Everything feels a bit... thing... this week, what with the loss of Sylvia, Claire and Lucy. Forgive me if I don't sound as whacky as I would have liked. I can't imagine they feel like the world should keep going, just at the moment.

Short Version: I talk about parenting assvice.

First, there was the hazing, which I brushed off, laughing merrily. Oh, how merrily*. Then came the pregnancy assvice, which I shook my head at. (Did you know I shouldn't be picking things up off the floor, let alone doing any housework "in my condition"? Apparently it's true. I should either hire a maid or make my husband do it all. My job, so they tell me, is to remain seated with my feet up eating healthy, pregnancy-safe foods - preferably with "the girls" - and maybe popping out to yoga every now and again. I know! I would have fallen pregnant much sooner if I'd realised. Because it sounds so relaxing.) This week is an extra-special occasion, however, because I have received my very first ever piece of parenting assvice.

I feel so... accepted. So much a part of the club.

I have dreams in my head, you see, of trying all sorts of hippyshit parenting methods, such as co-sleeping, babywearing, exclusive breastfeeding, and yes, even cloth nappies. It's as if the infertility taught me nothing. My cloth nappying plans are the ones which have become the subject of specific criticism. Apparently it will be too much washing (quite a shock after all that time off housework, I suppose), will be dirty and smelly, will promote nappy rash, will be fiddly, and just generally won't work well enough. Now, I've read a lot on both sides of the cloth/disposables debate in reference to all these points, so I quickly accepted that no amount of rational argument would go anywhere. Instead, I pointed out how cute cloth nappies can be. Somehow, everyone seemed to think this was such a valid and important point, that we were left with nothing further to say.

The thing is, I started out wanting an easy, spontaneous conception and a low-intervention pregnancy. In reality, I have worked with what I've had to work with. But there was nothing inherently wrong with my first choice, as many happy couples will testify. So yes, I acknowledge your cloth nappy concerns, and I admit that there are pros and cons and that things might not turn out as peachy as all that. But if the best you can do is, "You'll see!" then you're wasting your breath. Because, trust me, I'm well on board with that idea.


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*Last night The Foetus was tumbling around and I was thinking contentedly about how great it all was when suddenly it occurred to me: holy fuck, that whole baby's got to come out of there at some stage! I expect this thought to represent itself periodically.

Just a note to say, in case you hadn't heard, that Mary-Ellen and Steve could use some thoughts just now.

(As an aside, if I haven't commented on your blog, this is partly from business but also because a) bloglines hasn't been updating properly and b) my comments have been getting eaten, especially but not exclusively by wordpress. I've been trying to read as much as ever.)

I have to write one more post because Anonymous came back and responded in the last set of comments. I guess I should explain a bit more what set me off, because it certainly wasn't just one belly-rub, or one little comment, and I think this will help show where I'm coming from.

We all dislike an exhibitionist. We all think it's rude when someone has a "me me me" attitude where their needs come before anyone else's. It's unfortunate that these people exist, but the truth is they don't exist that often. Human society just wouldn't work if they did.

The problem is, a minority of women think pregnancy gives them a unique license to drop all they ever learned about basic courtesy. It does not. Pregnancy gives women special needs - it makes them big and heavy, puffed, sick, uncomfortable, emotional, vague and stupid, clumsy, or sometimes all of the above - and those needs deserve consideration. It's the women who want special consideration above and beyond those needs who are in the wrong. Above and beyond those needs, they are only due the same consideration as the next person on earth.

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The first comment that raised my eyebrows was so blatantly shocking that it was impossible to get annoyed about. A woman expressed frustration that her own mother was refusing to be "relegated to second tier" within the family hierachy now that she, the daughter, was pregnant. Clearly, this woman had it in mind that the moment she conceived, the whole, extended family would stop in its delicate orbit and gravitate towards her. The former matriach, meanwhile, was to be stripped of her title and cast to one side. Thanks for everything mum, but I've got these two lines on a stick say you're obsolete. This seemed so insane, my reaction was almost scientific. "That's fascinating," I thought. "The human mind is actually capable of that pattern of thought. Just astounding."

