Thinking About "Sexy," Breastfeeding (again), Purgatory, and A Strange Immortality

As I get less and less time for extended posts, I will likely have more and more of these "in brief" thoughts. I hope it doesn't get too monotonous! But there are a few things bopping around my head that I need to get onto the blog before they go away and before I can stop thinking about them and finish preparing for class!!

1) Is "sexy" a performance? - Jen of Et Tu, Jen? has picked up my "sexy breastfeeding breasts" post in order to completely turn it around. How cool is that? She asks whether "sexiness" is a valuable goal in itself, and I know where she's coming from in a way, though I see it differently. I've never really aspired to look sexy or act sexy--I guess I was trying to be intelligent and look attractive instead. An interesting discussion has ensued, mostly about the appropriateness of trying to be sexy, especially in a Catholic context, and in the context of a Catholic sacramental marriage. What strikes me is that sexiness is being represented almost exclusively as a look or an act that one puts on for other people or, in the case of "good, moral" sexiness (which is up for grabs on the other discussion), for one other person. It is never a feeling that comes from within, which is really what I was trying to evoke in my post. I have suggested "sensual"as an alternative to "sexy," both because it's not quite as loaded and because it seems to suggest a feeling--something internal--rather than a look or an action--something external. What I originally said was, "breastfeeding moms can still have sexy thoughts about their breasts." I'm not really talking about society's concept of what is sexy, but responding to the original comment that breastfeeding moms "cheapen what [their] breasts are" by breastfeeding in public, perhaps indiscreetly, or whatever. But what are your breasts anyway, when they're not a food source? Something to flaunt or somethin you appreciate the way you appreciate any part of your body that makes you feel sensual or beautiful? Anyway, they're not buying it on Jen's blog. Oh well!

2) Facebook's no breastfeeding policy - I came across something recently (I think through sitemeter) about Facebook shutting down the site of a breastfeeding mom for posting a picture of herself nursing her little one. Now hopefully most if not all of us can agree that that's not obscene, and not what they had in mind with their "no nudity" policy. However, I'm going to play devil's advocate and say that it might become more difficult for them to police the content of pages if they start differentiating the "type" or "intent" of pictures of bare anatomical features. How do we separate the nude baby in the bath family page from the child porn site? Yes, it should be clear, but it does complicate matters if we start having to address it. Also during a sitemeter browse, I noticed that someone in France did, indeed, find my "sexy breastfeeding breasts" post while searching for erotic lactation porn. Eeeeeeeew! So would the same mother who is outraged because her post was taken down feel all warm & fuzzy if some pervert was masturbating to a picture of her breastfeeding? I don't think I would, but then, I'm not going to post ANY pictures of myself or my children, so I guess it's more a matter of privacy than aesthetics. Still, tough call for Facebook. Or maybe not.

3) Purgatory - Entropy has a thought-provoking post about Purgatory, a favorite Catholic concept of mine, and how her daughter is struggling with the concept. I've already written a fair amount about it over there, so I'll cheat & repost my comment in the interest of time:

The concept of Purgatory is one I always found rather attractive--that is, after I passed my "just say no to all things Catholic" phase. Dante helped my understanding of it, predictably perhaps. (I took a course on Dante very shortly after getting my undergrad degree, and it was instrumental in my eventual conversion.) One vivid scene in Purgatorio involves one of the souls remembering his death and an angel and devil fighting over his soul. It seems his was a definite "death bed repentance" in the form of a single tear, and the devil was saying, basically, "oh, come on--that's not really genuine!" The argument worked with someone in the Inferno, but evidently this conversion of heart was real. So while he did indeed repent, there was no chance for it to be borne out in life, and even had he been able to "repay the $10," he didn't have the chance to try. So off he goes to Purgatory. I find it comforting because it means that we don't have to be impeccable, even after a conversion of heart, after repentance and penance (of course, Purgatory is also an extended opportunity for penance, and so is related to the Sacrament of Reconciliation). It takes into account our real, human failings in the face of God's mercy & forgiveness--and perfection.

