation: eg Stopping or reducing contact with family and friends. Deliberately moving the partner somewhere where they don't know anybody. Preventing them from having a job or attending college. Stopping or making it difficult for the partner to go out.

Emotional and psychological abuse: eg Constantly putting the partner down. Calling them names. Making them feel stupid and incompetent. Monitoring phone calls and checking up on them. Threatening suicide if the partner leaves. Telling them that nobody else would ever want them.

Women do not necessarily have to be experiencing physical violence to be suffering from domestic abuse. Many perpetrators are able to achieve the domination and control that they desire over their partners by using some or all of the tactics listed above, although it is by no means an exhaustive list. Of course these tactics can also sometimes be a precursor to physical violence, especially if the perpetrator begins to feel that they are no longer having the desired effect on their own.

The effects of domestic abuse can be devastating. The effects of emotional abuse can be particularly pernicious. Loss of self-worth and confidence in ones abilities, destroyed self-esteem and a real difficulty in making ones own decisions being just the tip of the ice-berg. Women who have also been physically and/or sexually abused by their partners can often be left deeply traumatised. Post traumatic stress disorder as a result of having lived in an almost constant state of fear over a period of time - often years - is common, as are panic attacks, flashbacks, extreme anxiety and depression, and addiction to prescription drugs and alcohol (women often turning to these substances in a desperate attempt to somehow cope with what is going on at home.)

As a result of the effects of domestic abuse some women are already on sickness benefit when they first come into refuge, or sometimes (I am not - let me be clear - suggesting that this is always the case) they need to apply for it when they arrive. It's not actually called sickness or incapacity benefit anymore - it's called Employment Support Allowance or ESA, but is still much the same thing in terms of being a benefit that is paid to anyone who is considered to be unfit for work due to ill-health. There has been a huge government led drive recently to lower the numbers of people receiving ESA, with doctors being discouraged from giving their patients sick-notes and instead being told to write reports about what their patients can rather than can't do. Now please don't get me wrong; I am all for empowering people to improve their lives by getting back into the workforce if they are able, and I'd be the first to agree that long term unemployment can sometimes have its own negative effects on mental health. But the problem with this new approach is that it does not discriminate. Vulnerable people who are perfectly entitled to receive ESA are having their benefits suddenly stopped or their claims turned down, left right and centre. The only option for them is to appeal the decision - a lengthy process that involves filling in endless complicated paperwork, and submitting to an examination and interview conducted by a doctor who is specifically employed by the department for work and pensions. The irony of course is that it is all so stressful, it often has the effect of setting people who suffer with anxiety or mental health issues further back, making it even more unlikely that they will be able to return to work in the near future.

In recent months I have seen women whose appeals have also been turned down despite them having produced letters of support from their G.P's confirming that they are at present entirely unfit for work, and despite them having produced letters of support from us and even sometimes social services and police liaison officers, explaining what they have gone through and that they are now living in a refuge and are technically homeless. Despite all this they have still been forced to go over it all again with a strange and sometimes hostile doctor who has then gone on to pronounce them fit for work.

It is a scandal. One which makes me furious, and which can only get worse under a conservative government. All we can do is watch and wait.


If you would like any information or support regarding domestic abuse, please click on the links below:

http://womensaid.org.uk
http://refuge.org.uk
http://www.southallblacksisters.org.uk
http://www.enddomesticabuse.org

I have referred only to male perpetrators and female survivors in this piece because domestic abuse is recognised as a gender specific crime in which the overwhelming majority of perpetrators are male and the overwhelming majority of survivors, female. However women do sometimes abuse - both in the context of heterosexual relationships and in the context of same-sex relationships, and I think that it is important that that be acknowledged.

On Being a Single Mother Today

It struck me the other day that despite the title of my blog, I don't really write very much about being a single parent at all. This is partly because my blog has morphed slightly into something other than what I originally thought it would be, and partly because again - in spite of the title - being a single mother specifically isn't actually a huge part of my identity.

Yesterday however I was commenting on a post over at Fertile Feminism about how mothering is not generally considered to be real work, and it inspired me to finally write a post about my experience of being a single mother in todays political climate, and how I feel it is different to that of being a married or partnered mother.

What I find is that there tend to be two polarised stereotypes of the single mother. The first - and by far the most popular - is that of a feckless young woman who deliberately "gets herself pregnant" in order to ensure that she is prioritized for a council house, and who then brings her children up to be ASBO ridden hooligans - feeding them entirely on chicken nuggets and coca cola - all courtesy of an over-stretched tax payer. The second is that we are noble martyrs in the face of bleak adversity and cruel stigma and that we are - and I think I might possibly be quoting the actress Emma Thompson here - "The brave heroines of our society."

I can't say that either one of those stereotypes sits particularly comfortably with me (although if I really had to pick one I know which one I'd plump for - thanks Emma.) Of course I can only ever speak from my own personal experience, but I don't actually find being a single mother hugely different to being a partnered one in practical terms. It's the social aspect that brings the changes, I have found.

I became a single mother through choice really. It wasn't that I particularly relished the prospect of bringing up three children on my own, but rather that the alternative - which was to stay in a relationship that had become unbearable - was much much worse. I have to say that I have been more than pleasantly surprised in a lot of ways. I really don't find the practical side of mothering any harder now than I did when I was living with a man who worked full time. I was doing the vast majority of the childcare and housework anyway. My partner would often come home and cook the dinner and wash the dishes, but he so bitterly resented having to do what he viewed as womens work, that rather than his contribution being helpful, it would just make me feel incredibly anxious, knowing as I did that the next time we had a row it would be used as ammunition against me. A few extra bits of cooking and washing up seem a very small price to pay for the relaxation and peace of mind that I am now able to enjoy in my own home to be honest.

We were a traditional family in the sense that although we were not married, my partner went out to work and I stayed at home to care for the children. I still stay at home to care for my children most of the time. I do odd bits of book-keeping work and I have done temporary paid work at Womens Aid covering peoples sabbaticals and sick leave, but for the most part I am still a stay at home mother whose day to day work has not really changed much at all in the last decade or so. What has changed though, crucially is that I am no longer living with a man who buys my food and pays my bills and so I am now often reliant on state benefits to pay for those things instead. That is all. I have gone from being David Camerons wet dream of a traditional 'wife' to being the scourge of his broken Britain. And the only thing that has changed is that I no longer have the financial support of a male partner.

