The Ludicrousness of Old Wives' Tales
Let me just say from the get-go that I think old wives' tales are, really, born of two very basic and understandable human desires. First, we all want to share our experiences. We want others to know what we are going through and if they are experiencing the same thing, that they are not alone. Second, we love to be able to predict future events. Where we lack control, predictability at least offers probable knowledge. If we know something is coming, we can at least have the chance to prepare. For this very reason there is an entire (ridiculous) network devoted to what I believe to be the least predictable of occurrences: weather.
So old wives tales emerge from this deep-seated human desire for universality. Not a bad notion on its own. The problem, however, is that though the majority of women in this world experience pregnancy and child rearing, our experiences can really be quite disparate. This is because we, mothers and babies, are human. No two of us are the same. But it is so much easier to just think of pregnant women as a herd, and babies as mass-produced barbie dolls. It makes things cleaner, more orderly, easier to discuss.
There are, of course, many universal truths about pregnancy and childbirth, I am certainly not denying that. Pregnancy makes every woman tired at some point. Giving birth is painful. Having a new baby in the house results in sleep deprivation. But it really makes no sense to assume that everything a pregnant woman experiences must be: a) directly caused by the pregnancy, and b) a universal pregnancy truth.
It's easy to see how old wives' tales get started though. Picture it. On the way to the village to buy a hare for the night's stew, two women with babies bump into each other. Both babies have full heads of thick hair. Of course, because of the baby connection the women must engage each other in conversation. They quickly learn that both had terrible heartburn for much of their pregnancy. At the same time (because all new mothers are cut of the same cloth) their eyes drift to their babies, then their eyes meet again. Both sets of eyes have grown exponentially. A blinding realization has struck them both. The hair. It is the only logical cause. It becomes their moral imperative to spread the news. They may not have had Tums to combat the heartburn, but at least they would have a reason for it, something in which to take solace during those bouts. The security offered by such probable knowledge just cannot be denied any pregnant woman. And off they go to spread the merry word.
My daughter was born with tons of hair, and still has it. I have been asked at least ten times by complete strangers if I had bad heartburn during my pregnancy on account of the hair. My first, carnal urge is to ask why on earth heartburn would be caused by the baby's hair. Let's muster up some critical thinking folks and contemplate the physiological reaction that would cause a fetus' hair, secured to its head stuck in the womb, to trigger the regurgitation of gastric acid in the mother. I want the insanity to stop. I want to scream, and shout, and flail my fists through the air. I want to say everything I've written here. I want to ask them why so many mothers of bald-headed babies experience prenatal heartburn.
But I fight the dark side. I play along. I smile, maybe even a bit apologetically, and say no, but I've heard that's true for many women. I've never had heartburn in my life. I don't even know what it is, as an experience. I think that's why I didn't get heartburn while pregnant. I'm just not prone to it. Don't have it in me.
This brings up another old wives' tale annoyance. When people (again, often strangers) ask if old wives' tales proved true for me, I so often have to answer in the negatory that it can get to the point where I actually feel a little bit guility, like I am a disappointment because I just don't fit the mold. I had no cravings or food aversions when pregnant. I had people swear up and down that I was having a boy because my baby bump was relatively small and sat low on my body. My daughter's fetal heart rate did not fit neatly into the supposed boy or girl categories, it was sometimes highish, sometimes lowish. I had nothing juicy to offer these people.
So by now you may be saying "Okay lady, ease up. Old wives' tales are all in good fun. Get your post-baby hormones back in check and then we'll talk." For the reasons covered above, I don't think old wives' tales are born of malicious intent. I get that they are meant to be inclusive, to provide a cohesive narrative for the beginning of this crazy journey known as "children". The thing is, mothers are hard-wired to worry. Must have something to do with bringing a person that was made and lived inside of you out into the real world. Being responsible for every experience this little tyke will have.
What happens when first-timer (let's call her Miss Worry Wart), goes to the doctor six times and the first three times the baby's heart rate seems to fall into the girl "category", and the last three sound more like boy? Personally, I wouldn't care. Chalk it up to baby working out a little more for half of the rate readings and taking 'er easy the other times. But Miss Wort might get a little freaked out. "My aunt's sister's neighbour swears girls' hearts beat over 140 times per minute, and boys', under 140. So why such different readings? Is my baby's sex changing? Is it a hermaphrodite?" When Miss Wort fails to see a dark line appear down her abdomen, more alarms go off. "The complete stranger who stopped me in the produce section of the grocery store asked me if the dark line on my belly ran to my belly button or to my xiphoid process. She said button equals girl, xiphoid equals boy. When I told her I don't think I have a line at all, she just stared at me and then told me in which aisles to find the pickles and peanut butter. Then she was gone. What is this line about? Why don't I have a line? Is this more proof of a hermaphrodite baby?"
Okay, so maybe the hermaphrodite stuff is a bit over the top. But the other stuff isn't. For real. Pregnant women worry about these things. I've visited enough online forums on pregnancy and babies to know. I have seen women sincerely worried that their line has not appeared. It's a bit of skin pigmentation, like a very thin tan that runs down the belly of some pregnant women. That's all it is. Nothing fancy or even desirable. But, because there is an old wives' tale about it, it becomes a "thing". A topic to which entire online discussion threads are devoted. One more thing to worry about.