And now I get hokey... It always bothered me at the end of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi that Darth Vadar could participate in and commit the number and type of sheer evil acts that he did during his life, and then, because Luke says, "No, you're really good," voila! he's good! And he joins the "good Jedi": Yoda and Obi Wan. It simply didn't seem fair. I mean, what about all the bad stuff? In Protestant theology, this wouldn't be a problem. He said sorry (sort of), was forgiven, end of story. But to imagine that the soul (yes, I'm still talking about Darth Vadar) doesn't carry a mark of all that evil is naive at best. Certainly, he has not reached the point where he should be able to participate in the joys of... well... company with the good Jedis (and here the analogy breaks down a bit). Anyway, I always thought that it was patently unfair that Darth should be judged as their equals without any reparation. I would have had him in Purgatory for a long, long time!!

Well, at the very least, I hope you find that amusing! ;)

And I wish you the best in dealing with this issue with your daughter!! My son has pretty much accepted everything seamlessly. I don't know how much he had learned at this point about Purgatory, but at any rate, I'm keeping Star Wars handy! ;)

-and-

I wonder, too, looking at Ma Beck's comment again, if certain types of sins retain a kind of hold on us--that on a level, even if we're forgiven and have really, truly repented, we are inclined (whether from shame or whatever) to replay them in our minds, to dwell on them, to keep them with us. I know I've done this. Anyway, this kind of lingering thought about sin is not appropriate for the joys of heaven, and must be burned away...

I rather like the idea of Purgatory, as you can tell, though it is tempting to feel like it takes the pressure off of me!

4) Immortality? - My daughter, who likes to peruse the VHS/DVD collection for things that have interesting pictures on the cases, has been interested in Toy Story 1 & 2 lately, which prompted some brief musings on what it means for one's immortality to depend on the existence--indeed, the youth and whim--of someone else!! This is a motif that repeats itself throughout children's books and media: consider The Velveteen Rabbit, "Puff the Magic Dragon," Jim Henson's The Christmas Toy, and then Toy Story. And children are shown to be fairly fickle in several of these examples. The Velveteen Rabbit is a bit different, since it's not immortality, but rather mortality--a "real" existence--that he achieves through being loved. Still, the dependency on the love of another--selfish love, really--and the necessity for the individual to build his/her existence around that other with no guarantee of reciprocal love--it's rather dark and existential on a level. As indeed, children's literature can often be. The odd thing is that stories that promote love and self-sacrifice are seen as positive, even mirroring Christian virtues. But I don't see that as the whole story. Unless the toy represents the perpetual "dark night of the soul," but I just don't think the creators were being that deep.

So really, would Buzz Lightyear have been better off or worse thinking that he was, indeed, The Real Buzz Lightyear? At least he would have entertained the notion that his life had its own purpose. On the other hand, he would not have been self-aware. These tease the edges of Christian notions, but fall short in disturbing ways. Consider, for example, the notion that we are called to do God's will and that when we imagine ourselves acting independently from God, Church teaching tells us that we are not seeing the whole picture and not living to the fullest extent possible. The Buzz analogy has a similar ring about it, except that the alternatives are utter dependency and self-sacrifice for uncertain love--or delusion. The Christian vision tells us what we seek to gain or lose from including God in our lives--or not.

Okay, clearly I need to turn off the TV. ;) And get some class prep done. William Morris, here I come!

Words: Anatomical Euphemisms Considered

As a mother of a little girl, I am more interested in this question that I was in the case of my son. You see, the naming of anatomy is not nearly as sensitive an issue with males as it seems to be with females. I have heard this debate from many different angles--from Irigaray to the sex-positive internet message boards I belonged to in a former life. I am less acquainted with it from the child-rearing book perspective, as I haven't ever really delved into that genre. As the big sister of 5 siblings, I never saw much need for parenting self-help books and the like. I just wing it! But let's face it, there is a wide-ranging debate over what to call female genitalia, and it is not limited to babies and children. My personal feeling is that medical terms in the mouths of children sound ugly and inappropriate--I mean, would you want your son or daughter talking about his or her anus? I doubt it. So then why is "penis" more appropriate? I am reminded of that rather awful film starring the governor of California, Kindergarten Cop, in which the son of a gynecologist informs Arnold that "boys have a penis and girls have a vagina." The humor in this scene was in the gross impropriety of both timing of the declaration and the sound of the terms "from the mouths of babes," as it were.