I find this contradiction almost impossible to reconcile. The same people who blame the so called breakdown of society on women choosing to work outside the home rather than dedicate their entire lives to bringing up their children, also seek to label stay at home single mothers who need to claim state assistance to help with the cost of bringing up their children as being worthless scroungers - terrible burdens on society - whose children will grow up to be the criminals of tomorrow. Only one thing is clear, and that is that mothers - whatever choices they make - can never win.

The government are at the moment slowly working towards scrapping income support altogether (the age that your youngest child has to be in order for you to qualify is getting lower and lower) with the idea of eventually replacing it entirely with job seekers allowance, which is not nearly as much money and so will serve to force single women with dependent children out into the work-place. It will be interesting to see where the government suggests we all go to find part-time jobs that will pay enough to support our families, and that will also fit around school hours. I want to work. I want to give my children something to aspire to and I want them to see me working hard to support them. I've got skills and some experience that I can utilise but I can't find reasonably paid part time work that takes into account my caring responsibilities. I can't find it because it's not really out there. The only outcome of these radical reforms that are being implemented by stealth will be to simply plunge yet more women and their children into poverty - and this from a government who rode to power on the promise of cutting child poverty in half by 2010.

Never doubt that the success of the traditional nuclear family has often been built on the backs of womens misery. Over the centuries, women have been forced to stay with husbands who were violent and abusive, persistently unfaithful, or who treated them like servants simply because they had no choice. Women survived and guaranteed their childrens survival by sticking with a man who, whatever else, was prepared to financially support them. These days women no longer have to endure relationships that make them miserable and destroy their self-esteem. If we want to leave we can, indeed the majority of divorces are now initiated by women. If we are lucky we can earn enough money to be able to financially support ourselves and our families on our own - if not, we have a benefits system to fall back on while we find our feet. But instead of this being seen as progress and as evidence of how our society has become more free and humane, politicians everywhere are wringing their hands, wailing about a broken Britain, and seeking to gradually remove the safety net of the benefits system for mothers who do not have a male partner to financially support them and who, due to their caring responsibilities and circumstances are unable to pay their own way.

I am neither a feckless scrounger, nor a brave heroine. I'm just an ordinary woman trying to raise a reasonably happy family. Without access to single parent benefits I would have had no choice but to remain in a desperately unhappy relationship. Any woman can find herself suddenly in the position of needing the safety net of income support. All this talk of getting lone parents back to work might sound positive on the face of it, but it actually cloaks a hidden and dangerous agenda, which is an attack on all of our freedom.

A Guest Post from Spilt Milk: "It's Still My Room"

Today I am really pleased to be publishing another guest post written in response to the piece I wrote entitled: 'Mummy Blogging. Just how important is it?' This time I am honoured to be sharing my space with Elizabeth from Spilt Milk, who is such a gifted writer and story teller that I would urge anybody who doesn't already do so to subscribe to her blog. In fact go and read this post - written about the Australian bush fires. It absolutely blew me away when I read it.

Anyway, here's what she has to say about mummy blogging and the importance of womens on-line writing...



"It's still my room"

I don't think I'm a 'mummy blogger'. No one's ever called me that. As far as I'm aware, I'm not under 'mummy/mommy blogger' on any lists. And perhaps this is because the blogs that I comment on and put on my own blogroll are not the kind of mummy blogs that readers of the New York Times article were encouraged to imagine. They are not the kind of blogs which are solely concerned with Timmy's weekend basketball game, cooking batches of Grandma's cookies, and the baby hitting milestones on time (or not).

But so what? Not everybody blogs for the same reasons - or rather, the reasons that people blog (expression, community, communication, sharing and yes, sometimes business) mean different things to everyone. Some people use blogs as a communication tool, to share photos and stories with family and friends. Sure, sometimes those stories might seem inane to readers to whom they are not addressed. But that's not because the writers are mothers - frankly, I'd find a man's blog about restoring a boat or cooking his way through '101 Ways With Mince' pretty boring and inane too. The difference is, a man's project - not pertaining to children - is considered to be of some intrinsic value. If it doesn't have broad appeal, then it merely becomes eccentric. But a woman's project - particularly a project which is informed by her low-status role as a mother? Well, that's a different, more easily dismissed story.

Thus, because my blog isn't exclusively about parenting and because it's not the daily journal kind, it's not had the 'mummy blog' label whacked on it. (Or perhaps it's just not been noticed by the label-whackers.) Even so, it probably could be labelled that. I write about motherhood and about being a daughter. I write about feminism through the prism of parenthood. The title, Spilt Milk, came about because I thought it would be a blog all about breastfeeding and birth, about the physical business of being a woman and the emotional work of mothering. Through no fault of its own it morphed into more - and less - than that, but such is the nature of online writing.

You could call me a 'mummy blogger', if you liked. Part of me used to react with almost violent negativity to the term and I have no doubt this is because of internalised misogyny: we all know it, the stereotype of the brainless mother and her gushing. And this is why, I think, the New York Times article pushed so many buttons right around the blogosphere. We knew what it was we were being painted as because it is a painting we know well. Some of us see it in the mirror but most of us spend our days hoping that it isn't us, hoping that others can see through the tracksuit-with-baby-sick to the intelligence and uniqueness underneath. Or conversely, some of us spend our days working for money or otherwise projecting a professional image onto the world, and long to be also seen as a nurturer. Pigeon-holes are squashy places and I don't know anyone who likes to be in them, especially if they are the kind relegated near the bottom by society.

I'm not sure if reclaiming 'mummy/mommy blogger' in order to subvert the misogyny that has made this term infantilising and dismissive is the best route, but I'd be supportive of anyone who tried it. For me, I think a complete move away from any such labelling is more important. Women have long fought for a room of our own in which to create, express and craft meaning. A blog is that room in an online form. Almost anyone with enough privilege to access the internet can make her own room and perhaps this is a frightening prospect to those who are invested in keeping women silent about their daily struggles and also in keeping them out of the marketplace.

But they can't quiet us. Call us what they may, we're here, we're talking, we're networking, we're spreading ideas and some of us are even making money out of it. Even at the same time as having children! And I believe - because I have to - that it's only going to get louder. The Hotel Internet has a LOT of rooms.

A Guest Post from Noble Savage: Blogger. No 'Mummy' Necessary

Today I am excited to be publishing a guest post from one of my favourite bloggers, Noble Savage. Hers was one of the first blogs that I started reading regularly and it was through her blogroll that I discovered many other blogs that I now consider to be essential reading. She also writes over at Fertile Feminism, working to address issues that affect all of us as women and parents. Is it too much to describe her as one of my blogging heroes? No doubt she'll cringe - but fuck it - I'm going to say it anyway.

