Letter to my 33-week fetus

Dear Troy Emmitt:

I see you have inherited your mother's impatience. (Of all your mother's traits, I guess that's not the worst one...)

I'm really, really anxious to meet you, too, but you still have to bake for another seven weeks or so. As much as I'd like you to come out and play now, you really shouldn't. So please stop trying to bust out through the walls of my uterus.

I know it's getting cramped in there, with you getting bigger and all (put on the fat you need, but don't feel a need to overdo it, okay? Seven or eight pounds is big enough). The kicking is fine, too, just keep in mind I know you're strong, you don't need to prove HOW strong you are. Your daddy will be more than happy to play Karate Kid with you once you're out, so save some of those moves for him. No need to use up all your moves now, on Mommy's organs. (She'll still need to use those after you get out.)

Anyway, just wanted to let you know we love you too, and can't wait to meet you... BUT WE DO HAVE TO WAIT. So please stop pushing on my lower abdomen -- that's not the way out anyway. In about six weeks or so we'll start making the cervix open up, so be looking for that. And make sure to stay head-down, don't try to pull any breech business, please. (Trust me, it won't be fun for you, either, so don't try it.)

Now, to keep you busy between now and then, I'll leave you with this song, that sorta makes me think about you every time I hear it:

(I loved the song before, but now that I know it features an impromptu, choreographed 80s-style dance number in a grocery store... I think this has to be my FAVORITEST SONG EVER.)

Out of the mouths of babes (or, Sex and the City... and Horses)

Cover of Girls Just Want to Have FunFreddy is not a fan of Sarah Jessica Parker.

I must say, myself, I have a dear, dear spot in my heart for Sarah Jessica Parker, Helen Hunt, and Shannen Doherty, for having starred in Girls Just Want to Have Fun (a.k.a THE GREATEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME).

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Sex and the City (the series; have not seen the movies yet): after going on a whopping two(?) dates in high school and spending all my college years (all six of them) with the same (controlling, abusive) boyfriend, SATC was my instructional video on dating and relationships. (Also loved He's Just Not That Into You [book, haven't seen the movie], because, sometimes... he isn't. And you need to move on, because you're worth more than that.)

Freddy's experience with SATC is a litle different... a (supposedly monogamous) girlfriend of his flippantly informed him that the show "inspired" her to be "liberated" and sleep with another guy when she and Freddy were dating (in a supposedly monogamous relationship), because that's what "modern women" do (or something). (Now, I watched all six seasons of the show back to back, thanks to Netflix, and I saw nothing in there about cheating on your super-awesome boyfriend... but I digress.)

Author's note: I, myself, prefer monogamous relationships. Clearly, so does Freddy -- which is good, we match. I have no problem with people in open relationships or polyamorous relationships, because that's what works for them. But you gotta pick one! And make sure your partner(s) and you agree on which one y'all are in!)

Because Freddy has this resentment, which he has projected onto the main star of SATC, he jokingly likes to point out that... her face has some horse-like features.

Yesterday, while hanging out with Freddy's sister and her kids, SJP's episode of Who Do You Think You Are? came up in conversation... and Freddy, gentleman that he is, asked if any equine members were discovered in SJP's ancestry. At his sister's confused expression, I explained that, in Freddy's opinion, "Carrie Bradshaw" looks... like a horse.

Freddy's horse-loving 10-year-old niece, taking things a little too literally, asked, "Do people ride her like a horse?"

Well... that role did call for her to be in the "cowgirl position" quite often...

Simon's Cat in "The Box"

Since I can't muster the energy (or find the time) for a real post, I'll share this with you instead:

On Vegetarianism

To quote my brother-in-law:

The Solution to the Name Game Conundrum!

Feminists, we have a problem:

If you get married and take your husband's last name, you're an appendage to said husband. And that's BAD.

If you DON'T take your husband's name -- either because you never married him or because you married him but kept your own name -- then you still have YOUR FATHER'S last name, which means you are an appendage to your dad. Which, honestly, is kind of creepy in an icky way... so let's not go there.

(Oh, and... if you happen to NOT be part of the monogamous heteronormative binary borg... well, you're screwed. We have no idea what to do with you. Sorry, polys, genderqueers, and lesbians.)

BUT I HAVE FOUND A SOLUTION!!!

Because, really, ladies... who wants to be an appendage? Let's face it -- appendages only look good on the Flying Spaghetti Monster, who knows how to wear his noodley appendages with style. And we know neither your husband nor your dad are the FSM. (Really. Don't blaspheme. That's just not cool, dude.)

So, what's a gal to do?

We need to have a last name, but the two options open to us right now are YOKES OF THE PATRIARCHY. And we radfemz won't STAND for that -- WILL WE?

Didn't think so.

This leaves us only one option:

(Actually, it leaves us two. Because I am SO GOOD, I came up with TWO awesome solutions to this problem.)

1) We must make up our own last name.

And you can't pick someone else's name, because that's being an appendage to that other person. AND WE DON'T WANT THAT. (Remember?) Just pick something cool, that you like. And make that your last name.

For example: I shall heretofore be known as Criss L. Bananalaffytaffy. Freddy shall heretofore be known as Freddy Thebatman.

When Troy Emmitt is born, he'll hyphenate his parents' names (so he'll be Troy Emmitt Bananalaffytaffy-Thebatman*), until he's eighteen. On his eighteenth birthday, he'll pick his own last name, to replace the hyphenizationing.

*"Bananalaffytaffy" goes before "Thebatman" because you have to follow alphabetical order. Otherwise, chaos ensues.

