Sunday, January 30, 2005
Obscurity Update
As I was flipping through the New York Times this morning, I had a moment of "Holy Crap! That's Leta!" Front page of the SundayStyles section, above the fold, enormous photo of Heather's torso, typing on a Mac laptop, with an arm around Leta. Very cute. The headline and opening paragraphs were a little, um, dismissive. "Mommy (and Me): A generation of new parents are telling tales from the crib in blogs that revel in self-absorption." I'll link to the story here, but I'm afraid it's subscription-only. You might be able to see the photo without a subscription if you go here, but only for the next week. Anyway, that's why Heather's blog this morning makes a vague reference to self-absorption.
For those without a NYT subscription, the part of the story about Heather is:
For those without a NYT subscription, the part of the story about Heather is:
Heather B. Armstrong of Salt Lake City credits her blog, Dooce.com, with saving her sanity, if not her life. When it began in February 2001, Dooce was a collection of anecdotes about Ms. Armstrong's single life in Los Angeles, with provocative entries like "The Proper Way to Hate a Job" and "Dear Cranky Old Bitch Who Cut in Front of Me at Canter's Deli." After someone sent an unsigned, untraceable e-mail message about Ms. Armstrong's blog to her company's board in 2002, she was promptly dismissed, and "Dooced" entered Urbandictionary.com as a term for "Losing your job for something you wrote in your online blog, journal, Web site, etc."A year later Ms. Armstrong married, moved back to Utah, gave birth to a daughter, Leta, and was soon after hospitalized for severe postpartum depression. Her moving, confessional entries from that time generated thousands of e-mail messages and, she said, helped speed her recovery.
Now about 40,000 people log on to read about Ms. Armstrong's efforts to break her daughter's binky habit and of her concern about swearing in front of Leta. Like most parent bloggers, Ms. Armstrong steals time at the computer when the child is napping, after the baby sitter arrives and late at night. She said she blogs at least 15 hours a week. "Dooce probably saved my life," she said. "The writing and voice I had let me hold onto part of the original and old Heather, something that being a mother and the depression couldn't take away."
Thursday, January 27, 2005
The Joy of Obscurity
I've often thought that it would be nice if tamponblog had a larger readership. Hey, I think we're amusing! But yesterday's dooce post makes me grateful for our lack of notoriety.
They say that for every letter to the editor written, ten more people had the same opinion and didn't bother to write. Because it's so much easier to post an anonymous comment than write a letter, the numbers might be lower on the web. Still, it would be nice to imagine that for every person who posts a positive comment on your site, there are ten more silent people who also like your site. It would NOT be a pleasant thought that for every wacko who sends you anonymous hate mail or negatively posts, there are another ten out there who also hate you!
Speaking of dooce, I'm pretty confident that if we ever met her in real life, we would be really good friends with the author. However, I'm not going to send her an email saying, "I've read all of this personal stuff that you've posted on the internet, and I think you're really funny, so even though you have no idea who I am, let's be friends!" It would be a bit of a star-struck thing to do. Like the letter I wrote when I was 13 or so after reading an interview with Joey Lawrence (brother on Blossom, with the catch phrase "Whoa!") and deciding that we were soul mates. I'm happy to report that my grip on reality was firm enough that I didn't actually mail the letter.
But rather than feeling regret that we're not likely to meet Heather in person and become friends, I'm going to take my response to her web site as proof that the world is full of people I would find simpatico. If I had to pick up and move somewhere like Utah, where I know no one and only 26% of the population voted the way I did in the last election, I would be able to find awesome people to be friends with. That's a lovely thought, isn't it?
They say that for every letter to the editor written, ten more people had the same opinion and didn't bother to write. Because it's so much easier to post an anonymous comment than write a letter, the numbers might be lower on the web. Still, it would be nice to imagine that for every person who posts a positive comment on your site, there are ten more silent people who also like your site. It would NOT be a pleasant thought that for every wacko who sends you anonymous hate mail or negatively posts, there are another ten out there who also hate you!
Speaking of dooce, I'm pretty confident that if we ever met her in real life, we would be really good friends with the author. However, I'm not going to send her an email saying, "I've read all of this personal stuff that you've posted on the internet, and I think you're really funny, so even though you have no idea who I am, let's be friends!" It would be a bit of a star-struck thing to do. Like the letter I wrote when I was 13 or so after reading an interview with Joey Lawrence (brother on Blossom, with the catch phrase "Whoa!") and deciding that we were soul mates. I'm happy to report that my grip on reality was firm enough that I didn't actually mail the letter.
