Tag Archives: Women

Playtex Words of Wisdom

Today I needed my monthly pick-me-up so I reached into a new box of Playtex Sports Tampons for a tampon to cheer me on with words like, “Go for it!” and, “Live with no regrets.” Instead I got tampon wrappers with swirly corporate new age design. What happened Playtex? Did you not know how important it was for a woman to read motivational messages while sitting on the toilet before wiping and facing the world? How are women going to get their shit together if not with the help of her tampon?! It’s like Playtex forgot that a woman’s confidence comes only from anything that goes up her rabbit hole.

I’ll forever miss those Sports tampons that replaced my trainer and secretly I believe my husband will too–they were that good. Luckily I photographed as many as I could for posterity sake. The public will no longer have anything to inspire us 4-5 days once a month, but I hope these will serve as a noble substitute.

 

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Fear Of Expulsion

childvictimI should be excited right? That’s how mom’s are supposed to feel as the time nears for fetal expulsion. We’re supposed to seem unstoppable walking for hours off-balance in hopes of getting that baby out. We eat spicy foods, drink castor oil, make a restaurant in Studio City, CA very rich by perpetuating the myth of its birth inducing salad. But in the frenzied impatience, does anyone stop to think what we’re impatient for?

For weeks I’ve been on standby expecting my child to blow out from whence it came, but it does not cometh. We’re now post-due-date and the time is maddening; everything’s been taken care of so I have little to do and can’t venture too far because I know I could go into labor at any second and give some poor stranger the awful task of mopping up my mess. So instead I’ve been lying around, brushing up on phone skills with family and friends, watching entire seasons of America’s Next Top Model and reading through Facebook every five minutes. As you would guess these passing time activities have led to boredom, boredom leading to frustration, frustration leading to impatience, impatience leading to killing time by taking long looks at my naked pregnant body’s proportions in a mirror which at last led me to realize: Holy Sh**! HOW THE F*$% IS THIS BASKETBALL SUPPOSED TO GET OUT OF MY COOCH?!

So while everyone is cheering this baby on, I’m feeling stuck and scared–real scared and with no one in my corner. My husband is talking to my belly: coaxing it, threatening it, bribing it. Friends, families, neighbors, the maintenance man at our apartment complex, everyone is cheering for me and my baby like we’re on a rooftop and they want to see us jump.

At this late in the game, I know I should be much tougher and cooler about it. It’s not like I’m a 13-year-old boy being told to imagine having a baby; I’m a mature educated woman who took a 12 week birthing class called Bradley Method. I’ve watched the creepy videos with grainy footage of exhausted mothers pushing babies out oozing in purple sauce, vaginas stretching (funny they never show the after shot…hmmm) and embarrassing private moments of mothers moaning in pain. I know what’s coming up, and you know what? To hell with the beautiful power of maternity and the excitement I’ll feel after the baby comes. For now, me and 13-year-old boys agree–this is some crazy shit and OMG it’s gonna suck.

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Take My Maternity Photo, It’ll Last Longer (Part II — Haunted)

Continued from “Take My Maternity Photo, It’ll Last Longer”

It is also important in maternity photos to never take them in your own living environment. Do you think your home is cute? Moms-to-be don’t. You’ve spent most of your 9 months of fetal incubation there and that means the ugly truth of pregnancy could, so to speak, leak out. Remember this isn’t about you, it’s about the collective and propagating the ideal that pregnancy is glowing goodness. Instead, maternity photos should always take place in a professional studio for the perfectly controlled sculpted look or in the fantastical dreaminess of the great outdoors. And what look suits a Tolkien-like setting better than the Haunted?

HAUNTED

This look is meant for the baby daddy but designed by women who miss Lillith Fair. Although flowy and gauzy like The Fairy, the soundtrack is different. The previous look is inspired by Enya, while this one whispers Kate BushRunning Up That Hill” and Sarah McLaughlin circa 1994. It’s moody and sexy in a way that only women get but they keep thinking their men will see it too.  The woman who takes these photos wants her husband to find her otherworldly, fragile and frightened in spite of her 9 month cravings for taquitos.