Recently I published a post entitled, 'Mummy Blogging. Just how important is it?' and invited readers to give their response. This then is Noble Savages...

Blogger. No 'mummy' necessary

I have to admit something right off the bat; I didn't find the New York Times article in question all that controversial. Yes, it had a few snide remarks slipped in (some subtle, some pretty blatant) but that's to be expected considering the publication in which it was printed. Snobbery and elitism are handed out with the bagels and Pulitzers at that office, I can assure you. So I tend to take any criticism they heft towards other, smaller writers with a big, fat grain of salt. The title and accompanying graphic were pretty ridiculous with its suggestion that mothers who blog are neglecting their children to do so, but the article did raise some interesting points, namely about turning blogging from a social pastime to a brand or business.

On my own blog, I've expressed concerns and reservations about the direction that 'mummy blogging' is going, with all the sponsorship and ads and giveaways, but that's my own personal aversion to capitalism and corporate globalisation, not a dig at mummy blogging itself. What is mummy blogging anyway, Gappy asks us? Well, it's just as she says: mothers who blog. It's that plain and that simple.

Yet, it's not.

Because, like motherhood itself, it's complicated territory. Some of us write nearly exclusively about our children and the job of parenting them and that's okay -- after all, parenting is a really tough gig and a completely valid experience to want to document and get feedback on. Why do people write about sex, or relationships? Why are there entire sites dedicated to cooking, running, fashion, the works of Nietzsche, bungee jumping, folk music, cancer and who will win the next parliamentary election? Because they are interesting to the people interested in or experiencing those things. Because one (wo)man's trash is another's treasure. Because we're all individuals who go through stages in our lives when we need to reach out and connect with others going through, thinking about and writing about the same sorts of things.

But there does come a point when some of us, including me, start to resent the label that has been affixed to us because it feels limiting. When we accept a label we risk narrowing our audience, the topics we feel able to write about and, sometimes, our experience or enjoyment of the whole process. It doesn't have to be that way, of course, and every person will feel differently about it, but I think the vast majority of those who reject it are not doing so because we shun blogging mothers, or feel superior to those who are at the forefront of the movement and/or have happily accepted the label; we do it because we don't want to be pigeonholed any more so than a sports journalist would want to be known only for his cricket coverage and never what he writes on football, rugby, cycling and athletics.

Another apt comparison, from which I can draw on my own personal experiences, is that of the expatriate in a foreign land. Some 'expats', particularly those who are relatively new to living abroad, embrace the label with vigour. In order to find one's tribe, one must usually adopt a label of some sort in order to identify others in the same situation or interested in the same things. So at first the label is worn with pride and used to locate a community upon which one can rely and turn to for comfort and camaraderie in what is, at times, a frightening, lonely, challenging, life-altering experience. This is completely natural and normal. However, after a time, many grow tired of being known as 'the expat', the Other, the one who doesn't quite fit in. At some point, after a period of time which varies from person to person, most expats just want to settle into their adopted country and stop thinking about 'back home' so much. Hell, Noble Savage started as an expat and current events site! A few months later I became pregnant and BOOM! my blog went from expats and pundits to parents and everything in between.

Suddenly, I felt that I could write about a wider variety of topics and with a more diverse spread of readers. Even though I'd worn the expat label gladly and had made great friends and connections that way, I realised it had been holding me back. Not because blogging about that experience wasn't worthwhile, but because it constrained me within the parameters of what 'those kinds of blogs' are like. And it limited my writing, certainly. You only have to look at how infrequently I posted when my blog first began, in early 2005, to see that if it didn't have to do with my preconceived idea of what my site was about or what my readers wanted, I didn't really write about it. Once I lost the label I gained a new perspective, one that I felt freed me creatively. Obviously not everyone feels or will feel that way but it goes a long way in explaining why I've personally resisted the 'mummy blogger' tag.

I'm not ashamed to be a mummy blogger in that I am a woman who blogs about mothering and I am proud of that. I am not delusional, pampered or neglectful, as the New York Times article suggests, and I'm not a bore or irrelevant either. I write about what I want, how I want -- be that giving birth, breastfeeding and dealing with tantrums, or gender politics, grief and religion. I reject the label not because I don't like what it describes but because I don't want it to be stuck on a box in which I'm forced to climb.

Mummy Blogging. Just How Important is it?

I realise that I may be coming to this conversation a little late - such is my habit I'm afraid - but after reading what I felt to be a rather objectionable on-line article that had been featured in the New York Times and is entitled: 'Honey, Don't Bother Mommy. I'm Too Busy Building My Brand' I felt moved to write a response.

The piece was written by American journalist Jennifer Mendelsohn, and from the very beginning is shot through with exactly the same patronizing tone that so distinguishes the title. Mendelsohn portrays Mummy blogging as a self indulgent and silly hobby, enjoyed by mostly middle class mothers with far too much time on their hands. An air of mockery can also be detected consistently throughout the article - Mendelsohn quotes the titles and tag lines of womens blogs with a superior and sardonic air - as though she can't quite help but cock a speculative and disbelieving eye at how anyone could possibly concern themselves with reading and writing such trivia.

Unfortunately this point of view is not an uncommon one. I have often heard it implied (by other bloggers too, interestingly) that mummy bloggers specifically are a sad, socially challenged bunch who use blogging and social media as a substitute for real friendships and interaction, and who have nothing better to do with their free time than to spend it documenting their little darlings adventures on the toilet for all and sundry to read. Mendelsohn herself describes the mummy blogosphere as functioning as a kind of "modern day kaffeeklatsch" and in doing so reinforces this attitude that mothers who blog have nothing of value to contribute to any serious discussion. As offended as I am by the tone of her comments, I nevertheless can acknowledge a grain of truth in what she says. The mummy blogosphere can indeed sometimes resemble something of a virtual coffee morning, but mostly in the sense that it provides often isolated mothers with the support, advice and company of their peers. Being the sole or main carer for children is not always conducive to an active social life, or necessarily to an active working one, and so what many resourceful women are finding is that blogging can provide new ways of connecting with other mothers, of discussing the issues that affect them, and of engaging with a world from which they can sometimes feel excluded.

