Privilege

Posted: 28 March 2005 in bitter old woman, observations
Tags: ,

It frustrates me to no end that I can’t just get pregnant. That there’s no biological thing that can happen without a doctor’s supervision. Aside from my unnatural fear of doctors, I’m constantly afraid that when D and I do decide to engage some Doc to get me pregnant she will have a million reasons why I shouldn’t. Maybe my blood pressure will be too high, or my weight will be too much, or I’ll recently have lost too much weight, or I’m at risk because of my age. Or maybe it’ll take us so long to save up enough money just to get pregnant that I’ll never be able to leave this job and the good insurance it offers.

No one should be so angsty in Spring, you say. After all, go ahead and remind me, it’s almost even daylight savings time again soon! Think of tweeting birds, or fuzzy bunnies…

A person whose blog I read regularly is, in my eyes, an unfit mother. Granted, I have no grounds on which to say this really, since I don’t know her in person and haven’t seen her parenting style in action and, bottom line, her three children are all (she claims) still alive. But I was a kid. And while I know it’s different than being a mother, I also remember enough of my VVM’s depression, PMS and angry/sullen fits to remember how not to treat your kids. She’s a great mother otherwise, if VV, but I have some indelibly awful memories of how painful it can be when your caretaker doesn’t get help when she/he needs it. It’s too bad it isn’t enough to write a book – I have no problem capitalizing on that sort of thing.

But I digress. This blogger – more of a journaler, really – knows she’s clinically depressed but doesn’t get treatment, just muddles through. Her health insurance status is questionable (something my sister did pregnant which I take strong issue with). She lives with a man with whom she built a relationship through an RPG. She’s almost 40, he just turned 26. He is a contractor, she hasn’t got a job. Her youngest is 9, the oldest 19. She admits that she can’t take care of them when she’s depressed. But she wants to have a child with him. And she’s been trying for months to get pregnant. And now, she is.

I don’t begrudge her the right to be pregnant, even with all the potentially bad childhood causing factors. I begrudge her the ease of it. That no one can tell her she’s unfit because she’s already done it. That she has privilege.

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