February 21, 2011
Image via Wikipedia
Planned Parenthood has a really descriptive name. It does exactly what the name implies. We don’t talk much about “family planning” these days, and we should.
Before modern science kicked in, conception was, for the most part, a game of roulette. Folk remedies and leather condoms weren’t nearly as effective as people wanted them to be, but they kept trying. All it took was some observation and life experience to see how inconvenient–and dangerous–the lack of control could be.
When a woman gives birth too young, she and the child suffer. (18 is the minimum recommended.) If she has children too close together, she and both children can suffer. Doctors and midwives knew these things; parents knew them. But what do you say to a couple who have had the number of children they want? Spend the rest of your lives together in separate beds? More babies happened.
Margaret Sanger, Planned Parenthood’s first president, was a remarkable woman who saw the effect this had on people, particularly poor people and women. She also saw this suffering as, at best, unnecessary. At worst, it was a deliberate means of keeping women in subjugation.
In 1912, after a fire destroyed the home that William designed, the Sanger family moved back to New York City, where Margaret went to work in the East Side slums of Manhattan. That same year, she also started writing a column for the New York Call entitled “What Every Girl Should Know.” Distributing a pamphlet, Family Limitation, to women, Sanger repeatedly caused scandal and risked imprisonment by acting in defiance of the Comstock Law of 1873, which outlawed as obscene the dissemination of contraceptive information and devices.
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August 2, 2010
After my 10 pound Peanut was removed from my knowledge-rich womb, no longer afforded the luxury of time to read and surf, having no mother to ask my first-time-mom questions, and not having a single mommy friend to bounce my thoughts off of, I kid you not, the bulk of my “how to take care of baby” advice came in the doctor’s office waiting room, surrounded by other mothers and their babies. What none of these women warned me of, what not a single website or chat room ever spoke of, and even the “Do not read unless you have to!” section of What to Expect While You’re Expecting made NO mention of, was the irreversible deformation that was about to have its way with my tight, unblemished, tiny-tattooed, pre-pregnancy belly. Heads are nodding everywhere right now. Yes, I’m going to say it. The most unexpected and never talked about consequence to housing my 10 pound Peanut girl? The flap. The pouch. The front ass. The mommy apron. Call it what you will.
Maija’s Mommy Moments is running a week-long series about a woman, a mother of two, who is having a tummy tuck after seven years of… the dreaded FLAP. As guest blogger Lacey explains, the FLAP is not made of fat, it’s distended skin. Losing weight actually makes it sag more, fat buoys it into a rounder shape.
Her series begins by explaining her reasons and the preparation, and will culminate in post-op thoughts.
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July 20, 2010
Subterfuge reviews the ongoing saga of teen pregnancies that is ABC Family‘s The Secret Life of the American Teenager. Season 3, episode 7, “New York, New York.”
WHY, Secret Life, WHY are you doing this to me? Why am I still watching!? Because every episode ends with a question I want answered. So I sit through the rest of the garbage, get pissed, and am tantalized by the next tiny piece of the puzzle.
I’m going to TRY to see the season through. No promises. (If you would like to volunteer to blog about Secret Life for us, please, please speak up.)
Whew. Ok. Items of Note for this episode…
Adrian will cut off her nose to spite her ex-boyfriend
Attention, everyone! Attention! Yes, I’m having a baby. And I don’t care who knows about it or what you have to say about it. Oh, and it’s Ben’s.
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July 15, 2010
Aleksandra Buha's "Looking Away"
This is a Subrosa entry from April 02, 2008.
When I was ten and my grandfather was dying from leukemia, my mother went to stay with him at the hospital indefinitely. Amma did this with my grandmother as well when she was under observation for her Hepatitis B, but unlike last time, my mother’s distant cousins wouldn’t be there to take care of me. N Chitti, L atha, H atha were the ones who ran the house while she was last gone, but my mother was pretty apprehensive about that happening again–she was paranoid about having people in the house when she wasn’t there–and this time my father was also wasn’t willing to come home early from work.
My brother went with my mother to India as he did last time–he was far too young for him to stay alone, even with a babysitter. Somehow, my mother foolishly thought that my family over there would take care of him. Little did she know how well, but that’s another story.
However, my parents still needed to find someone willing to take care of me after school. Our cleaning lady, a woman named Irena, recommended a friend of hers from Uzbekistan–Aliona.
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