Now, I know this option will not work for EVERYone, because some people like to have a little more continuity (or "lineage") in their families, so they can go on genealogy websites and find out if they're related to anybody famous. This is why I've designed Option #2:

2) Instead of a last NAME, everyone gets a last NUMBER.

For example, the last four digits of your Social Security number. Or your driver's license number.

So, let's say my number is 0805. And Freddy's number is 2010. I'd be Criss L. 0805, and he'd be Freddy 2010.

When Troy Emmitt is born, his last name number will be THE SUM of both his parents' last names numbers. (GENIUS, isn't it?) So he'd be Troy Emmitt 2815.

Let's say one day he marries a girl named Eugenia 3715. Their kids, my grandkids, would have the last name number 6530. See how simple it is? And you can totally trace family histories by subtracting. Everybody wins!

So, who's on board with this plan?

What's in a [last] name? NOT THAT MUCH. So get over it.

There's been lots of hullabaloo lately about "feminists" getting married, and changing their last name to the Evil Evil Man's last name, and how this MUST MEAN that these feminists are NOT feminists -- THEY ARE IMPOSTORS!!! They are SARAH PALIN!!! RABID PANIC!!!!

Seriously, people?  THIS is what we need to fight about? A freakin' last name?

Feminism's treatment of non-cis, not-heterosexual, non-white women is not stellar. That's a big strike against it. Some feminists are working to correct that, learning to check their privilege and actively work to help those that need it most.

But then... other "feminists"... pull this crap : Can I be an Appendage to a Man But Still Call Myself a Feminist? 

Really? Just because a woman decides to get married, she can't be a feminist? Just because she decides to change her last name, she's not a feminist? Just because she does the dishes while her partner is working 12-14 hour shifts at work, she's not a feminist?

If that's what "the cool feminists" do, then no thanks, dude.

Maybe I'm the one who's all backwards. I mean, here I thought "feminism" was about women breaking free of the roles imposed on them by outside parties (otherwise known as the kyriarchy), and pursuing their own happiness, their own dreams and ambitions, instead of someone else's.

Apparently, "feminism" is being part of the FemBorg. It's all about teh manhatingz. And if you break the rules, even just a little bit... YOU'RE SARAH PALIN!!!!

Now, since social equality is all about doing the dishes, does that mean I'm the patriarchy? Because Freddy's the one who does the dishes at home (his and mine). And the laundry (his and mine). And the cooking -- his and mine, even though I'm the vegetarian who requires special meals.

Is there a Feminist Handbook where I can look this stuff up? The rules are starting to get confusing.

I make Freddy do all the household chores (because I'm a lazy bum, and I spend all my time blogging and tweeting). But... I like pink. And I wear dresses. And I shave my legs (er... most of the time). And my armpits (slightly more often than my legs). 

Can I still be a feminist if I wore a pink dress at our wedding?

Can I still be a feminist if I got married?

Now, if you're going to tell me that I'm a bad feminist for getting married when same-sex couples and couples where one or both partners is trans can't, then I'm going to agree with you. Getting married was a selfish move on my part, very self-centered. If you want to take away my feminist card for that, then I'll agree with you, and hand it over.

But if you're going to tell me I'm a bad feminist because I got married in a dress and had a party, I'm going to laugh in your face.

And the name thing? Are you bleepin' serious?

My last name was "Cox." Have you ever taught high school with the last name "Cox"?

You should try it. It's fun.

You don't even have to teach high school -- an ex-boyfriend's friends thought it was HILARIOUS to ask me, "What's your middle name, Sucks?"

Freddy's last name is WAY COOLER than "Cox." First of all, there are a bazillion Coxes around. (And I'm not related to any of them.) Freddy's last name? Totally unique. And pretty.

When I get an email address assigned at work, I don't have to have numbers or anything weird after my username -- it can just be "firstinitiallastname" because THERE ARE NOT SEVENTEEN BILLION OTHER PEOPLE WITH THE SAME LAST NAME IN THE DISTRICT.

That's pretty nifty, I think.

Had I had Freddy's last name when I graduated college, I bet the university would have sent me MY diploma in the mail, instead of Renee Marie Cox's diploma. (There were 5 of us with the same last name in the College of Liberal Arts that semester, if I recall correctly.)

You know what else has ALWAYS bugged me? That my last name (Cox) was shorter than my first name (Cristina). I HATED that as a kid. I wished I could have gone by my mom's last name, Donovan, because THAT one was a decent length.

Freddy's last name? LONGER THAN THREE LETTERS.

So I changed my last name when I got married.

OF COURSE THIS MUST MEAN I HAVE NO PERSONALITY OR SENSE OF SELF OUTSIDE MY HUBAND WAAAHHHHH!!!!!

I am "an appendage."

Meh. Good to know.

Come on, people... Don't we have bigger fish to fry than last names? 

Women are bullied into unwanted and unnecessary C-sections daily, and our maternal mortality rate has risen thanks to this. Doesn't WOMEN DYING rank a bit higher than their chosen last name? 

Or what about the women who will die because of lack of access to a safe abortion? 

Or 13-year-old girls being arrested for prostitution, when they're not even old enough to consent to sex until they're at least 14? 

Or what about the legalized discrimination against trans women? Denying protection to our most vulnerable sisters, which will inevitably result in (even more of) their deaths.... but that's NOT NEARLY AS IMPORTANT as your last name!!!

Dunno... seems like there are better things on which to spend "feminist" blog space than petty name-calling. No?