But rather than feeling regret that we're not likely to meet Heather in person and become friends, I'm going to take my response to her web site as proof that the world is full of people I would find simpatico. If I had to pick up and move somewhere like Utah, where I know no one and only 26% of the population voted the way I did in the last election, I would be able to find awesome people to be friends with. That's a lovely thought, isn't it?
Monday, January 24, 2005
Ode II
I really appreciated reading nsf’s ode to her period. I would like to respond to a few things in her post, but decided to do my own post rather than write a super-long comment.
Mine arrived on school picture day in the seventh grade, a month before my twelfth birthday. I had monthly spotting for a good six months earlier, but didn’t realize that the real thing involved a comparatively copious amount of liquid and was accompanied by dizzying pain.
My dad was trying to be sympathetic, so awkwardly asked if I needed more time to get ready before he drove me to school. I lashed out saying I was fine. My first bout of PMS mixed with embarrassment, clearly. School pictures are always bad, but having the first cramps of one’s life and being afraid of blood spilling all over the place lead to quite a heinous photo!
I recall some anticipation of when it would arrive, but also fear. The first time I learned about menstruation was from a book written by a conservative Christian. You can imagine how “the curse” was explained in such context! So although I wanted to be “grown up” I also didn’t want to have “proof of sin.”
But I remember slyly sneaking it in my conversation with my best friend (who, as nsf suggests, was one of several “best” friends who changed with our fickle personalities) – “So, uh, I have pads in my bag if you need one.” And “hey, I think I may have spotted on my pants a little, can you see anything back there?” I remember learning that the breaks between class periods were absolutely too short to change one’s pad without being tardy to the next class, so it was important to change at the last minute before first period, then during homeroom break, and at the start and end of lunch. Nonetheless, I had accidents.
My introduction to birth control pills came not because of sexual activity, but because of devastating dysmenorrhea. The first gynecologist I visited was unsympathetic. She kept asking me if I was sexually active. I kept telling her that I was not. I was twelve. I was going to wait until marriage. She kept asking again, defining sexual activity, describing acts about which I had never heard. When she did the pelvic exam, she scoffed at my tears, saying that the exam was “mildly uncomfortable.” It was horrifically painful to me and I wept openly. I left her office humiliated, but with a prescription for birth control pills.
The pills were initially a wonderful thing, as they meant that I no longer had painful cramps. I didn’t have periods anymore, even while taking the sugar pills. Unfortunately, after a few years of altering my hormones, my mental health suffered. I went off the birth control pills and rediscovered the pain and inconvenience of menstruation. But, I reasoned, a couple days a month of being bedridden with vomiting and pain along with a week of pads was better than going through life depressed on a daily basis. (Only pads? Yes: after the painful pelvic exam, I wasn’t going to take a chance on tampons!) A kindly college physician disavowed me of the need for that tradeoff; she gave me a more evolved balance of hormones. She was also the first to give me a pelvic exam without pain. It is amazing what a kind, attentive physician can do to reassure the patient, and as a result, set up a more favorable psychological arena to deal with discomfort.
I only had one pregnancy scare where the absence of a period made my heart skip a beat. It was after I had gone off birth control pills in anticipation of starting my family shortly after the start of my upcoming marriage, but it was still before the wedding.
I had told myself that I would wait until marriage before becoming sexually active, but as I got older I “revised” that to be that I had to be engaged, since that was in my eyes as committed as marriage. So yes, Grandma, I had sex before my wedding. In fact, if anyone counts the number of days between my wedding and the arrival of my first son, it is clear that either I have a really long cycle, or we jumped the gun by two weeks.
In fact, we had become intimate at least six months before the wedding. In the midst of the planning stress, I missed a period. I couldn’t possibly imagine being six months pregnant at my own wedding, so became even more stressed, thereby delaying my period even more! But pregnancy test after pregnancy test was negative, and within a few weeks, my period finally arrived. It is the most joyous I have ever felt to see my underwear stained! (And an excuse to go to Victoria’s Secret!)
The “disappointment period” that nsf speaks of is something I have experienced, but not until I was already a parent. My first son came exactly when we had hoped. If that two-weeks-before-the-wedding hadn’t “worked,” we would have tried again the next month. I was lucky. I must admit that the positive pregnancy test caused a panic only because the reality of everything hit me all at once. I had just gotten married and soon there would be three of us? Am I really ready for this? So although I would have been devastated with the arrival of a period, I was shocked when the pregnancy was fact! This is in the same realm of what nsf described, with the idea that a couple wanting a baby could be secretly relieved at the arrival of a period.