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There was a "why should I take care talking about my baby around my sister-in-law who is infertile and just had a miscarriage after IVF?" comment. You know the type - where the person posing the question asserts that it's their right to enjoy pregnancy in any way they please and bugger everyone else. I would hope that if her sister-in-law had lost a live baby after birth, or been diagnosed, perhaps, with some form of cancer, she would understand that the situation deserves respect. If so, then she is simply ignorant on the subjects of infertility and miscarriage, and should ultimately - after having things explained - be forgiven her folly. But there's a cynical little piece of me that wonders whether that would make any difference. Perhaps, I thought, she would insist on her "right" to act in any way she pleased even in the face of overt and universally recognised grief. Because, you know, she's pregnant.

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A woman turns up at my sister's vet clinic. "I'm pregnant," she says, pushing to the front of the desk, "and I have an appointment with my obstetrician. The cat's got blood in his poo. I'm just going to leave him here." As she turns to go, the stunned receptionist says, "Wait! We need you to sign him in!" "I haven't got time for that," she replies. "Here - take this business card. Call me."

My sister rings the number on the card and the husband answers. "Well I don't know what's going on," he says. "Do we have your permission to run tests?" my sister asks, but the man refuses. "I don't know anything about it. You'll need to talk to my wife. No, I don't have her number." My sister smiles sweetly and requests a phone call from the dear woman. "She's pregnant at the moment," says the husband, as if this is relevant, "but I'll pass it on."

At 8pm my sister, none the wiser, hands the case over to the emergency clinic. The next day the woman is furious that her cat hasn't been cured and magically returned home. "The cat seems normal on examination," explains my sister. "We don't know how to treat without at least a proper history and we need your permission to do further tests. I did phone your husband, but I was told I'd have to wait for your call, which I have been doing." "Well I'm pregnant!" the woman says, as if that explains anything, and continues to complain long and loud. She gets cranky when someone asks her to pay the overnight hospital fee, basing her argument on the fact that she's with child. My sister asks the other staff if this is reasonable behaviour. They confirm it is not. But why did she have to ask?

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The stars of Juno (in the top video on the page) muse about what it would be like if they were expecting. "Pregnant women are treated as these, like, Holy Vessels," they joke. "You could really lord that over people." They laugh. But in real life, some people don't seem to appreciate it's just banter.

I can see why - the Cult Of Mummy glorifies a woman's maternal role to an unreasonable degree. To the Cult, pregnant women are Holy Vessels, and not just people, like they were before, but with temporary special needs. No wonder a few women get sucked in to thinking of themselves as Godlike during pregnancy. They've been brainwashed. And it's high time that brainwashing was undone.

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Mr Bea asks me what I think of the view that women become selfish in pregnancy. "We do a little," I reply, "but mostly it's just a new-found willingness to assert ourselves for the sake of our child, and in the face of our new set of obstacles. Yes, I do need to sit down. No, I can't wait another forty-five minutes before eating. You're asking me, at six o'clock, to do an impromptu three hours of extra overtime? I hope you're kidding. It can be quite disconcerting when former doormat types suddenly start standing up for themselves, but it's perfectly fair, and in some cases long overdue. Unfortunately, we all get a bad name from those women - the ones who cross the line."

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Finally, there was an article in a parenting magazine along the "it's not my problem other people can't conceive and you can't make me show any sympathy towards them" lines, and then I walk with a woman who rubs her belly, which is fine at first, but it just stretches on and on and on as if she doesn't feel she can move her hand away for a single moment of the waking day... and at that point I snap, and I write the first post.

And then I get a comment that really sets me off, and I really snap, and I write the second post.

So you see how it happened.

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Today I am calm again. The world mostly knows that there are limits to decent social behaviour, even for pregnant women. The Cult Of Mummy, I believe, is once more on the wane, and after its damage is repaired, I look forward to a future where women are celebrated in all their roles - as daughters, as wives, as friends, as productive members of the workforce, yes - as mothers, but most of all, as people who deserve respect like anyone else around them.

