Her Bad Mother

Thursday, January 29, 2009

If Baryshnikov Were A Vertically-Challenged Vaudevillian...

... who was given to hitting the bottle before performances, it would probably look something like this:

I make no apologies. I mean, what are babies for?

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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The First Cut

Here's something that I had planned to never blog about: my son's penis. Not about the novelty of having a baby with a penis (because, really: contrary to all expectation, the novelty wears off. A baby penis is just a little version of the appendage that you've seen before, and once you get accustomed to the risk of being sprayed during diaper changes, there's really nothing particularly complicated about its care and maintenance), not about the differences between be-penised babies and be-vulvaed babies (there'll be plenty of opportunity to reflect upon gender differences as these pertain to my son and daughter without considering their genitalia) and certainly not about our decision whether or not to make that all-too-significant snip. Circumcision, above all else, was not something that I was going to blog about. Too personal. Too controversial. Nothing to say about it.

I changed my mind. I still regard the topic as dangerously personal and controversial, but I do, as it turns out, have something to say about it.

My husband and I agonized over whether or not to circumcise Jasper. Actually, that's not true: I agonized over whether or not to circumcise Jasper. My husband was pretty certain that he wanted to not circumcise - it's not my place to explain his reasons, but I will say that he (my husband) is circumcised, and that he does not practice a religion that encourages circumcision - and although my inclination was to give my husband decision-making authority on this issue - he, after all, knows penises better than I do - I was, for some time, torn. I had never seen an uncircumsised penis. I had no idea - beyond the most rudimentary, high-school sex-ed posterboard kind of understanding - what might be the implications of circumcising or not circumcising. I was all, what's a foreskin? And: why cut it off? But also: but doesn't everyone cut it off? And: if everyone else cuts it off, there must be a reason. But then again: cutting. I was very confused, and more than a little uncomfortable about the whole subject.

The only thing that I knew for certain was this: circumcision meant that someone would bring a very sharp object very close to a very delicate part of my very little baby, and I didn't like that idea one bit.

I read every article, medical and otherwise, that I could get my virtual hands on. I read anti-circumcision articles and pro-circumcision articles. I read about how circumcision might reduce rates of certain kinds of infections, and about how such reductions were most likely statistically irrelevant in North America. I read many personal essays by parents who are pro-circumcision, and many by parents who are anti-circumcision. I saw many comparisons to female genital mutilation, which I dismissed intellectually, but which haunted me nonetheless. I resisted being haunted. I worried about resisting being haunted. I worried about the ethics of making such a decision for my child: what would my boy want, if he were able to ask himself the question? I asked my husband; he knew his own answer. I wasn't sure that that was enough.

I worried about how much I was worrying over the issue.

I read more articles.

I read that the pediatric associations of both the United States and of Canada recommended against circumcision. They were circumspect about it, to be sure: they fall all over themselves assuring concerned parents that it's a personal decision, a decision that only the family can make. But they still get their message across: there's no medical reason for a child to be circumcised.

That, however, was not the reason that I decided that I did not want Jasper to be circumcised. I decided that I did not want Jasper to be circumcised, simply, because I could not bear to allow anything to happen to him that would cause him unnecessary hurt. I could not bear the idea of the flash of a blade near his little body, the slice that would cause him to cry out in pain.

This was - this is - an intensely personal decision. In a way, it was a selfish decision: I made (and my husband supported) a decision based upon my feelings, my fears. It is Jasper, however, who will live with this decision. If I chose, I could weave a story, a philosophy, about how decisions such as these demand that we consider most seriously the passive option - that we do nothing that takes away from the individual that our child will become, that we do nothing that constrains that individual, that robs that individual of anything, literally or figuratively - but that would be bullshit. As parents, we make decisions every day - every hour - that shape our childrens' futures with little conscious regard for whether or not our children, looking back, would want us to consider those decisions differently. We take away little pieces of potential futures for our children with every step that we take - and with every step that we take, every decision that we make, we also add pieces, we also build possibilities into those futures. Obviously, in an ideal world, we would make all the right decisions, and our children would one day congratulate us for caring for them and protecting their interests perfectly. But ours is not an ideal world, and we make decisions under imperfect conditions, and we can be assured only that we will, as parents, achieve imperfect results.

So I didn't choose to not circumcise my son because I was perfectly convinced that it was right thing to do, because I believed that it was the thing that he, someday, would thank me for doing. I didn't make the choice that I did because I think that all parents should make that choice. I didn't choose to not circumcise because I came to the conclusion that it was the only choice that a good mother could make. I did it only because I didn't want to cut him.

It was the only thing that I could do, the only choice that I could make, for me. I can only hope that I did right, that I chose right, by him.

(I've not yet drawn a name for the Motozine from last week's giveaway; I'll do so at first opportunity and post the winner by Thursday. In the meantime, thank you all so very, very much for sharing your generosity of spirit in the comments, and, as always for your love and support.)

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Sunday, January 25, 2009

Grace In Small (Imaginary) Things: Day 1/375

I don't know what any of these things are, but they sound wonderful:

1) Pretty sauce;

2) Honey Jolly Balls;

3) Lollipop juice.

Together, I think that they'd make an awesome meal. Hold the meatballs, though.

(Learn more about Grace In Small Things here. Thanks, Schmutzie.)