What I take real exception to is the derisory tone Mendelsohn chooses to adopt when discussing the possibility that some mummy bloggers might take their writing seriously. I presume (and it is a fairly large assumption, but bear with me) that as a well educated, successful woman in a male dominated field she would have at least a passing familiarity with the principles of feminism. I wonder then why she feels it acceptable to dismiss what is in effect an entire genre of female writers in one fell swoop, and why she is happy to imply that women who dare to take a bit of time out for themselves in order to write are neglecting their children.

The attitude that mothers have nothing of value to contribute to any discussion that doesn't involve either nappies or baby food is - unfortunately - not an uncommon one either. Even the feminist movement itself has sometimes marginalised or ignored mothers and the issues that can affect them, which has always struck me as being hugely counter-productive. After all the majority of women become mothers at some point, how can we claim to advocate for womankind whilst simultaneously pretending that the majority don't exist? The occupation of motherhood is often denigrated and given low status by both men and women because it is unpaid and is therefore classed as having no economic value. Stay at home mothers especially suffer at the hands of a male dominated and profit driven society that often seeks to class them as being brainless amoebas with nothing to contribute and nothing to say. Never mind that we have given up our independence in order to bring up the next generation. Mendelsohns article plays neatly into all of these odious stereotypes. 'How dare these women entertain such ideas above their station' seems to be the message. 'What thinking person would possibly want to read about their lives?' To quote the inimitable Germaine Greer: "Motherhood is now regarded as a sort of personal indulgence." If that is the case, where then might that leave writing about it?

Of course as any blog reader will tell you there is in fact an infinite amount of variation in womens on line writing. Although if you are a woman and you mention your children on your blog - however tangentially - be prepared for your blog to be instantly labelled a 'Mummy Blog' whether or not that is how you would choose to define yourself. There has been a lot of talk in our corner of the internet recently about the term 'mummy blogger' and how well it defines what we do. Are we 'just' mummy bloggers or are we more than that? Does the term itself invite others to take us less seriously? Or are we proud of that label? Would distancing ourselves from it simply play into the hands of those who would seek to denigrate mothers and their writing? Or does it not really matter either way because we only blog for fun anyway?

In truth I have not read many blogs that focus exclusively on relaying the day to day bringing up of small children, although I certainly do not think blogs that do are less relevant than any other. The beauty of having a blog is that it is your own space to write about what you want. What I have found to be mostly the case though is that the vast majority of mummy blogs are actually concerned with all sorts of subjects aswell as parenting. Popular culture, politics, history, mental health, feminism, crafts, creative writing - it's all there. Not only that but it is being documented by some extremely talented writers. Writers who without the medium of blogging might not have found a space to use as their creative and intellectual outlet. Just imagine what a treasure trove it will all make for the future social historians of the next millenium.

Mummy blogging is important, simply because through it we are telling the truth about ordinary womens lives. It is the story of our time and place from a myriad of different perspectives. It is relevant and it is worthy - and not only that - it is being kept safe for future generations.


So with this post I am asking: What does mummy blogging and your writing mean to you? Leave a comment, or if you are interested in doing a guest post with a view to answering the question in more detail, feel free to e-mail me (contact details are linked to at the top.)

A Poem

Simple and beautiful... but also powerful. It is by a woman called Grace Nichols, and is called 'Because she has come.' I don't know if this is the whole poem or just an extract:

Because she has borne five children
And her belly is criss-crossed
With little tongues of fire...

Give her honour
Give her honour, you fools,
Give her honour

Go Team Katie...

Before you say anything, no I can't believe I'm posting this either. But I don't care what anyone says about Katie Price - I like her. She's a survivor and a battler and you just can't keep the woman down. She's got balls which is more than can be said for that snivelling ex husband of hers.

I can't bear him and his public pity party. His 'poor me all I care about is being a good daddy' act (whilst he simultaneously implies constantly through the worlds media that the mother of his children is unfit and a slut to boot) makes me want to chuck. He has done everything he can to publicly shame his ex-wife and destroy her reputation whilst still managing to cling on to the moral high ground by playing the victim, and I personally fail to understand how he can square his professed commitment to putting the needs of his children first with his active collusion in the medias bashing of their mother.

Price on the other hand has always deliberately courted the media - she is a canny woman who understands well the symbiotic relationship enjoyed by the press and so called celebrities - and who tries to exploit that relationship to her advantage. But she has never pretended otherwise. There is nothing coy or disingenuous about Price, she knows full well that the press attention is her bread and butter and she makes no apologies for that. Peter Andre however is supposedly a musician. A musician who used the pain of his recent divorce to promote his latest album.

I personally think that it is specifically Prices refusal to hide and act as though she is ashamed that makes her so unpopular. If she was photographed mascara streaked and blubbing and issued a press release stating that she was suffering from 'exhaustion' and was booking herself in for a stint at the Priory, she would probably find herself soaring in the popularity stakes. The media does love a broken woman after all. But instead she has kept her nose in the air and remarried a man whom she is routinely accused of using and exploiting, despite the fact that he clearly needs her in order to establish his own 'celebrity career' far more than she needs anything from him.

Price is no doubt aware that she's made some mistakes and poor choices in her life (haven't we all), but instead of curling up into a ball and disappearing into a bottomless pit of self-loathing she holds her head up high and keeps walking - and in doing so gives a metaphorical two fingered salute to a salivating misogynist media and its rubber necking consumers - and that is precisely the reason I like her.

GO PRICEY, I say.

Go on, tell me I'm talking bollocks. You know you wanna....

Good For Babies - But is it Good For Mothers? Some Thoughts on Attachment Parenting and Baby Wearing

Since I first began my blog I have had a vague intention to write a post on baby wearing and attachment parenting. But my views on the subject are so conflicting that although half formed ideas have been floating around in the darkest recesses of my brain for a while, any attempt to gather them together and organise them into a coherent post seemed a near impossible task.

I became pregnant with my first child when I was 22. I was idealistic and impressionable, and when I look back now my heart bleeds a tiny bit for the naive young woman that I was. She was so desperately excited to be having a baby. She had no earthly clue how horrendously hard it would all turn out to be.

During my pregnancy a friend lent me a copy of The Continuum Concept by Jean Liedloff. Liedloff had developed her continuum theory of baby care through her observations of Yequana indian women living in the South American jungle. She claimed that their babies almost never cried due to being carried constantly by their mothers as they went about their work and daily business, and that the whole community enjoyed a level of well-being and contentment unheard of in modern western societies due to having had their need for contact with their mothers consistently fulfilled as infants. Liedloff had come to the conclusion that western styles of baby care which involved separating babies from their mothers by putting them in cots and prams, and leaving them to cry, were responsible for the high levels of mental ill health in our society. I had what I thought was an epiphany reading that book, and vowed then and there that I would never ever put my baby down. Liedloff had mentioned very briefly that some house work, particularly bed making might be hard to do whilst carrying a baby, but had gone on to say that a resourceful mother would find a way. I was going to be a resourceful mother - I was going to find a way.

