Expectations of the Expecting

(blog post written on January 20, the day before Miss Cheapist went into labor…) 

Happy New Year!  For months Miss Cheapist has been preoccupied with matters of lesser literary significance.  But as they taught in high school, it’s important to “write from the heart,” so, she will ‘fess up and find a launching point from the truth.   Readers, Miss Cheapist is actually married, (now call her Ms. Cheapist), and expecting a baby (gasp)!  While she has experienced an unexpected popularity on account of this new identity and enjoys her new hetero-normative status immensely, it still seemed too predictable to share online the travails of another expectant 30-something woman living in Brooklyn proper.   Moreover, she feared that any insight she had about pregnancy would be overshadowed once she had to give birth and take care of a baby, and she hesitated to offer smug commentary before the “hard stuff” began.   But as she enters her 41^st week of pregnancy, it seems necessary to reflect upon the many expectations held by the Expectant.  She can’t help but wonder, how much is too much?  When does a post-modern celebration of fertility and desire for children quickly decline into self-absorption (and sometimes self-pity) and unrealistic ideals that can never be fulfilled?   In effect, are women cheapening themselves when they decrease their expectations, or are they simply putting things in proper perspective?  

In Ms. Cheapist’s experience, the expectant mother encounters many different narratives as she approaches her delivery date.  One school of thought in particular emphasizes that there is a “natural” and fulfilling childbirth ideal that mothers-to-be can strive for with the assistance of a conscientious partner and/or other practitioners outside of the medical industrial complex.  Those most fervent are the ‘regretful;’ mothers who lament the “horrible” experience of their first deliveries, speaking of hard, fast labors, rushed with Pitocin, numbed with an inevitable epidural, sometimes culminating in a C-section that robs them of the true connection they could gain with their baby through their vaginal walls.  For their following children, they enlist the aid of prenatal yogis, doulas and mid-wives to help them achieve that optimum birth experience.   At the center of this ethos is the mother herself, her needs and body are a temple to be preserved, and a baby who must be sheltered from a cold, assessment-driven, surgical, and financially-motivated world.   Miss Cheapist found most of it valid, at times, a bit didactic and alarmist, but not completely offensive.  She even liked the notion that for once, she could shed her class guilt and exist at the center of the universe, connected to other women who also chose to “bring life into this world,” and receive special treatment for it.

All these fantasies and polemics came to a screeching halt when she spoke to her own mother, who possessed the mentality that childbirth was a thing to endure, mostly alone, and was primarily for the purpose of delivering a healthy baby.   Sensing her daughter’s mounting self-obsession, Mother Cheapist commented dryly, “You know, people are dying in the world too,” and proceeded to list the many tragic losses that occurred in 2008, making special note of the struggles of the elderly who she felt a special obligation to care for, instead of a pregnant daughter.   Why would you have any special needs, Mother Cheapist wondered, when you, are the luckiest person on earth to be expecting a child?  Post-partum support?  You will be so happy to have little bambini, you won’t need anyone!   As an immigrant, Mother Cheapist  lacked the support of her own extended family when she gave birth to Ms Cheapist, just recently arrived to a new country, her husband passed out from the drama of the experience, leaving her to labor on her own, her only ally being her trusted (male) doctor.   With this notch on her belt, it was hard for her to understand all the attention that a woman needed for something that was supposed to be relatively “natural” and routine.   Moreover, she did not hesitate to assign extra responsibility to the mother.  Miscarriage was attributed to over-activity.  Episiotomy was necessary to avoid deforming a child’s head and brain through forceps or suction.  C-section?  Unquestionably the safest way to get a baby out and nothing to fear!   Who cares if you can get cut?   A resilient woman had the natural resources to be sewn up and heal; however, the baby was too vulnerable to withstand anything.  And another “martyr mother” archetype is born! 

