I Want to Make My Own Damn Choices

I was asked to write about women's reproductive rights today and I've struggled with what to write.

It's not a simple answer to me because I have a lifetime of thoughts and experiences that go into making my thoughts what they are today. And I think that people who have simple answers to huge questions have never faced hard choices.

So... bear with me if I wander a bit?

I'm a feminist. I've always been a feminist. Maybe you don't know that about me, because I'm a submissive in my relationship to Him and that's the part of me you see most of here. But I'm definitely a feminist, and I describe myself that way, and I'm proud of it.

I think that women who are younger and women who are older are sometimes less comfortable than my generation of university educated women who studied feminism, wrote about it, tried to understand the language and the implications and the theories.

We learned that oppression of women came about in various ways, through economics and reproductive destiny and is reinforced by religion and expectations and language. And we thought that we were on a path to finally having equality. I still think we are. But I don't think we are there yet.


Fast forward a bunch of years. I wanted to have a baby and it wasn't happening. I turned to reproductive technology and after a couple of tries (tens of thousands of dollars and lots of injections and hormones and tears) of In Vitro Fertilization, we became pregnant with a baby.

To me, that baby was and still is a miracle. I thought I was pregnant, was working toward being pregnant long before I actually was. I was taking drugs, doing treatments to create a space in my body to nurture the baby. I had done the same in my life.

He was and is a very wanted child.

It seems to me that every child should be a wanted child.

I was sick during my pregnancy. It put stresses and strains on my body. I had high blood pressure and gestational diabetes and gave myself up to 6 insulin shots a day. I ate according to a plan. I exercised. I was tired and sick and sucked at my job for most of the pregnancy. I quit working at 7 months on doctors orders. I didn't smoke or drink or do drugs. I was thrilled to be pregnant by the way, and deliriously happy for most of it. But I worried.

I had a planned c-section. I spent 6 weeks feeling like hell, and another 6 weeks before I realized I wasn't going to feel pain every single day for the rest of my life.

After the baby was born I nursed for a year. I got up in the middle of the night to breastfeed. I changed a million diapers. I stayed home. I took him to baby library class and baby swimming lessons.

I decorated his room and bought him Tonka trucks and learned the difference between boy toys and girl toys. I worried. I arranged daycare, and then changed daycare providers when things weren't working out. I drove him to and from daycare and to synagogue and play dates, birthday parties and violin lessons. I registered him for school. I took him to soccer and jiujitsu and cubs. I took him to guitar lessons and booked summer camps.

I spend my evenings doing homework with my kids. Relearning grade 11 physics and trying to convey grade 6 math. 

I live in my car taking him places. I don't begrudge it. I'm a mom, it's all part of the deal.

It was a big fucking job. All those of you who've done it know that it's a big fucking job. And it seems to go on and on. And I wanted to do it. I wanted it all. I worked at getting pregnant and I paid for it.

I chose to be pregnant.

I cannot imagine doing all that for a choice I had not made, for a child I had not wanted. I cannot imagine doing all that if I had been pregnant at a time or in a relationship where I had not wanted a pregnancy or a baby.

I cannot imagine being young and poor and alone with a baby. I look back at the panic and resentment I felt some days. At the tiredness and anger and wonder how more babies aren't hurt by angry tired parents.

Having a baby is a huge job. It's a huge commitment of time. It's not simply about a 9 month commitment. It's years of work.

I feel strongly that a woman has the right to make a choice about her body and what happens to it, about whether she chooses to have a baby or not.

Yes, you could argue, and many do, that if a woman does not want a baby she could give it up for adoption. Yes, I realize there are many lovely people waiting, wanting to adopt a baby. And for many people that's a solution. I think that misses the point.

I had to carry that baby inside me for 9 months. I had to eat properly and give myself drugs and work full time at having that baby. How much of that would well meaning people want to regulate? Where would we draw the line?

Would you regulate whether women smoke or drink or do drugs when they are pregnant? Would you put her in jail to ensure that she can't abuse a fetus like that? What about whether they drink coffee or eat enough spinach? Would you outlaw chocolate? Would you ensure that they exercise and sleep on their sides? Would you put laws around all the things everyone tells you to do the whole time you are pregnant? Where would you draw the line at regulating what women do with their bodies?

Does the father have any rights? Does he have rights if the parents are married? If they have a contract? If he's a long term boyfriend? Does he have rights if he's a one night stand or a bad boyfriend who beats her or a rapist? Where are the lines? What are the rules?

I don't know exactly when a baby becomes viable, when it becomes able to survive outside it's mother's womb. I do know that it's possible with extreme medical intervention to help babies born at 24 weeks to survive, if not to thrive. Who would pay that for a young single mom with a preemie baby?

Pardon me if I have more questions than answers. I just think that people who think they have all the answers haven't thought about all the questions.

I feel strongly that people have the right to make their own choices about what goes on in their bodies. Whether that's taking care of themselves, drinking themselves to death, or carrying a child to term.

We live with the choices we make. Sometimes we are lucky, sometimes we're unlucky. Life isn't fair. But I want to make my own damn choices. Don't you?

My body. My choice.