I am still of the belief that a baby needs as much physical contact with his/her caregivers as they can feasibly manage. I chose to breastfeed my children as and when they seemed interested, as opposed to trying to impose a feeding routine onto them. I also co-slept with my two younger children for the first six months or so, simply because it meant that I was actually able to get some sleep (a breastfeeding baby soon learns how to help herself during the night) and I also believe that if I had co-slept with my first child and therefore not had to endure night after night of broken sleep, I might have been spared the worst excesses of the post-natal illness that destroyed our early relationship. The basic principles of attachment parenting still make sense to me. And yet... so much writing on the subject, particularly the Continuum Concept itself, now makes uncomfortable reading for me.

Firstly, I would say that in my experience baby wearing doesn't 'work' in terms of its promises to create a happy baby that rarely cries. Both of my sons screamed as though they were having their fingernails pulled out with a pair of tweezers, almost continuously (or so it felt at the time) despite being held for the vast majority of their waking hours.

Secondly, I found that far from satisfying my own primal needs as a mother for contact with her new child, I didn't always enjoy it very much. I hated the lack of personal space that came from having a baby attached to me all the time, and found myself longing for someone to come and just take the baby away for a bit. By the time my babies were old enough to be carried in a back pack, it just plain did my back in. I struggled on regardless, still believing it was the 'right' thing to do.

Thirdly, I often found it more or less logistically impossible. I must have tried just about every sling on the (incredibly lucrative) market, but failed to find one that allowed me the freedom of movement I needed to go about my everyday tasks with ease, and which also felt secure enough that I could be confidently hands free. I became only too aware of just how miserably I was managing to fail Liedloffs resourcefulness test. The dirty dishes, dust and laundry kept creeping up ever higher around my ears.

By the time I got to baby number three my approach had, through necessity, morphed into a 'whatever works' type of pragmatism. The Youngest spent much of her time in one of those metal framed cloth chairs, watching her brothers play and the washing machine go round, and observing the general chaos that surrounded her with remarkable equanimity. Wouldn't you just know it, she was the happiest baby out of the three of them. I was so busy managing at home alone with three children that it was physically impossible for me to always pick her up at the first squawk, and the poor thing basically got offered a feed whenever I had a spare ten minutes to sit down in. But she took it all in her stride and I can certainly detect no ill effects so far.

So now as a more experienced mother, I can sometimes feel slightly uncomfortable listening to vehement advocates of attachment parenting and baby wearing. My discomfort comes I think from the idea that there is only one way to nurture a baby effectively, and the resulting pressure that attitude puts on women to do it the 'right' way. In order to be good enough mothers we must breastfeed on demand, preferably until our children self-wean. We must carry our babies in close contact with us at all times no matter how difficult or impractical this may be. We must sleep with our babies untill they leave our bed of their own volition, with no thought for our own personal space or how this may affect our enjoyment of our sexual relationship. But most of all we must always be there, and this has huge implications for women who need or want to work outside their home, or to have an identity apart from being a mother.

So with this post I am asking: Would a wide spread adoption of attachment parenting methods mean a huge step backwards for women in terms of their options and freedom of choice in how to live their lives? Does attachment parenting theory lean too heavily on the notion of endless maternal sacrifice being the true path to womanly fulfillment? Perhaps the reason that the Yequana women and other women all over the world practice baby wearing is because they have little choice in the matter. Has anybody ever actually asked them if they enjoy working all day with their babies tied to their backs? Perhaps given the option some of these women would give their eye teeth for a pram and a nanny and an office job. I don't know. I'm not trying to infer that our way of life is in any way superior, but equally I don't accept that it's necessarily inferior either. It's just different. I do however think that attempting to parent as if one lived in an interdependent and supportive community in the South American jungle - when one actually lives in a post-industrial western society in which most of us barely know our neighbours and have to parent alone for most of the day - can be strewn with difficulties. It certainly was for me. What do you think?

Guilt Trips. Take two...

I don't know if this is true for anyone else, but I have a tendency to write slightly obsessively. If I'm working on a post that has real meaning for me, I will often spend hours crafting it, tweaking it, reading it through - wanting it to be exactly right. Finally happy with what I've written, I will then publish it, only to read it again a week or two later and groan. I won't like it anymore, what I had previously thought flowed, will now read awkwardly and stumblingly, and I will be able to see a million ways in which I could have made my point more eloquently.

We (as in myself and my children) have just come to the end of a rather lovely half-term holiday. The first half they spent with their fathers, so I was able to go and stay with friends in another city, sans kids. I had whole uninterrupted conversations with people and everything. For the second half we all went together to stay with another friend (with whom I had years of catching up to do) and her family. A thoroughly enjoyable break from the usual routine was had by all I think. I am feeling quite refreshed. The kids are tired but happy.

It has meant though, that I've had very little time to devote to my blog, and that I've done next to no writing recently. So rather than not post for ages, what I've decided to do is dig around in my archives, pull out one of the rare posts that I still actually like, and re-publish it. It was published before I had any readers anyway, and it fits in well with some of the other issues I've been writing about of late. So without further ado, or almost any tweaking, I give you: Guilt Trips. Not literally of course.... that's just the name of the post.




Mothers feel guilty. An awful lot of the time. It's a fact of life.

I have a friend who feels guilty if the vegetables she feeds her children have been bought from the supermarket, and not lovingly hand plucked from her own organic garden. I'm not joking. Being around her makes me feel guilty for not feeling guilty enough.

Fear of being labelled a 'Bad Mother' is enough to drive the most confident of us into a pit of self-doubt. It is the worst thing we can be called. Why? Because we love our children and want to be seen to be doing our best for them? Well yes of course. But also because deep down, despite all the progress that's been made in terms of womens rights and equality, there still exists a belief that this is what women are for. That motherhood is our only true purpose. So if we can't cope/don't like it much/fail to persuade our little darlings to eat ten different types of green vegetable a day; then we have failed utterly in our duty as human beings. And that's a bloody big guilt trip...