To all this, Ms. Cheapist brattily responded, “I really don’t care!”  If her feelings were diminished, then she could invalidate the experiences of others.  But when the sting of rejection that comes when contradicted by those we respect diminished,  Ms. Cheapist came to a realization.  Her own mother really struggled with this idea of expectation and had found her own way around it.   It seemed that if she learned to expect nothing, then she would never be disappointed.  Without disappointment, one would not experience defeat.  It was her mother’s rationale and faith in her own ability to persevere that allowed her to survive through difficult times, and in its own right, offered her feelings of empowerment.    Although she spoke of things more crassly and with less romance than those in the other camp, in effect, the idea that pain, emotional and physical, was worth the joy of having children, rang consistently between the two schools of thought.   In effect, it is true that our expectations about childbirth are shaped by culture, and we all make a decision to take a risk…expect the most, or prepare yourself for something else.  Miss Cheapist would love to conserve her expectations, but given the excess and desires that make up her own cultural milieu, it may be easier said than done.   

Inheritance of the Lost

First of all, Miss Cheapist is so happy that Obama was elected the 44^th President of the United States. She will take a tremendous risk and say that her faith in democracy is restored, and she looks to the future reconnected with her own past idealism. The news of his victory also marked the end of her two- month long period of writer’s block, and she was finally able to finish this post.

With the stock market seeming to fall to the same odds as tugging the slot machines in AC and the profitability of real estate debunked, Miss Cheapist feels more confidently than ever that inheriting money is the only reliable way to get rich. However, acceptance of family money can also bring with it certain obligations and complicity, and as a result, cannot be over-analyzed or relied upon. If anything, the current financial crisis confirms that being really rich requires the exploitation of others, in effect, rendering all big money (old or new) somewhat dirty. Regardless, family money always will be highly valued and worth discussing because its influence (and absence) remains with us always; it begins with childhood narratives, evolves into adult hang-ups and with time, shapes retirement realities.

Miss Cheapist has noticed that in every family, children are given a certain message about money. More often than not, it is shrouded in mystery, and parents present themselves as either richer or poorer than they really are, with the hopes that it will cultivate a certain work ethic in their child. Those who fear that their children will become spoiled may lecture about how they must struggle to carve out a middle class existence and can still barely afford anything; all the while hiding the truth that they are indeed the ‘millionaires next door.’ Such parents promote anti-materialism and austerity plans, even charging market-value rent when a 30-something moves back home. Others, fearing their children will become anxious among peers with more spending power, reassure them that the coffers are well maintained, buy everything that “other kids have,” and promise that money will flow freely for generations to come—even when such security may not really exist. As time passes, new messages about money can emerge, depending upon what seems to motivate the descendant. Money is only doled out as an incentive or reward, while for others, the lesson of doing things just for the sake of contributing is emphasized, and as a result, material rewards are withheld. Some self-made parents may simply create distance between their own wealth and that of their children, taking greater pride in the possibility that their own tenacity and “tough love” will create another generation of Horatio Algers, and not complacent pleasure seeking parasites of the trust fund ilk. To Miss Cheapist, these are all different versions of the same mind-fuck that persists in the parent-child relationship, where control trumps all else, even when tinged with good intentions. Perhaps in a Part II installation of this post, she can bore you with various anecdotes about family money and the lessons learned--from Tori Spelling to her own peers who have inherited money as a result of family tragedy, the stories are far too extensive to tell here.

While an elite group of Gordon Geckos and their reptiles in training have sacked the country with 700 billion plus dollars of bad investments, the rest of us must wait helplessly to witness the true impact of this nasty “correction.” Is this really what we wanted? Will New York become affordable for ordinary working people, or does our reliance on these scions of industry now force us to tumble down with them? Will socialism reign supreme? Sadly it seems that the classes are so economically intertwined that a sort of family drama is playing itself out on a national scale: the fallen paternal figure and a second generation that must suffer the consequences. Seems many of us have become infantilized by the paternal negligence of a free market, and as we outgrow our illusion of rugged individualism, it’s very possible that our collective inheritance will drift even farther from reach.

On Hiding Privilege

Old School Hall at Punahou: to deny or embrace?