Parenthood is definitely a life-altering event, and it is more so than can be explained to a non-parent. Just as nsf describes periods as being something that is anticipated, but from which you can never go back, so is parenthood.
My second son was not so easily conceived. It took a year of “trying” before I became pregnant. My heart dropped each time my period arrived. But then one month it didn’t come. And the test was positive. And again I was shocked and panicked! I was definitely less concerned this time around because I knew what to expect, but the reality that we would be a family of four was surreal.
I imagine that the loss of a period will be a heavy emotional event as well. Just as menarche is symbolic of the start of womanhood, menopause will close the chapter of potential childbirth. Even if I feel “done” with having babies, I imagine that the reality of not being able to have them will be difficult. I cannot imagine the pain that the women who wish to be biological mothers, but cannot for a variety of reasons, must feel. Or a woman who didn’t want children, but at the start of menopause perhaps has second thoughts. Or, for someone completely comfortable with not being a parent, if menopause symbolizes not something relating to reproduction, but instead the beginning of old age.
Periods certainly cause pain and joy in what they represent. The reproductive lives of women – regardless of whether we choose parenthood or not – are certainly a big part of our life stories.
Mine arrived on school picture day in the seventh grade, a month before my twelfth birthday. I had monthly spotting for a good six months earlier, but didn’t realize that the real thing involved a comparatively copious amount of liquid and was accompanied by dizzying pain.
My dad was trying to be sympathetic, so awkwardly asked if I needed more time to get ready before he drove me to school. I lashed out saying I was fine. My first bout of PMS mixed with embarrassment, clearly. School pictures are always bad, but having the first cramps of one’s life and being afraid of blood spilling all over the place lead to quite a heinous photo!
I recall some anticipation of when it would arrive, but also fear. The first time I learned about menstruation was from a book written by a conservative Christian. You can imagine how “the curse” was explained in such context! So although I wanted to be “grown up” I also didn’t want to have “proof of sin.”
But I remember slyly sneaking it in my conversation with my best friend (who, as nsf suggests, was one of several “best” friends who changed with our fickle personalities) – “So, uh, I have pads in my bag if you need one.” And “hey, I think I may have spotted on my pants a little, can you see anything back there?” I remember learning that the breaks between class periods were absolutely too short to change one’s pad without being tardy to the next class, so it was important to change at the last minute before first period, then during homeroom break, and at the start and end of lunch. Nonetheless, I had accidents.
My introduction to birth control pills came not because of sexual activity, but because of devastating dysmenorrhea. The first gynecologist I visited was unsympathetic. She kept asking me if I was sexually active. I kept telling her that I was not. I was twelve. I was going to wait until marriage. She kept asking again, defining sexual activity, describing acts about which I had never heard. When she did the pelvic exam, she scoffed at my tears, saying that the exam was “mildly uncomfortable.” It was horrifically painful to me and I wept openly. I left her office humiliated, but with a prescription for birth control pills.
The pills were initially a wonderful thing, as they meant that I no longer had painful cramps. I didn’t have periods anymore, even while taking the sugar pills. Unfortunately, after a few years of altering my hormones, my mental health suffered. I went off the birth control pills and rediscovered the pain and inconvenience of menstruation. But, I reasoned, a couple days a month of being bedridden with vomiting and pain along with a week of pads was better than going through life depressed on a daily basis. (Only pads? Yes: after the painful pelvic exam, I wasn’t going to take a chance on tampons!) A kindly college physician disavowed me of the need for that tradeoff; she gave me a more evolved balance of hormones. She was also the first to give me a pelvic exam without pain. It is amazing what a kind, attentive physician can do to reassure the patient, and as a result, set up a more favorable psychological arena to deal with discomfort.
I only had one pregnancy scare where the absence of a period made my heart skip a beat. It was after I had gone off birth control pills in anticipation of starting my family shortly after the start of my upcoming marriage, but it was still before the wedding.
I had told myself that I would wait until marriage before becoming sexually active, but as I got older I “revised” that to be that I had to be engaged, since that was in my eyes as committed as marriage. So yes, Grandma, I had sex before my wedding. In fact, if anyone counts the number of days between my wedding and the arrival of my first son, it is clear that either I have a really long cycle, or we jumped the gun by two weeks.