The trouble is, we can't win. It begins before a woman has even had her pregnancy confirmed. A few too many tequila slammers before you got your positive test result? Perhaps you forgot to take your folic acid? Then shame on you, you Bad Mother you. And it goes on through every stage of pregnancy. Still enjoying regular exercise? Puts the baby at risk that. Sitting around all day? You'll get swollen ankles; and besides, nobody wants a mother with a fat arse you know.

And after the baby's born... well. Lord help you if you need to go to work to earn a crust. Or because, god forbid, your work is actually really important to you. Because if you choose to bottle feed and put your baby into child care facilities, you may just as well proclaim your membership to a sadistic satan worshipping cult and have done with it. But then on the other hand... you've got these stay at home mothers. Boring, sponging, brainless amoebas with nothing better to do than give their children serious dependency issues.

You're a Bad Mother if you don't breastfeed. You're a Bad Mother if you breastfeed too long (a lack of consensus on how long might be too long making doubly sure that breastfeeding mothers don't escape their share of guilt). And if you breastfeed openly in public you're a shameless hussy, putting everyone off their lunch. When I was breastfeeding, I had the idea of writing a weekly magazine column, which was to be imaginatively entitled: 'Places I Have Breastfed'. My list was long:

1. In a tipi.
2. In the Liverpool Museum.
3. In the queue at the dole office.
4. In a Working Mens Club. I swear this is true. I'd love to be able to say I was being deliberately provocative, but actually there was an acoustic band playing and there were loads of women there.
5. In the back seat of a moving car, contorting painfully in order to feed the baby who was safely strapped in his car seat. Highly illegal, and probably not to be recommended, but I (or should I say the baby) was desperate.

There's plenty more where that came from, but you get the gist. I am a completely shameless hussy. And a terrible mother. But I feel endlessly guilty about it, so that's o.k. then.

On Childbirth

Since reading what I thought was rather a moving post on childbirth over at The Last of the Mojitos (which may quite possibly be the best name for a blog ever) I have felt inspired to write my own post on the same subject. It has been a while in the crafting, and much more difficult to write than I had at first thought it would be.

The author of The Last of the Mojitos wrote a post about her own experience of childbirth after hearing of an interview on Brazilian television in which the supermodel Gisele Bundchen had described giving birth to her new son as having been painless. Perhaps not content with only her perceived aesthetic superiority, Bundchen feels the need to stake her claim on the title of Earth Mother of the Century aswell. Maybe as a post-natal project she might wish to consider penning the sequel to 'How to win friends and influence people'? Just a suggestion.

I have given birth to three children. Their births were the defining moments of my life. They were the most significant, pivotal, raw and meaningful experiences that I have had. I have struggled and I have swam through both the darkest depths of despair, and the giddiest heights of euphoria whilst in labour, and each time the imprint left on my psyche was such that I was never the same again.

I gave birth to my first child in a large teaching hospital. I was 23. It was frightening, alienating, and somehow deeply shaming. The staff lacked compassion, they were officious and impersonal and obsessed with policy. The constant handling and examinations felt degrading, and I experienced a profound sense of powerlessness. I remember feeling as though the pain were drowning me, crushing me with its tidal waves, and suffocating every rational thought that I had. I felt close to death, although technically the birth was straightforward - the only intervention being the breaking of my waters and an eventual epidural.

To this day I cringe when I hear a new mother who has been traumatised by her experience of childbirth being offered the cold comfort of, 'Well you have a healthy baby and that's all that matters'. I find it hard to keep calm when I hear that same line being used as an argument to prop up unnecessary intervention having been used in a babys birth. As if the mothers feelings were immaterial. As if women were merely vessels - middle men whose only purpose it was to deliver an unblemished child. As if the new mothers mental state were not intrinsically linked to her new babies sense of well-being, and a crucial factor in the bonding process.

I began labour with my second child on the morning of the hottest day of 2003. I was in my bed pleasantly dreaming when I felt a small pop, and then a gush. I woke up instantly, apprehensive, excited, alert. My contractions began gently, increasing in intensity along with the searing heat of the day, and at some point we went outside in the garden where it was cooler and lay a blanket under the shade of a tree. A couple of friends arrived, they had bought some elderflower champagne along and we all sat outside together as if at an impromptu picnic. At some point the (NHS) midwives turned up smiling, 'There now isn't this lovely', and joined the small gathering sitting under the Ash tree. I was left alone, able to move and walk, sit and stand as I pleased. I was not examined unless I requested it. But perhaps most crucially, all the focus was not on me. Everyone was just around, chatting pleasantly and allowing me to get on with it; there if I needed them. Occasionally someone would hold my hand or breathe with me during a particularly strong contraction and I felt quietly yet completely supported. It was not frightening, it was not overwhelming. The pain of my labour was coming from a good place. It was elemental and powerful and yet somehow it was under my control. It was like taming a wild horse. All the accepted wisdoms about what a woman can and can't do in active labour were completely upended for me that day. Can't walk or hold a conversation whilst in active labour? Can't eat or drink anything? All rubbish. I sat in transition, eating cherries, drinking elderflower champagne, and laughing with my friends. When I began to feel the urge to push, I stood up. I retreated into myself in order to concentrate, and something happened to me. I am not a sentimental woman, but as I stood there in the open air with a view of green hills and fields all around, I felt as though my feet had somehow sunk deep into the ground, and had sprouted real roots connecting me to all living things. The world took on a whole new dimension as I felt this palpable connection to every other woman on the planet throughout history who had ever given birth. It didn't matter what our circumstances were, or where we came from, or what language we spoke, we had all been here, in this moment. I felt so so sturdy and strong, and utterly euphoric. I could have run to the top of one of those hills and beaten my chest and roared. I have since joked with friends that if I was ever going to have found God, it would have been then, in that moment, as I gave birth. I can remember saying as I first held and marveled at my new baby son that I would never say 'I can't do it' about anything ever again.

The birth of my daughter was less dramatic. It's beauty was in its ordinaryness I suppose. When my waters broke, again early in the morning, I told my partner to go back to sleep. I went downstairs to sit on my own a while. I wanted to labour alone and without distraction so I could focus purely on the contractions - to feel their shape and taste their flavour. I experimented with different positions to make them stronger, welcoming the intensity, diving right into it. My labour progressed quickly. By the time my partner got up I was ready to call the midwife. A friend came round for breakfast and did her knitting and kept me quiet company. When the midwife arrived she suggested I go for a walk, so my partner, friend and I went out round the village, waving the odd hello to neighbours out washing their cars, and walking their dogs. As soon as I stepped back inside my front door, I had an enormous contraction in which I felt myself fully dilate and my baby move down out of my womb ready to be born. It was the most mind blowing sensation I've ever experienced. My little girl was born safely in my living room a half hour or so later.