A fairy can dance and skip with ethereal joy, but these ghostly photos express how romantically vulnerable pregnancy makes a woman wearing all white and standing still like a deer in the woods. She’s delicate wrapped like a broken arm without a cast.

Look dreamily far away. She is a damsel in distress waiting for a knight in shining armor who can rescue her and is blind enough to overlook the fact that she is way too pregnant to get on a horse.

Soon these women’s husbands will think of them as She Who Cleans Diapers, She Who Drives Mini Van, She Who Cut My Wife’s Gorgeous Long Hair To A “Death To Sex” Shorter Convenient Length, but rest assured, that these photos will haunt these men, reminding them of just how beautiful their wives were lost and roaming the woods during her momentous nine month journey.

Photos by Evi T’Bolt

To be continued tomorrow: Sweet and Virginal vs T.M.I. Sexy

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The End Is Near

I’m at 38 weeks.  So as the big day nears, there is nothing more frightening than finding out about your friends who were due around the same time as you having their babies ahead of schedule. Now there is no one left but me. It’s like everyone’s got picked off like flies and right now I’m the last one standing. To demonstrate what I’ve been feeling for the last month or more, I created this quick and crudely drawn 23 second piece on the subject. Enjoy, and just in case…Happy Thanksgiving!

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I Don’t Want To Be A Mini Van

Getting emotional is definitely a side effect of pregnancy. Then again it’s a side effect of being a woman. At least now with a baby in me, my hormonal imbalances make sense. Before when I was PMSing my desire to cry would pop up at unreasonable places like the grocery store in the cereal aisle while looking up at a box of Rice Krispies. But now I get emotional for real problems like a cafe running out of soy the one day I want a soy chai, or I’m running late to a meeting and no gas pumps at the gas station seem to be working when I need gas, or I read up that Saudia Arabia removes women from advertising because it turns out they’re not a country they’re a large hardcore woman-hating gay club. This is why when I get emotional these days, I know I can’t brush it off as merely a chemical imbalance. So the other morning when hanging out with my husband making breakfast and truly appreciating how lucky I am to have the man and the life I have, hormonal induced emotion hit me…I won’t be having this much longer. The reason: soon we’ll be in charge of another person rather than doing whatever we feel like doing together. “Oh sh**,” I thought, “I’ve so enjoyed enjoying my husband for almost twelve years now…I think I’ve sabotaged a good thing!” The water works were instant and non-stop. Only a year ago I couldn’t think of life without trying to have a baby. I never came up with a conclusive reason as to why I needed one, all I knew was that it was something I wanted and was ready to have at this point in my life. Now two and a half months before the due date it hits me…WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?! Why did I do this to myself and my husband?! My marriage suddenly turned into a person with little time to live, and I became the mourner experiencing anticipatory grief while sobbing into my husband’s arms before sobbing into our Texas shaped homemade waffles.

So what is it about this upcoming change in my life that I’m so afraid of? The part where I turn into parent. Not a mother, there is a difference. Mothers and fathers I think can be incredibly sexy and alive, but parents, well… it’s like becoming a walking mini van. Everything becomes sensible and focused on the child. Even the way parents dress says, “I need clothes that are comfortable to deal with my kid not to turn-on my partner.” No wonder mini vans don’t hook up with other mini vans; mini vans have a kid to bus around, chores to take care of, they’re a mini van for crying out loud–they don’t have time for anything but what’s practical and efficient.

It’s clear that with new responsibilities and work it can be hard to keep the flame that made you want a baby with your partner alive, but why is that the case? Is there a good reason why we let children smother that spark? I still don’t know because I haven’t shot out my kid yet and taken to wearing capris, but I wonder if it isn’t just an American stereotype of “Family” we let ourselves fall into without question. Changing who you are to fit the norm of a parent doesn’t make you any better suited to be one, and just because you become more focused on your kid than yourself doesn’t make you a better parent it just leads you to a greater chance of unhappiness and divorce. No wonder Americans have so few babies, we make it look life-sucking, unsexy and HORRIBLE! I don’t want that. I love the life I’ve got and want the baby to reap the joy from what my husband and I have, not kill it. So please America, let’s come up with a cooler way to raise kids and change the standards of what it means and looks like to have them so I can finish my breakfast without crying before November.

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