In fact, we had become intimate at least six months before the wedding. In the midst of the planning stress, I missed a period. I couldn’t possibly imagine being six months pregnant at my own wedding, so became even more stressed, thereby delaying my period even more! But pregnancy test after pregnancy test was negative, and within a few weeks, my period finally arrived. It is the most joyous I have ever felt to see my underwear stained! (And an excuse to go to Victoria’s Secret!)
The “disappointment period” that nsf speaks of is something I have experienced, but not until I was already a parent. My first son came exactly when we had hoped. If that two-weeks-before-the-wedding hadn’t “worked,” we would have tried again the next month. I was lucky. I must admit that the positive pregnancy test caused a panic only because the reality of everything hit me all at once. I had just gotten married and soon there would be three of us? Am I really ready for this? So although I would have been devastated with the arrival of a period, I was shocked when the pregnancy was fact! This is in the same realm of what nsf described, with the idea that a couple wanting a baby could be secretly relieved at the arrival of a period.
Parenthood is definitely a life-altering event, and it is more so than can be explained to a non-parent. Just as nsf describes periods as being something that is anticipated, but from which you can never go back, so is parenthood.
My second son was not so easily conceived. It took a year of “trying” before I became pregnant. My heart dropped each time my period arrived. But then one month it didn’t come. And the test was positive. And again I was shocked and panicked! I was definitely less concerned this time around because I knew what to expect, but the reality that we would be a family of four was surreal.
I imagine that the loss of a period will be a heavy emotional event as well. Just as menarche is symbolic of the start of womanhood, menopause will close the chapter of potential childbirth. Even if I feel “done” with having babies, I imagine that the reality of not being able to have them will be difficult. I cannot imagine the pain that the women who wish to be biological mothers, but cannot for a variety of reasons, must feel. Or a woman who didn’t want children, but at the start of menopause perhaps has second thoughts. Or, for someone completely comfortable with not being a parent, if menopause symbolizes not something relating to reproduction, but instead the beginning of old age.
Periods certainly cause pain and joy in what they represent. The reproductive lives of women – regardless of whether we choose parenthood or not – are certainly a big part of our life stories.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Ode to My Period
I got my period the summer between 6th and 7th grades. I was the third in my group of four friends, joined at the hip when we weren't "not speaking" to one of the others. What I remember most clearly is the year or so of eager anticipation, wanting to be grown-up enough to join the club of girls who'd gotten theirs. Of course, little did we know that getting your period was a lot like waiting to be allowed to shave your legs. As soon as the novelty wears off, you'd just as soon not have started, but there's no way to go back. Now you've got got to contend with years of accidents, wondering if you'll ever settle into a predictable schedule, and always having supplies in that tiny, interior zip-pocket of your purse.
Then come the years after you've started having sex, before you're ready for kids. The period is still a nuisance, but if it ever doesn't come on schedule . . . well, you learn a whole new appreciation for "Aunt Flo." This is also the stage in my life where I discovered the miracle that is the birth control pill. I could stop carrying around emergency supplies, because I knew when my period would start, give or take a few hours. I could plan trips a year in advance and be relatively certain that I wouldn't have my period. (Of course, then they started telling women that it was ok to skip the non-medicated week and force a skipped period for convenience, and the being able to count forward in 28-day increments for a year paled in comparison.)
Then comes the stage for so many women where the period coming on time is a heart-breaking notice that parenthood is at least another month off. I wonder if for some women, as much as they'd like to be pregnant, the familiar ritual of having a period is a tiny bit of a relief, a sign that they've got one more month of life as they know it before everything changes. I mean, no one would think it strange if people who were really happy to be expecting were also a bit freaked out at the enormity of what's going to happen to their lives. So wouldn't a bit of relief at not yet having to face the unknown also be natural? I've never heard anyone admit to it, though.
And then, menopause. After years of a complicated relationship with your period, what must it be like to say goodbye? When our culture places so much importance on youth, is it hard to still feel feminine? In cultures with more respect for age, is it easier to transition from the mother archetype to the crone stage of life?