Now I am no Gisele Bundchen. Far too short and asymmetrical for a start. And I would certainly not describe the births of my middle son and my daughter as having been painless. The second stages of both births hurt very much. But they were positive. They were good. Life transformingly so.

The thing is I don't often talk about my birth experiences these days. Of course at first I was full of it, but over time I have become wiser and more reticent. Mostly because I have found that to say I enjoyed labour tends to attract disbelief, and occasionally hostility. Often I sense that I am being dismissed in the persons mind as a crank, and if I attempt to describe the feeling of being 'high' on contractions - I am simply not taken seriously. And from my point of view, the last thing I want is for other women to feel that I am being somehow competitive or unsisterly. I do not want to trigger for others, those feelings of failure and sadness that I remember so well resulting from my first birth. So for the most part I have shut up about it.

I feel it's important for me to make absolutely clear in this post aswell that I am incredibly grateful to have access to free and expert medical care. Should I have needed a caesarian section or any other intervention to save the life of either myself or my child, I would have received it. I know how lucky that makes me. I am not anti the medical establishment. I am pro science, and I believe in forming opinions on, and backing up arguments with, evidence. I am neither irresponsible nor idealistic. The reason I am pro home birth, and indeed chose it for myself, is because I believe the evidence shows that for women with low to medium risk pregnancies, it is as safe, if not safer than giving birth in a hospital. That doesn't mean I am not thanking the heavens that we have 24 hour access to doctors and hospitals should we need or want them. An operation to remove my left fallopian tube saved my life when one of my pregnancies was diagnosed as being ectopic. Many women in other parts of the world would have simply died. I am also not prescriptive. Just because something works well for me does not mean I think it would or should work well for everyone. If a woman feels safer and happier strapped to a monitor in hospital, with access to every pain relieving drug the NHS has to offer, then I would be the first to fight for her right to choose that. I would be wearing a t-shirt saying 'Go on love, fill yer boots. I hear the morphine's great'.

So to end this rather long post, I am beginning to think that maybe I should risk opening my mouth a bit more to tell about my childrens births. Because I very much want to live in a society where a desire for an empowering birth experience is not regarded as spoilt and selfish. Where women can demand to have their freedom of choice respected, and not be considered to be putting their own needs above those of their unborn child, because it would be taken for granted that the mothers needs were of equal importance, and that supported, empowered mothers were better able to bond with and nurture their babies. Above all I want to live in a society where women can enjoy their bodies in the act of creation, and talk about their enjoyment without being regarded as part of some lunatic fringe, because it is so unusual.

A Husband at Any Price...

The other morning while dawdling over my tea and toast, and flicking absent-mindedly through a copy of Sundays Observer, the following headline jumped out at me: 'Find Mr Right before age 30 or settle for second best'. The article, written by Amelia Hill, described a book entitled, 'Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr Good Enough'. The author is an American woman named Lori Gottlieb. Her book has apparently caught the attention of Oprah Winfrey, and the inevitable plans to produce a film are well under way.

Gottliebs argument in essence, is that despite what feminists might tell you, all any woman truly longs for is to be married and happily ensconced in a traditional nuclear family. Romantic notions of finding 'the one' and the myth that women can have it all, have made women far too fussy. Any marriage is frankly better than no marriage at all, so unless he's a violent criminal/chronic alcoholic/only has two weeks to live, marry him quick or risk being left on the shelf, which as we all know girls is the worst thing that could possibly befall us. Oh, and any woman who insists that she does not feel this way and prefers her independence, is self-delusional or just plain lying.

I see.

I was hoping that this would all turn out to be some sort of post modern piss take. Sadly not. My problem is not so much that Gottlieb advocates settling for a partner for whom you may not have intense romantic feelings; I would concede that she has a point when she states that these passionate emotions are often not sustainable in the long term. If women wish to take a more pragmatic approach to their relationships - fine - that's their business. It's her assertion that all women down the ages have ever truly wanted to do is to get married and have babies, and that it's better to do these things with just about anyone who might do, rather than risk not doing them at all, which I find so hard to swallow.

I wonder has it not occurred to Gottlieb that throughout most of history women have had no choice but to get married. That untill fairly recently we could not own property, or vote, and being unmarried meant being a huge burden on our families and having to endure horrendous stigma. The only option open to the vast majority of us was to be dependent on a husband. And although a lot of modern marriages tend to lean towards the more egalitarian, we are still, even now, ruthlessly conditioned to believe that marriage and children is the natural path for a womans life to take. Single, childless women over the age of thirty five are still often viewed by society with a mixture of suspicion and pity.

I do not deny that the urge to have children can be very strong for some, but women have far more options open to them these days - and they're taking them. Indeed Gottlieb herself conceived her own child using donor sperm. Unfortunately she now uses her subsequent regret at choosing to go it alone, to base a whole theory on:

'As the only single woman in my son’s mommy-and-me group, I used to listen each week to a litany of unrelenting complaints about people’s husbands and feel pretty good about my decision to hold out for the right guy, only to realize that these women wouldn’t trade places with me for a second, no matter how dull their marriages might be or how desperately they might long for a different husband. They, like me, would rather feel alone in a marriage than actually be alone, because they, like me, realize that marriage ultimately isn’t about cosmic connection—it’s about how having a teammate, even if he’s not the love of your life, is better than not having one at all.

In fact the evidence seems to point in another direction entirely. Many studies have shown that women in long term marriages tend to lose out in terms of mental health when compared to their husbands, who report far less depression than their wives. I wonder how many women throughout history would have chosen to forge their own paths, and follow their own dreams, had the option been truly open to them.

I am a single woman. And I can state categorically that having a partner you do not love is in no way better than not having one at all. Being alone is infinitely preferable to that peculiar feeling of loneliness that comes from being in an unfulfilling, uninspiring relationship. I could have settled had I been so inclined. But ultimately I was not prepared to, and I see more and more women who are also not prepared to - more and more women who are striking out on their own, and treasuring their autonomy and independence, knowing that they can parent effectively without a partner, and that their children are healthier for not having an unhappy relationship providing the model for how adults should relate to each other. Of course this trend was only ever going to precipitate a backlash, for which Gottlieb has (perhaps unwittingly) become a poster girl. As a fellow single mother I can empathise with her to an extent. It's not always easy being the sole carer. But that is no reason to lose ones nerve and gratefully snap up the first man who shows willing.

