Armed for the Revolution?

Recently I was asked (again) what the big deal is. Why do we feel we need a "revolution" in how we view birth and mothering? Sometimes it's an elaborate dance to answer without seeming like a radical activist. But wait, am I?

I don't really feel radical. I just try to make the best choices for my family and me. Sometimes the things we choose are readily available. Sometimes they're not. Sometimes they're so far from the mainstream that people don't even know they have a right to these choices. That's why we need a revolution!

I've been contemplating this a lot lately, especially while listening to commercial radio. I listen a lot in the car, and I'm beginning to feel like the miles are marked by how many advertisements I hear for plastic surgery.

Free liposuction when you pay full price for breast implants? Suck it out here, stuff it in there?

Buy one, get one half price breast augmentation? They don't come as a matching pair? Or do they just want you to bring a friend so you can feel more "normal"?

There is even a local radio station giving away breast augmentation surgery AS A CONTEST PRIZE!

And my latest favorite: vaginal rejuvenation? WTF? And we used to cringe at douche commercials that talked about that "not so fresh feeling"! Have times changed so much?

So last month, I started my period while at my mother in law's house. (Read more on the thoughts that go through my head on those visits at my Eat@Mom's blog) I usually use cloth pads, and sometimes ob style tampons, but had neglected to pack any that day. Extra undies for both my son and daughter, a change of clothes for my husband after he mowed the lawn, but nothing for me. Just like a mama, eh?  My mother in law hasn't menstruated for many a year now, but thankfully, she has a secret stash of various "girly" stuff in her bathroom cabinet from when the grand-daughters come to visit.

As I rifled around among various hair products, deodorizing air freshener, and Comet, I finally found what I was looking for. Well, sort of. Actually, I was quite baffled by what I found: a colorfully pastel box decorated with stylized graphic jewels with 2 remaining tampons in it. Now these aren't your grandmother's tampons! I mean, my own  mom is pretty committed to her classic Tampax, but these things were from the future, for sure! That or another planet! Each was wrapped in an indestructible, shiny, crinkly, pliable paper-like plastic wrap which reminded me of those thermal blankets they wrap around emergency victims.   Once I managed to tear  the wrapper open along it's specially perforated end, I withdrew from inside it a bright, pearlescent green plastic device as long as my entire hand, from wrist to the tip of my middle finger. It looked like some sort of elfin rocket launcher.

Does it really need to be that complicated?

The thought occurred to me that women are using these mini rocket launchers to wage war on their own bodies ! Shooting themselves repeatedly with little chemically loaded cartridges designed to prevent odor and slowly kill you via perfume and toxic shock syndrome! And all without having to ever even come close to touching our own genitalia, thanks to the giant sanitary plastic device!

No girls, don't touch those private parts! Those parts that we know so little about collectively that many woman call the whole kit and caboodle their "vagina". What about your labia?

 Remember you old pal clitoris? Don't you people love your vulvas in their entirety? I guess not. Maybe they aren't worthy of love until we modify them somehow via plastic surgery?

Is it really a stretch to see how this carries over to our birth experiences? We are socially trained from childhood not to talk about our bodies so much that we have forgotten what their names are. And, do I have to tell you again NOT TO TOUCH !? No, you leave that to your doctor! He'll tell you if you are abnormal or not after he scrapes your cervix with a little wire brush. ( You remember you cervix? It's inside your vagina, at the bottom of your uterus)If he's not sure, he'll just freeze it 'til it peels of, so he can start over. Then he'll let you know when you made your baby, when your baby is ready to be removed and, since you know so little about your own body, he'd better do that part for you, too. And if anything accidentally goes wrong, he'll just take out everything. A good ol' complete hysterectomy will do, just to be on the safe side.

But don't you worry! You won't have to see, feel, or touch anything gross. In fact, you won't even be aware of most of what's going on, as long as you or your partner signed off on that liability waiver before the procedure. It's all for our comfort. Because that's what women want right?

Or do we? How often do we routinely stick tools into men's bodies just to make sure they're OK? How often do we electively and prophylactically remove male sex organs as preventative medicine? How often do we offer to perform surgery on men's most sensitive and private parts as a prize or reward? 

So is this what we want? Or do we want to be armed with knowledge? Do we want our daughters to understand how they work and how amazing we are? Do we want to know that we are strong and powerful, and beautifully delicate at the same time?

Arm yourselves, BirthGirlz!

(pink stinger tampon taser gun,

www.americaninventorspot.com)

Do we want to be armed with accurate evidence based information? Do we want to be aware of what is normal for our bodies, from puberty, to pregnancy, to parenthood? Do we want to live in a society that supports women in making good choices for themselves and their families?

Do we want a revolution?

I do. And I'm armed!

(tampon shooter from www.tamponcrafts.com)

::kristin::

www.BirthGirlz.com