All of this is going through my head as I wait around for a slightly overdue period. (No, not pregnant! Absolutely no chance!) I've been having insulin-resistance problems that interfered with my period for the last few years. I've been on a medication which fixed the problem, but as I lose weight and get healthier, my doctor told me to experiment with tapering off the medication to see what happens. Here's how lazy I am: although I haven't yet reached the weight at which the doctor told me to try the experiment, my prescription ran out and rather than making one stupid phone call to the doctor asking him to call in a refill to the pharmacy, I decided to experiment early and see what happens. Last month was my first unmedicated period in years (woo-hoo!) and suddenly, in my late 20s, I'm back to where I was when I was 12, keeping a calendar and trying to figure out what schedule my ovaries are on. Am I a 28-day girl? A 35-er? Irregular? Last month's came on day 31. Today is day 35, and I'm still waiting. I was cranky as hell on Sunday, yesterday my boobs hurt and I couldn't get enough tortilla chips and chocolate, so where the hell is my period? I've wasted four pads by wearing them to bed just in case, and then having nothing happen. I haven't had this sort of period anticipation in over a decade, and it's all a bit surreal. But excellent fodder for blogging!
Then come the years after you've started having sex, before you're ready for kids. The period is still a nuisance, but if it ever doesn't come on schedule . . . well, you learn a whole new appreciation for "Aunt Flo." This is also the stage in my life where I discovered the miracle that is the birth control pill. I could stop carrying around emergency supplies, because I knew when my period would start, give or take a few hours. I could plan trips a year in advance and be relatively certain that I wouldn't have my period. (Of course, then they started telling women that it was ok to skip the non-medicated week and force a skipped period for convenience, and the being able to count forward in 28-day increments for a year paled in comparison.)
Then comes the stage for so many women where the period coming on time is a heart-breaking notice that parenthood is at least another month off. I wonder if for some women, as much as they'd like to be pregnant, the familiar ritual of having a period is a tiny bit of a relief, a sign that they've got one more month of life as they know it before everything changes. I mean, no one would think it strange if people who were really happy to be expecting were also a bit freaked out at the enormity of what's going to happen to their lives. So wouldn't a bit of relief at not yet having to face the unknown also be natural? I've never heard anyone admit to it, though.
And then, menopause. After years of a complicated relationship with your period, what must it be like to say goodbye? When our culture places so much importance on youth, is it hard to still feel feminine? In cultures with more respect for age, is it easier to transition from the mother archetype to the crone stage of life?
All of this is going through my head as I wait around for a slightly overdue period. (No, not pregnant! Absolutely no chance!) I've been having insulin-resistance problems that interfered with my period for the last few years. I've been on a medication which fixed the problem, but as I lose weight and get healthier, my doctor told me to experiment with tapering off the medication to see what happens. Here's how lazy I am: although I haven't yet reached the weight at which the doctor told me to try the experiment, my prescription ran out and rather than making one stupid phone call to the doctor asking him to call in a refill to the pharmacy, I decided to experiment early and see what happens. Last month was my first unmedicated period in years (woo-hoo!) and suddenly, in my late 20s, I'm back to where I was when I was 12, keeping a calendar and trying to figure out what schedule my ovaries are on. Am I a 28-day girl? A 35-er? Irregular? Last month's came on day 31. Today is day 35, and I'm still waiting. I was cranky as hell on Sunday, yesterday my boobs hurt and I couldn't get enough tortilla chips and chocolate, so where the hell is my period? I've wasted four pads by wearing them to bed just in case, and then having nothing happen. I haven't had this sort of period anticipation in over a decade, and it's all a bit surreal. But excellent fodder for blogging!
Tips for Life
I recently opened a new box of pantiliners, and my Kotex LightDays are now running "Tips for Life" on the paper backing of the adhesive strips. Tips (in three languages) include: "Staying active during your period can help relieve cramps," "Drink 6-8 glasses of water daily to help keep you hydrated and feeling fresh," and, of course, "Try Kotex Lightdays Pantiliners . . . also available in Longs, Average and Purse-Paks."
They call these tips for life? Tips for your period, sure, but for life?
How about, "If you want to say something just because you think it would sound witty/cutting/cute, stifle." Or, "Just because you dislike the teacher doesn't necessarily mean you're bad at the subject, or wouldn't like it with a different teacher." Or, "When you see something in a store that you absolutely love, buy it immediately, because it might be discontinued and you'll spend years futilely searching for it."
What are your real tips for life?
They call these tips for life? Tips for your period, sure, but for life?
How about, "If you want to say something just because you think it would sound witty/cutting/cute, stifle." Or, "Just because you dislike the teacher doesn't necessarily mean you're bad at the subject, or wouldn't like it with a different teacher." Or, "When you see something in a store that you absolutely love, buy it immediately, because it might be discontinued and you'll spend years futilely searching for it."
What are your real tips for life?