Far more important to teach our children the value of self respect, and to show them that healthy relationships are built on mutual high esteem, not desperation and convenience, or a belief that women can not cope alone.


There is another post (which I wholeheartedly recommend you read) on this subject, at the brilliant Hoyden about town.

Are A Womans Breasts Really Her Own?

And so it rages on with varying degrees of predictability.

I'm talking about the breastfeeding/formula feeding debate. I find it to be a variation on a theme with the working mother/stay at home mother debate. Either one can render me exasperated, yet somehow strangely depressed and fatalistic within minutes. They're interchangeable for me really, in the sense that I often see them as evidence that women everywhere have found some fine sticks to beat each other with, and by god they're going to use them.

I briefly mentioned recently, in a post on guilty pleasures (which incidentally seems to be rather a recurring theme in my writing), about my partiality to a good ruck stirring debate on Mumsnet. Ah... Mumsnet.com. My ambivalence runs deep. On the one hand I love it - especially the 'Am I Being Unreasonable', and 'Relationship' threads. Naturally argumentative and nosy you see. But I'm not sure how healthy it is for any individual in genuine distress to lay themselves bare and ask for help on this particular forum. The vast majority of posters, even if misguided or ill informed (and you can take that as code for I don't agree with them) genuinely try to be supportive. But a small minority of thugs will tend inevitably to circle, with a mind to giving the usually vulnerable OP a fairly thorough virtual kicking. It sometimes makes for uncomfortable reading, and much like reality television I suppose, one ends up feeling a little bit voyeuristic and seedy (although to my eternal shame, I secretly love Britain's Got Talent too, especially the first auditions. Gaah).

But anyway I'm wandering off the point. A couple of weeks ago I watched THIS particular thread unfold, with my hand clamped over my eyes, fingers open just a crack. It's a long read, but you can skim through and get the general idea...

What upset me most about this thread was not so much the dogmatic views being expressed (nothing wrong with feeling strongly about an issue per se, I have been known to be rather opinionated myself) but the enthusiasm with which women were prepared to put the boot into each other. To make vitriolic, hurtful, sweeping statements regarding not only the competence of someones mothering, but their inherent worth as a member of society, based purely on how they had chosen to feed their baby. The thread eventually disintegrated into name calling and insults, and was asked to be taken down by other users. I have since heard regular contributors to the site say that this is the inevitable trajectory of such a debate, and they had seen it all before.

For the record, and to add a personal slant to my post, I breastfed all three of my children, and have worked voluntarily as a breastfeeding peer supporter. After one failed home birth attempt I then went on to give birth to my next two children successfully at home without any intervention or drugs, and I have stayed at home to care for them all. Those were my personal choices. They worked for me at the time. I do not believe them to be superior to other choices I may have made, had my circumstances been different. I certainly do not believe that women are mere vessels who must suddenly negate all their own needs and desires as soon as they become mothers. I do believe in informed choices. For me this means giving women the facts as we know them regarding the risks and benefits of breastfeeding/formula feeding, but that once armed with the facts, women should be allowed to go away and make their own holistic decisions about what will work for them and their lives, without interference or judgement from others.

It just seems to me that by getting bogged down in this sort of competitive infighting, we are missing the point spectacularly. There is a simple concept at work here I feel, and it's called Divide And Rule. Surely we all want the same things? Whether you choose to call yourself a feminist or not is immaterial. We all want equality. We all want freedom. We all want the validity of our decisions to be respected.

These are our rights. But none of them can be achieved while we are busy tearing each other apart.

I know I shouldn't say this but...

So much 'mummy blogging' (the term itself actually proving my point to an extent) is anodyne, sugary, insipid, and well... a bit crap really.

I'm ducking the rotten tomatoes as I type.

But I can't hold back anymore. What I want to know is this: Are there really women out there for whom motherhood is always such a dewy eyed, sentimental, fluffy experience (because I'll have whatever they're having) full of foetuses with cute nicknames, and toddlers who never scream 'I hate you!' in the middle of the supermarket? I suppose there must be. But I've never met one. Not for real. Not if she was being honest.

Where is the perfectly natural and healthy ambivalence towards impending motherhood? Where are the other mothers who looked at their newborns in the cold light of day and thought for a fleeting moment that they might be the devil, because I know I can't have been the only one.

Now. I realise that not everyone would wish to emulate my particular style of 'over sharing' on the internet. Some blogs are set up just as a way to let families separated by long distance know how loved ones are doing - I understand that. And I also know that I have no right to tell women what they should and should not feel, or write on their blogs.

But I have a lot to say about the romanticising of motherhood. A lot. Because I believe it does women and their children such a huge disservice. I think it should be called up and held to account for creating so many unrealistic expectations, shattered dreams, confusion, and guilt. I blame the bible. Not exclusively you understand, but I think the holy pedestal upon which 'gentle mother' Mary was placed, is perhaps where it all originated. If we could have had just one story about Mary feeling like chucking Jesus out of the stable window because it was three in the morning and he wouldn't stop crying, then perhaps centuries of women might have been spared a creeping sense of fear and guilt arising from their own suspected 'inadequacies' in failing to live up to a mythological ideal. Just a thought.

I like children. And I love my own just as fiercely and passionately as any mother, but it's a love I grew into. It took a long time, certainly with my first. It crept up on me almost. It was no instant thunderbolt crashing dramatically down as my baby left my body, but more of a slow, painful, learning process. It was hard won, and I wear my love for my children all the more proudly for that. Whilst pregnant with my first child I bought a copy of Kate Figes 'Life After Birth'. I couldn't bear to read it. I read the first chapter or so and then put it down for fear of jinxing myself. The things I was reading frightened me, they seemed so dark. Motherhood was nothing like that I was sure. Then when my baby was one I read it again, cover to cover. And then again when he was three - and both times found it so immensely comforting that I wolfed it down in about a day and a half. Finally, I wasn't the only one.

It is 2010, and yet still there is such a huge amount of pressure on women to collude with the lie that motherhood is all pastel colours and fluffy kittens. I think we owe each other more than that. I truly believe that the most supportive gift we can give to each other as parents and parents to be, is real honesty about what it's really like. The joy and the despair, the love and the resentment, all laid bare with compassion, so that we can take that leap with our eyes wide open. And not feel as though we have failed if we sometimes land on our arses.