Idiot Parade

Every couple weeks, I tune into Momversation, a video blog featuring a group of well-known Mommy Bloggers. The topics are usually pretty easy, like What Movies Do Your Kids Watch? or Balancing Parenting and Work. Okay, those topics aren’t ‘easy’, but I don’t think they’re exceedingly emotional. Today’s, however, dealt with the very sensitive issue of miscarriage.

I know quite a few women who have lost a child, and I am so, so sorry that they had to endure that pain. I’m terrified that I will miscarry, and given how common it is, I probably will at some point. I can’t imagine knowing that there is a child growing inside me, only to have it taken away from me before we get to properly meet. In a discussion of miscarriage, no one ever acts as thought anything less than tragic has happened. In that situation, even when the fetus was only in the first trimester, it is always considered to be the loss of a life.

So why, then, is a first trimester aborted fetus not considered to be living as well?

I don’t mean to be offensive here, but I honestly can’t see a difference. Two weeks or twelve, if I knew I was pregnant and then I suddenly wasn’t anymore, I would feel like I lost a child…I think many women would feel the same way. But some of those women might be pro-choice, and would then argue that a woman who has an abortion in the first trimester isn’t killing a child. It has died, it has died unnaturally, but it wasn’t killed? Because it wasn’t a fully formed baby yet? But it would have been considered to be a baby if she wanted to keep the child and it died all on it’s own?

What?

I think legislation should stay away from the human body, so I’m not taking a stance as politically Pro Life or Pro Choice. Morally, though, I have a serious problem with this double standard, especially when there are so many safe haven and adoption options.

I would really like to hear some other opinions on this, especially from women who have dealt with any aspect of this. Male perspectives are welcome, too….pregnancy affects everyone, in one way or another.

I don’t know if I’ve talked about this before, but I am fed up with it to the point of wanting to maim.

Most people who read this are aware that I have a condition called celiac disease. It’s am autoimmune disorder of the small intestine that is caused by my body’s inability handle gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye, and barley. When gluten is in my body, it wears away at the villi in my small intestine, which makes it harder for them to absorb nutrients. I have had it since I was born, but wasn’t diagnosed in high school, because I am mostly asymptomatic. There is no treatment or cure; the only thing I can do is stay the hell away from gluten.

Now, usually, I’m very good about that. I check labels at the grocery store. I have my own special bottle of soy sauce. If we’re all going somewhere where options are limited, I’ll get a salad. There are times, though, when I forget that I don’t have symptoms of my disease, and I’ll eat things without even thinking about what they contain. Like…Panda Express. All I wanted for two days was Panda. It’s one of my favorite places, and I thought I was being safe with sticking to the chicken and mushrooms and mixed veggies and steamed rice. So for two days, J got to listen to me whine about needing Chinese. I was finally on my way out to get some, but then worked called and asked me to come in early. So no Panda for Andi.

He had some waiting for me when I got home. Exactly what I had been craving, it was so sweet, and all was right in the world again. And I posted it on my facebook status, because I thought it was a freaking adorable gesture. It was because of that post that a fellow-celiac friend brought to my attention that there is NOTHING I can eat on the Panda Express menu. After a five second Google search, I discovered that everything there is cooked with soy sauce (oh, and not for vegetarians, the mixed veggies are cooked in chicken stock. Yeah).

This might not seem like a big deal, but it really does make my want to cry. I am so tired of dealing with this. I hate checking every label at the grocery store. I hate having to spend way more money on my food because it’s ’special’. I hate having to research a restaurant before I can eat there. I hate being an inconvenience. I want to have a freaking pizza and beer, some ramen, and a slice of bread that actually tastes and feels and looks like real bread. And then an enormous cake with bright pink frosting. But having those things might mean that I get cancer in my small intestine someday. Or that I’ll become infertile. Fun stuff like that.

I thought I was doing well, but I guess I’ve just been careless. Time to crackdown. Again.

I’d like to take this moment to give a shout-out to Happy Jack’s RPG Podcast. It’s a weekly podcast discussing aspects of RPGs (Role Playing Games), things like types of players, effective GMing (Game Master…in other words, the one in charge of the game) methods, story arcs, character building, etc etc. I love the guys who host it; they’re funny as hell and they definitely know what they’re talking about. If you have any interest in gaming or want to learn more about RPGs, I highly recommend checking this out. Link is above, and they also have a Facebook fan page here.

It’s been a little over a week since we’ve acquired Molly, and my god, the progress. Today is the first day she hasn’t peed in the house, and that alone has taken a huge weight off of J and me. I’ve never trained a puppy, so there were a few days of experimentation as to what methods work, and there is a startling difference, at least when it comes to housebreaking, between the results from when we either reward her for good behavior or punish her for bad behavior. Putting Molly’s nose in her latest wet spot and then putting her outside did absolutely nothing. For the last two days, J and I have both gone outside with her and gave her a treat after she peed (before we only verbally praised her), and she seems to finally understand what it is we’re asking of her.

She is also (mostly) sleeping through the night; she’ll come to bed with us, wake up around two or three to come on our bed and snuggle, go back to her bed after a few minutes, and then wake up again around seven, demanding to be fed and let outside. It’s not a perfect system, but at least it’s stable.

The hardest part so far was the one night I had to break Molly of the incessant barking. J and I put Molly in our room to get her used to going to her bed at night without us, and for a few hours, I stood outside our door with a water bottle, waiting to squirt her if she started barking loudly. I wasn’t at all comfortable with this, but J insisted that I needed to learn how to discipline. By the sixth time I had to spray Molly, she was cowering every time she saw me, which quickly brought me to tears. An hour more of that, and I found myself in J’s lap, crying and telling him that I am a terrible pet owner and I will therefore be a terrible mother. It made perfect sense at the time. The next day, though, I was greeted by our puppy as though nothing had happened…and the crazy barking has not occurred since. It broke my heart to punish her without being able to sit her down and explain why her barking was so very annoying and causing everyone in the house to tear their hair out, but I can’t deny that it worked. Hopefully, though, it won’t be a teaching method that I’ll have to use often.