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!"

Grapes:

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.

I wonder if they're worse than Stephenie Meyer's descriptions.

Also, I think it's the time to mention that I missed your reason and pixels, Jessica.

According to this curriculum, the conversation should go something like, "Hey, want to do pot?" "No, let's go skateboarding instead!" "OK!"

It's foolproof because everyone knows skateboarders never smoke pot!

Aw, thanks Shir! I missed you guys too.

According to this curriculum, the conversation should go something like, "Hey, want to do pot?" "No, let's go skateboarding instead!" "OK!"

On the plus side, it's great practice for an office job.

I never went through a sex ed class. It was rural Wisconsin. My parents would barely admit that such a thing as sex existed.

On the other hand, my class had two anti-drug units in school in three years (4th and 6th grades, maybe). I saw the Art Linkletter and Sonny Bono anti-drug movies at least twice.

Our drug curriculum was called Here's Looking At You 2000. The stated goal was to eliminate illegal drug use by the year 2000. We started the program in elementary school, around 1997. The second grade curriculum had a puppet bird named Miranda, and we all loved Miranda. At the end of the year, when we saw the box that all the materials were being put away in, a few kids started crying that it was Miranda's coffin. Then in third grade, we were supposed to have a puppet fox, but everyone loved Miranda so much that we all refused to do anything where that fox was involved, so the fox stayed put away for most of the year.

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.

That's cool. I'm in all favor of bodily/reproductive autonomy. All I was really responding to was your description of, specifically, women calling the labor/delivery process "romantic" as suspicious. I figure if they pushed out a bowling ball, if they want to call it "romantic," I'm not going to challenge them on it, since I have not experienced it. I try very hard to not tell people their own lived experience is not what they think it is, especially when I haven't undergone that experience. (I don't always succeed, but I do try to do better and better.)