To her "but it's beautiful!", I replied with "she's in pain. And there's too much zoom in, for the love of God".

The pain is kind of par for the course, but from our experience I think the amount of close-up camera work is optional.

Call me naive and inexperienced, but romanticizing a process which contains blood, screaming, sharp instruments and pain for hours as beautiful gets me suspicious.

Call me naive and inexperienced, but romanticizing a process which contains blood, screaming, sharp instruments and pain for hours as beautiful gets me suspicious.

The outcome, on the other hand: [link]

Call me naive and inexperienced, but romanticizing a process which contains blood, screaming, sharp instruments and pain for hours as beautiful gets me suspicious.

Eh, since I haven't gone through it (on the giving-birth end), I'm not going to presume to question the descriptions from people who have actually undergone it.

The outcome, on the other hand:

And billytea gets it in one. Cutiehead!

The outcome, of course, is so very pretty. My point is that it can be achieved in a simpler, humane way (biologically speaking). I'm a utilitarian to the core on this issue: there are way too many people on Earth and children who can't be raised by their own families for various reasons (not that I'm claiming I know better than those families, but there are many people who aren't apt to raise children). On the top of that, I don't want another living thing to spring out of me in labor. I really don't. And with my family's DNA, there are some things I don't want to pass to other people.

However, considering my education and my financial state, if I'll get knocked up by accident I'm not sure I'd be first in line for abortion. Unborn children have their rights too, and if I'm in a state to give a potential child support and good life, I'd do so. But as my logic goes, it's a situation I'll try and prevent as long as I'll stick to this logic.

Children are a wonderful thing, indeed. I just want to make sure that nobody would get hurt more than necessary in the process of family making.

A lot of people consider me to be weird for this opinion. I consider other people, mostly family members who see me every two years at best and their first question is whether or not I have a boyfriend, weird.

Maybe I should send them to see the Friday Scary Sex Toy.

Edit: since I haven't gone through it (on the giving-birth end), I'm not going to presume to question the descriptions from people who have actually undergone it.

I heard it described as beautiful and adorable from both undergoers and non-undergoers of childbirth. Hence my suspicious. I smile politely to men who describe it to me as such and suggest them to undergo it themselves if they're so eager to advocate it.

The outcome, on the other hand: [link]

Omigosh, I'd forgotten what a darling Ryan was when he was so tiny. He's such a beautiful, handsome boy now.

On the top of that, I don't want another living thing to spring out of me in labor.

I can't help feeling that's about the only time it'd be acceptable.

Omigosh, I'd forgotten what a darling Ryan was when he was so tiny. He's such a beautiful, handsome boy now.

He's a miserable little fellow right now. He has conjunctivitis. (He hates having his eyes cleaned, howls all the way through it). I'm home from work tomorrow looking after him (can't go to childcare with conjunctivitis).

When he wakes up in the morning his eyes are glued shut. Not that he seems to mind, he's still keen on getting cuddles. Can't see who's cuddling him, doesn't care. This is a boy with a clear sense of priorities.

Call me naive and inexperienced, but romanticizing a process which contains blood, screaming, sharp instruments and pain for hours as beautiful gets me suspicious.

There's not a lot that's romantic about the process itself, but the fact that you get a baby at the end is pretty cool. And as with most things reproductive, there are an awful lot of hormones involved, so your emotional options are pretty much Romanticize The Fuck Out Of It or Blackout Rage.

I read Where Do Babies Come From? when I was 5 or 6, which is surprisingly graphic for a book aimed at kindergarteners. After that most of my self-directed sexual education came from Robert Heinlein and Anne Rice, who are, as it turns out, not reliable sources.

For the STD/condom type stuff, our high school sex-ed teacher was a lesbian ex-marine who also taught biology and gym. She was awesome.

but I do remember this hilarious curriculum about drugs in health class in 7th grade, where they taught us all the "street" names for drugs: blow, smack, etc. So that we could better communicate with our future dealers?

Ah, DARE. As in "DARE to introduce kids to all kinds of drugs they probably wouldn't have even been curious about except that they learned about them in school." We not only learned the street names, but what all the different drugs looked like. I guess so in case they'd missed a slang term we'd still be able to say "That one - the heroin" when we went to buy.

There's not a lot that's romantic about the process itself, but the fact that you get a baby at the end is pretty cool.

Plus, birth of a mammal!

Our drug curriculum in elementary school left most of us with the impression that there are drug dealers on every corner just waiting to grab little kids like us and force us to do drugs, because once you've done it once, you're addicted, and then you'll keep going back to buy more.

Around fourth grade, we learned methods for telling our friends we didn't want to do drugs. According to this curriculum, the conversation should go something like, "Hey, want to do pot?" "No, let's go skateboarding instead!" "OK!"