Time for a ReRant...

Thursday, January 19, 2006
Time for a Rant

I grew up in an age when people gave up their seats on busses to pregnant women. Things have definitely changed. Nowadays, something like 30% of pregnant women who die during pregnancy, die at the hands of their baby's father. The sad and horrifying case of Jessie Davis has highlighted this travesty once again.

Thousands of pregnant women abused each year.

I had not paid a lot of attention to this phenomenon until Laci Peterson was reported missing on Christmas Eve of 2002, eventually to be found washed up on the shores of San Francisco Bay. Her husband was convicted of her murder, and that of their unborn son. In July of 2004, Lori Hacking was killed and put in a trash dumpster by her husband, shortly after telling him she was expecting their first child.

Since then, there have been numerous similar cases around this country, and in Canada, Great Britain, and Australia.

What the hell is going on, people?

A woman, on finding she is pregnant, usually has mixed feelings about it. On one hand, it's a high, a miracle; on the other, sheer terror. Can we afford it? How will we cope with the changes in our life? Can I love this baby enough? Will Husband still love me when I'm fat and ugly? Will he be angry if it's a girl?

So, okay, we're not always real rational.

We gird up our loins, screw our courage to the sticking place, and tell the soon-to-be-dad. We have to, before he hears it from the nurse at the doctor's office, our best friend, the lady at the library, or whoever else we have told first, while doing all that girding and whatnot.

"Honey? Darling? We're going to have a baby!"

"Remember that night when we played pool with your brother and sister-in-law, and got a bit drunk listening to Rod Stewart songs, and didn't use any protection?"

"Remember when I told you I was sterile? Well, guess what? A miracle!"

If all is right with the world, his face lights up, he grabs us in a hug, and we do the happy dance all over the house.

Sometimes he doesn't. On the one hand, it's a high, a miracle; on the other, sheer terror. Can we afford it? How will we cope with the changes in our life? The pickup truck will have to be traded in on a mini-van; how emasculating is that? Will we be able to have as much fun in the sack? Will I still want her when she's fat and ugly? Will we have to move? Should we get rid of the pit bull?

He comes around, eventually. He buries his fears, or realizes that other people got through this, and he can, too. Otherwise the human race would die out, right?

But there seems to be a growing percentage of guys who think,

"NO! I CAN'T DO THIS! I WON'T DO THIS! IT'S NOT FAIR! SHE CAN'T MAKE ME DO THIS! IT'S ALL HER FAULT! SHE'S ROTTEN! I'LL KILL HER AND IT WILL ALL GO AWAY!"

Robert Heinlein said that a society that ceases to put women and children first is doomed.

Are we there, yet?