To the disappointment of those who believe that economic difference trumps all other identities, race and gender continue to define the Presidential race. Yet discussions of whether or not America ready for a Black President, or if a female candidate will promote the best interests of women only offer opportunities for speculation and delusional spurts of optimism. It seems that many Americans want a President who inspires their trust¸ and since no one wants to explicitly talk about race or age, questions about Obama and McCain’s class backgrounds surround both campaigns. Both have been called out for being too privileged to understand that ambiguous demographic of the “average American,” group becoming more important to woo as the economy speeds south.

Obama’s so-called ‘out-of touch’ comments about ‘bitter, gun-loving,’ working class white people were assumed to be a reflection of his elite education and lack of experience. McCain’s resume includes an heiress wife, a decorated naval family, and so many homes that he can’t keep count. McCain even had to placate voters with an absurd announcement of his own victim-hood: “Once I did not even have a kitchen table!” Obama represents his prep school experience in Hawaii as one where he was one of the only African-American males there, and instead of his education at Punahou being something that made him a member of an elite group, it helped form his racial identity where in the future, he could empathize with those who felt marginalized in society.

In spite of the fact that Obama has ignited a movement of people who were previously disenchanted with the system, as well as millions of others from many different backgrounds, politics and the social climate of this country demands that he play down his intelligence and access to education. Unfortunately this is a pressure that many minorities feel they must submit to in order to fit in, both on the playground and professionally. This is not an experience limited to minorities—after all, some twenty-somethings with trust funds adopt the urban vernacular for street ‘cred and volunteer in the third world to shed the stigma of a sheltered, privileged existence. Unfortunately, this habit of understating ones ability and fortune seems to have more negative effects for men of color, and for Obama, who is always seen as an exception to any norm, his privilege offers him contradictory liabilities and opportunities. That he has the resources to play down puts him on an even playing field with elite men like McCain, Bush and Gore, as his credentials help him to be perceived as “Presidential.” As a result, Miss Cheapist, in her novice attempt at punditry, would say it’s not worth it for him to be too humble…while being relatively new to the game works to his advantage, so does the experience that preceded this moment. Recently Miss Cheapist overheard an undecided woman voter stating what many are afraid to utter: “I know I should vote for Obama. Obviously he’s qualified because of he went to Punahou and Harvard, but I don’t know if I want to risk it.” While George Bush was somehow able to mask his genteel background and Andover education with a contrived Southern “folksiness,” Obama, and probably McCain as well, has to cultivate a different type of class identity that appeals those who, for whatever reason, find them out of touch. Fortunately, Obama, with his mixed race and cultural background, as well as his years as a community organizer, has earned a reputation of objectivity; a listener willing to look at new solutions. Ironically, this ability to see things from different points of view seems to come from being in the greatest position of privilege possible, something difficult and unnecessary to disguise.

Miss Cheapist takes in the campus.

Finally, it’s important to mention that downplaying the Punahou prep school experience is something shared by many alum, political hopefuls and otherwise. Whenever Miss Cheapist told others in Hawaii that she attended the elite institution, she was disdainfully mocked for attending the “rich white school,” and assumed to be a snob. She would hesitate to tell people where she went to school for fear that she would be pre-judged, or worse yet, harrassed. At the age of 16, her own driving teacher commented to her that the reason she failed the driving test three times was she was unable to “come down to our level, honey,” rather than a lack of comfort on the road. Even as an adult, it was assumed that she was unable to relate to others simply because she had the chance to attend an incredible school that boasted an Olympic swimming pool, a glass-blowing lab, fourteen tennis courts and Ivy League college placement. Yes, of course her schooling made her a snob who believed she deserved it all, but at the same time, she appreciated the opportunity she gained. She later came to learn that where you went to school is as random as what family you were born into, and really depended on what you made of your education. But humility does not require deception. An education is nothing to hide, especially for someone who does not have a legacy to fall back on, and needs all the help she can get. At first Miss Cheapist gravitated toward Obama because they shared a common experience, and he seemed to really understand the complexity of identity in the 21^st century. Now she realizes it is exactly his ability to reach the majority without necessarily identifying with them that made him so special.