I just wish old wives' tales would go the way of the dodo. Let's stop pigeon holing. Why not celebrate all the different ways pregnancy and child rearing are experienced?
So old wives tales emerge from this deep-seated human desire for universality. Not a bad notion on its own. The problem, however, is that though the majority of women in this world experience pregnancy and child rearing, our experiences can really be quite disparate. This is because we, mothers and babies, are human. No two of us are the same. But it is so much easier to just think of pregnant women as a herd, and babies as mass-produced barbie dolls. It makes things cleaner, more orderly, easier to discuss.
There are, of course, many universal truths about pregnancy and childbirth, I am certainly not denying that. Pregnancy makes every woman tired at some point. Giving birth is painful. Having a new baby in the house results in sleep deprivation. But it really makes no sense to assume that everything a pregnant woman experiences must be: a) directly caused by the pregnancy, and b) a universal pregnancy truth.
It's easy to see how old wives' tales get started though. Picture it. On the way to the village to buy a hare for the night's stew, two women with babies bump into each other. Both babies have full heads of thick hair. Of course, because of the baby connection the women must engage each other in conversation. They quickly learn that both had terrible heartburn for much of their pregnancy. At the same time (because all new mothers are cut of the same cloth) their eyes drift to their babies, then their eyes meet again. Both sets of eyes have grown exponentially. A blinding realization has struck them both. The hair. It is the only logical cause. It becomes their moral imperative to spread the news. They may not have had Tums to combat the heartburn, but at least they would have a reason for it, something in which to take solace during those bouts. The security offered by such probable knowledge just cannot be denied any pregnant woman. And off they go to spread the merry word.
My daughter was born with tons of hair, and still has it. I have been asked at least ten times by complete strangers if I had bad heartburn during my pregnancy on account of the hair. My first, carnal urge is to ask why on earth heartburn would be caused by the baby's hair. Let's muster up some critical thinking folks and contemplate the physiological reaction that would cause a fetus' hair, secured to its head stuck in the womb, to trigger the regurgitation of gastric acid in the mother. I want the insanity to stop. I want to scream, and shout, and flail my fists through the air. I want to say everything I've written here. I want to ask them why so many mothers of bald-headed babies experience prenatal heartburn.
But I fight the dark side. I play along. I smile, maybe even a bit apologetically, and say no, but I've heard that's true for many women. I've never had heartburn in my life. I don't even know what it is, as an experience. I think that's why I didn't get heartburn while pregnant. I'm just not prone to it. Don't have it in me.
This brings up another old wives' tale annoyance. When people (again, often strangers) ask if old wives' tales proved true for me, I so often have to answer in the negatory that it can get to the point where I actually feel a little bit guility, like I am a disappointment because I just don't fit the mold. I had no cravings or food aversions when pregnant. I had people swear up and down that I was having a boy because my baby bump was relatively small and sat low on my body. My daughter's fetal heart rate did not fit neatly into the supposed boy or girl categories, it was sometimes highish, sometimes lowish. I had nothing juicy to offer these people.
So by now you may be saying "Okay lady, ease up. Old wives' tales are all in good fun. Get your post-baby hormones back in check and then we'll talk." For the reasons covered above, I don't think old wives' tales are born of malicious intent. I get that they are meant to be inclusive, to provide a cohesive narrative for the beginning of this crazy journey known as "children". The thing is, mothers are hard-wired to worry. Must have something to do with bringing a person that was made and lived inside of you out into the real world. Being responsible for every experience this little tyke will have.
What happens when first-timer (let's call her Miss Worry Wart), goes to the doctor six times and the first three times the baby's heart rate seems to fall into the girl "category", and the last three sound more like boy? Personally, I wouldn't care. Chalk it up to baby working out a little more for half of the rate readings and taking 'er easy the other times. But Miss Wort might get a little freaked out. "My aunt's sister's neighbour swears girls' hearts beat over 140 times per minute, and boys', under 140. So why such different readings? Is my baby's sex changing? Is it a hermaphrodite?" When Miss Wort fails to see a dark line appear down her abdomen, more alarms go off. "The complete stranger who stopped me in the produce section of the grocery store asked me if the dark line on my belly ran to my belly button or to my xiphoid process. She said button equals girl, xiphoid equals boy. When I told her I don't think I have a line at all, she just stared at me and then told me in which aisles to find the pickles and peanut butter. Then she was gone. What is this line about? Why don't I have a line? Is this more proof of a hermaphrodite baby?"
Okay, so maybe the hermaphrodite stuff is a bit over the top. But the other stuff isn't. For real. Pregnant women worry about these things. I've visited enough online forums on pregnancy and babies to know. I have seen women sincerely worried that their line has not appeared. It's a bit of skin pigmentation, like a very thin tan that runs down the belly of some pregnant women. That's all it is. Nothing fancy or even desirable. But, because there is an old wives' tale about it, it becomes a "thing". A topic to which entire online discussion threads are devoted. One more thing to worry about.
I just wish old wives' tales would go the way of the dodo. Let's stop pigeon holing. Why not celebrate all the different ways pregnancy and child rearing are experienced?
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