Anonymous - I appreciate your coming back to make that comment. Too many people won't reconsider their words, once said, and I have more respect for that than I can express. I do appreciate your view. I was harsher and more sarcastic in the first post than was warranted, and I hope things are clearer now. As for the future, I wish you nothing but the best.

Short Version: a post about basic human compassion, following on from the comments of last post.

**I wrote this when I was still feeling riled by the sheer tone of entitlement in anonymous' comment. This attitude was exactly what I was objecting to in my post (moreso than the belly-rubbing itself, truth be told - a few different things culminated to set me off and I've kind of latched onto belly-rubbing as a focus). Other comments that followed were much more respectful and balanced, even if the author's didn't feel they agreed with me all the way. Knowing the authors, I doubt they're who I'm talking about in any case. Actually, most pregnant women - fertile or not - know how to behave with respect. It's just a few don't.

I've written this followup post to clarify, but in some places it's even angrier than the first, which might not help. The tone aside, I stand by what's written here. I don't think I'm asking for much - perhaps not as much as you thought I was asking for, in fact. But the idea that you can do what you like and everyone else has to lump it because it's your right and it's their problem if they don't like it just gets right up my nose. And I'm feeling really pregnant about biting my tongue today, so watch out.**

Let me tell you something my mother taught me, because it seems a lot of people in this world haven't had the benefit of a proper upbringing.

My mother taught me not to openly eat lollies in public. You have to be careful eating lollies in public because not all the children around you have lollies. Some of them can't afford lollies, others come from homes where lollies are not allowed. A few may be on special diets. And yet others get as many lollies as I do - and more - but they just don't happen to have any right now even though they want some. The point is, when you have lollies, you should remember that not everyone around you also has lollies, and therefore you should eat them quietly and without fuss, preferably in a descrete space, but certainly not as far out in the open as you can possibly manage, with a big, smug grin on your face, looking around at the other kids and getting indignant if they don't immediately smile back at you and say, "Hey! Good for you! Lollies!"

It's not about diminishing my enjoyment of lollies, she was careful to explain. It's not actually about me at all - only a self-centred person would think it was. It's about basic courtesy, and we all owe it to our fellow human beings. This is a lesson I learnt when I was in kindy. How come other people missed out?

Your actions, in public, affect the public. Therefore you cannot do what you like with your own body in public because it's your body and no-one else has any business over it - in public you must restrict yourself to those actions which show due consideration for others. This basic courtesy applies to all facets of human interaction - walking through a crowd, getting into a lift, queuing at the cash register, working at your desk, comporting yourself during pregnancy, and yes, for the four-year-olds, eating lollies.

If you're fertile, you probably don't know about belly-rubbing. You have some vague idea that infertility is "hard" and that infertile couples are "easily upset", but you probably have trouble realising exactly how hard, or what upsets them. You might not even know who these infertile couples are. That's ok. No-one truly expects you to.

So I say this now for your edification: belly-rubbing can be upsetting. When an infertile woman sees a pregnant woman in public, it gives a little pang. But pregnant women are expected - the world will go on, even without us. When an infertile woman sees a pregnant woman touch her belly, it's like a little kick to the gut. But pregnant women will touch their bellies from time to time - for reasons of comfort, or in conversation, or in response to a movement or a flutter, and almost always in ignorance of the pain it's causing someone else. It's life, so we deal with it, and we remind ourselves that the pregnant woman isn't trying to hurt us deliberately. But it does hurt. Now you know.

Twelve and a half percent of the population is infertile. One in eight couples. You will pass someone at the shops today with fertility problems. You will take the train in to work today with someone who knows that pain. You will be seen today, during the course of your half-hour lunch break at the hawker centre down the road, by a man or a woman who struggles to conceive. You won't know who they are, but I can guarantee you - they will be there. Infertility and pregnancy loss is a fact of your life, just as it is of mine. Not every kid has lollies at any given time. We all have to adjust to live with these realities.

