the annals of pregnancy, part five

I have no interest in breastfeeding—never have, never will. I have my reasons, and since they are both my reasons and my boobs, I feel very little need to explain myself. Yes, I understand that lots of moms love it and that babies love it and that it prevents cancer and makes unicorns appear, but I will be very frank: I do not care. A central tenet of human freedom, I believe, is that everyone should feel free to do as she wishes with her own breasts. I think people should breastfeed wherever they want whenever they want! Your nipples, your choice! And I will reserve the right to not breastfeed at all. 

I am not dumb enough to imagine that people would find my decision laudable, but I had hoped they would not feel the need to comment on it. I had especially hoped that my doctor would refrain from weighing in on this decision, but alas, my hopes have been dashed. Yesterday I made the great mistake of telling her that the breast pump prescription she gave me, without asking, was not necessary. The result was an extremely unfruitful conversation that resulted in her suggesting: 1) many unproven things about the benefits of breastfeeding vs. formula feeding, 2) that formula is prohibitively expensive and I probably can't afford it, and 3) that a great compromise would be to just pump exclusively. 

The first suggestion was disconcerting, since I have read a lot about breastfeeding (in preparation for the onslaught of objections I knew I would face) and I know that what she told me has not been proven by any research. The second suggestion was hilarious—with all the money we're going to spend on childcare, not to mention diapers and clothes, she thinks I should worry about formula?? I understand that formula for an infant costs a couple hundred dollars a month, but how many hours a week do you spend breastfeeding an infant? (One estimate clocks in at 1,800 hours a year, or about 30 hours a week.) I will gladly pay $50 a week not to do something I find extremely unappealing. (I'll take the money out of his college fund, evil mother that I am.)

The third suggestion, that pumping exclusively was a happy compromise I could easily pursue, was pretty surprising. Why on earth would she think that pumping would be more appealing than feeding the baby directly? The whole point is that I don't want to be milked. A milking machine is perhaps only slightly preferable because it won't bite me, but otherwise it seems like a substitution without a difference. 

At the time, I believe my response to these various arguments was, "ummm, ok, I'll think about it." I don't regret this response and plan to use it pretty uniformly going forward, while I simultaneously do whatever I want. I figure they won't go so far as to drug me and put the baby at my boob, so at the end of the day I'll win this battle. 

I do wonder, though: if I had told my doctor I planned not to vaccinate, or not to vaccinate according to schedule, would I have gotten this much horrified pushback? Somehow I doubt it. 

the annals of pregnancy, part four

33 weeks now and officially feeling huge. Whereas until a month or so ago someone might have just thought I was chunky, I am now unquestionably pregnant. The baby moves all the time—on a walk this weekend I tried to explain to Josh what it feels like to walk with something moving inside you. After listening to my explanation he summarized it well: it's like trying to walk with a four pound gyroscope inside you. It's also like trying to sit and sleep and eat with a gyroscope inside you. Uncomfortable. 

My joints hurt, especially getting up in the morning. Standing for long periods is no longer feasible. I have trouble washing the dishes because my belly prevents my short arms from reaching into the sink. Bending down to pick up anything is difficult. Catching sight of myself in a mirror or window is disconcerting. Hard to imagine how enormous I'll feel in another month. Sigh. 

(I am of course very lucky to have no pregnancy complications and therefore no reason to worry about delivering early, but keeping that positive thought constantly in mind is hard.) 

I have failed to purchase any products to ameliorate my various pregnancy ailments. The only thing I bought (besides clothes) was a very highly rated pregnancy pillow, which I have used precisely once. It's so big it doesn't fit in the bed, and the one night I used it I woke up totally drenched in sweat and no less sore than before. After that debacle, I decided to ignore all the ads for belly oil and compression socks and belly bands. Tell me, Dear Readers: do any of these things help? 

The true problem is that I hate buying things. It makes me anxious. Even under normal circumstances I spend an unreasonable amount of time researching products, reading reviews, and comparison shopping to make sure I'm getting a good deal. Then, when the purchase doesn't work out, I am very frustrated. Buying things for pregnancy has not been great, but at least a lot of it is cheap and I know more or less what I need and when. Shopping for an infant I have never met has been is exponentially worse. Everything is expensive and only useful for a limited time! And I have a feeling that about half of what is listed as "essential" is actually totally unnecessary, but I won't know for sure until he's here. But once he's here he's going to need things immediately, so I should probably be buying stuff now! 

Despite getting lots of good advice on what to buy from friends (thank you, friends!), my solution has basically been to give in to paralysis and buy nothing. My parents generously offered to buy us a stroller but after much, much research I could not decide which one to get. Ultimately I just ceded the decision to my mother, and while I was very happy to get the (very fancy) stroller, I was even more thrilled not to have to make the decision. 

My large extended Irish Catholic family has also come in handy (for once) since various aunts and uncles and cousins repeatedly asked me for registry info, which forced me to put together some random list of things that may (perhaps?) be useful. The actual decision about what to purchase is, mercifully, their problem. I have managed to not buy a good amount of essential items this way, which has been very helpful. 

Josh, who is still wearing clothes he bought in high school, as been very little help with this my shopping "problem." If it were up to him, we'd go to Costco a week before the baby is due and get everything at once. Which actually might end up being what we do, since I appear unable to buy anything in advance. 

election eve

Unlike pretty much everyone else I know, I have very few feelings about this election. Not because I don't think it's important, but because I have become incapable of feeling anything about politics. I'm amazed by all the people who have become so energized in their quest to either beat Trump or support him—my response to the past four years has been near-complete political enervation. 

I know I don't want Trump to win, but I don't know if it matters. Does anything matter? Can anything repair the disdain and fear and anger and resentment in politics? Pretty much no matter what happens tomorrow, half the country will have roundly rejected everything about the other half. So aren't we just going to keep having these useless contests for the foreseeable, endless, draining future? I just can't manage to convince myself that the outcome of tomorrow's election will solve anything at all. 

To be fair, though, I've never been all that interested in politics to begin with—I generally agree with Hobbes that the point of the commonwealth is to provide its citizens with a secure and peaceful state within which to pursue other interests. In my ideal democracy, the vast majority of people would vote every 2 years and stay generally informed but otherwise devote their time and effort and ingenuity to other, entirely non-political, things. 

But now there are no non-political things. Novels, food, sports, fashion, medicine, sex—everything you do or say, or put on your body or in your body, is a political statement. Judging by twitter most people seem to think this makes things more interesting—why just cook food when you can cook political food!—but it makes me want to lie down and give up. All I want to know is how to make babka, and I do not care one iota what you think about police reform. 

If I were incapable of rational thought and only acted on my feelings, I'm quite certain I wouldn't vote at all. The political theorist in me (she's still in there, somewhere) is curious whether this utter lack of feeling is what saves democracies, or what makes them devolve into tyranny. Can democracies survive when everyone has such deep feelings about politics? When who you vote for doesn't just indicate what you think about one or two particular policies but instead reflects the very content of your character and, potentially, the state of your soul? On the other hand, can democracies survive when a portion of the population is SO SICK of politics that they are willing to give up their say in the process just so everyone will just please please please talk about something else? 

Is there a political theorist somewhere who answers these questions for me? If so, please advise. I am in need of guidance.