Since I am really thinking about female anatomy, I will say that I have particular problems with the term "vagina." Not with the term "vaginal," but with the term "vagina." I take issues with the Vagina Monologues, for example, because it uses the term "vagina" to apply not just to what we actually recognize as the vagina, but also the surrounding area, so to speak. Irigaray's "two lips" (terminology that I rather like from a theoretical perspective, though it's not quite a practical term to teach a child) are included, as well as what I might as well, being pregnant, refer to as the "birth canal"--and I just won't go beyond that description. More accurately, the part of the anatomy that a young child would actually see and feel--and thus, of which the child would be aware any real sense, as the uses for these parts are quite specific and limited compared to those of a feminist theorist, for example--is called, in medical terms, the "vulva" rather than the "vagina." So for reasons of accuracy in addition to plain issues of delicacy of language, I will not teach my daughter the term "vagina" until we get to "that" talk (blissfully years and years in the future--for the son, not so distant. . .). I do not particularly prefer "vulva." The word has its instinctive appeal as a word--it has a round, full quality about it that actually makes a fitting signifier for the part signified (not meaning to shock any sensibilities, and not meaning to offend Saussure or Derrida or any of their devotees). But it does not seem any more appealing to say to a child, "Okay, let me wash your vulva now!" No, that's not going to happen.

On the aforementioned sex-happy somewhat feminist (in some sense of the word) discussion board, I remember (from years ago now) a discussion in which certain women felt somehow "cheated" by their mothers' and perhaps grandmothers' reluctance to call certain parts what they were. What they mentioned in particular was the substitution of bodily function words for the parts from which the fluids were excreted. I admit to allowing this with my son. It's not something I cultivated, it just happened naturally. Somehow, though, I think my husband and I felt the need, even in the naming of these parts (or maybe especially?), to distinguish between the genders. I will add that the term that my family used for female genitalia (in the bathtub setting) is not one I could spell. It's a little embarrassing for me to pronounce, even to myself, because I know that it is not an actual word in English. I say "in English" because I suspect that the word was a corruption of some French baby-talk or something, as my grandmother grew up speaking French (in "the country" in Louisiana, as we called it, quite a bit outside of Lafayette). So clearly that word is out.

What we have settled on instead is rather accurate in my view, clearly a euphemism, but kind of endearing also. We call them (and I use the plural, in a subconscious nod to Irigaray) "baby girl parts." I suppose someday they will be "little girl parts," and finally, "girl parts." This suits my son, also, who has not asked about "real" names, as he did for his own "parts" a while back. I feel like this is accurate because they are, indeed, "girl parts" in a couple of different senses--they are "parts of a girl," and they are also "the parts by which a girl is identified as a girl," at least at birth. I know this raises all kinds of feminist red (or essentialist) flags, but it doesn't particularly concern me. When my daughter was born, they told me, "it's a girl," not "she is anatomically female, but her gender has not yet been socially constructed." The same, I think, when the ultrasound tech tells the expectant parents that they have the go-ahead to buy the pink stuff. Most importantly, "let's wash the baby girl parts" works just fine for me!

Because Terminology Matters

I stumbled across a phrase today that I like. Instead of having an "unplanned pregnancy," I find myself "unexpectedly pregnant." I like this distinction for a couple of reasons:

1. It avoids the politically-charged term "unplanned": If a pregnancy is "unplanned," than one should have gone to "Planned Parenthood," no?

2. The word "pregnancy" is a noun, a thing, something that one "has" that is distinctly separate from one's being. Therefore, there is a certain amount of theoretical distance implied. The pregnancy is, in fact, an "Other," a "not-self," and may be treated as such, to achieve distance until one is ready to "deal with" the emotional implications of the "thing." (Here, the "pregnancy" is the "thing," not the baby, which does not yet need to be considered in this linguistic construct.)

3. The word "pregnant," by contrast, is an adjective--it implies a state of being, in fact, a temporary state of being, something that will not last forever. Because it is a state of being, it is connected to the person who is being modified by the term, "pregnant": I am pregnant. You are pregnant. I was pregnant two years ago. I am pregnant for my third child. When I was pregnant for my first, I was 19. . .

4. The word "unplanned" is negative. It suggests negligence--literally, a "failure to plan."

5. By contrast, "unexpected" things can be good. Or interesting. Like "An Unexpected Party," for example. "Unexpected" things can yield an adventure.

Maybe we should use the term more often. Maybe it'll catch on.