So belly-rubbing hurts infertile people, like a kick to the gut, and infertile people are everywhere, every day. If you're belly-rubbing for a laudable purpose, you will be understood. If you're rubbing in ignorance, you will be forgiven. But when you know that infertility is everywhere and that belly-rubbing causes pain, what you don't do is claim a right to glue your hand permanently to your belly and wander around with a smug grin on your face, looking to see who's watching you and getting indignant if not everyone smiles. This lacks basic human decency and is very, very self-centred.

I am not suggesting every pregnant woman should wear a burkha or shut herself indoors. I am suggesting that when you go out, you refrain from insisting that everyone should look smilingly at you and arrange their lives around you. This means that if you want to pat your belly, you do so without fanfare. Strutting along in a self-satisfied way with your hand permanently attached to your bump and your eyes sweeping from side to side to gauge who's watching - that's fanfare. A gentle touch between you and your baby when you're tucked away in the spice aisle of the supermarket or seated at your desk clicking away on your computer is different. That's like eating your lollies quietly and without fuss.

This is a lesson I was taught when I was freaking four freaking years old. It's a pretty minimum standard of behaviour I'm asking for. Please don't tell me you're "entitled" to act in any other way.

Short Version: a post about publicly touching your own, pregnant belly.

"There's nothing wrong with touching myself. If I want to rub myself in public, why shouldn't I? Besides, it relieves my discomfort." Are these the words of a pregnant woman, or a sexual miscreant?

The other day, after yoga, I walked to the station with one of my classmates. She kept her hand on her belly the whole way. After a short while, I could feel my face contorting into this expression of helpless apology to the population around us. Twelve and a half percent, people - someone along the way was infertile, for sure. But given she's visibly pregnant and can't hide that fact, what harm does the belly-rubbing do? And, more importantly, should she really have to stop?

The plain, simple fact is this - it's showing off. It's not that I want her to apologise for being pregnant - I don't apologise myself. I put in a few hard yards along the way, of course, but even if I hadn't, I would still deserve to be pregnant as much as the next woman, which is to say not at all, since fertility is one of life's gifts, like being born to decent folk in a nice, middle-class neighbourhood of a modern, wealthy country with a proper welfare system, instead of to a mentally-unbalanced and destitute AIDS victim amongst the rubbish piling into a third-world gutter. No, it's not that we deserve to be pregnant, or don't deserve to be pregnant, or need to feel guilty and ashamed of being pregnant. It's just that "smug" is out this season, and nothing says "smug" like having your hand permanently glued to your belly, especially if you're constantly surveying the crowd to see how much attention you're getting for the act.

I'm aware of the argument, of course. Pregnancy is uncomfortable, and sometimes you have to rub things to ease that discomfort. For my part, I've found that it itches all over my abdomen and sometimes I just have to scratch. On the other hand, sometimes when I'm out in public my crotch itches, or my underwear rides uncomfortably into areas no underwear should go, yet I don't tend to stand in the middlest middle of wherever I am, clear my throat loudly and wait til everyone's watching, then scratch my girly privates with a flourish or pluck my panties from the depths of my arsecrack whilst looking around to make sure everyone's got a good view. No, I make any adjustments quickly, quietly and discretely, and then I get on with my life.

Some will roll their eyes at me. They'll say, "Rubbing a pregnant belly is hardly the same as fingering your bum," and to this I agree. It's often considered polite to duck into the nearest ladies' toilet if your intimates need attention, whereas I don't think a quick belly scratch demands the same, high level of delicacy. Nevertheless, my point stands - it is discourteous to draw unnecessary attention to yourself and your body, especially when that attention is likely to bother others around you.

So next time you're swollen with the wondrous and extraordinary gift of a fragile, new life*, just... tone it down. We can see you're pregnant and we think that's very nice for you. But there's no need to keep rubbing it - quite literally - in everyone's faces.


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*I know, it happens to us all the time.