Alpha Mummy is the blog for mums who work, used to work, or want to go back to work one day.
It used to be accepted wisdom that The Man was always trying to push their Caesarean sections, drugs and other kinds of "assistance" during birth so they could make their tee times.
These days things are going in a diffferent direction.
One of the country's most influential midwives, Dr Denis Walsh, has told the Observer that women should be prepared to withstand the pain of childbirth because epidurals carry serious risks, impede bonding and interfere with birth as rite of passage.
Reading a quote from Walsh in the piece, you get the sense that's it's women, not their newborns, who are the real babies.
"A large number of women want to avoid pain. Some just don't fancy the pain [of childbirth]. More women should be prepared to withstand pain," he [said]. "Pain in labour is a purposeful, useful thing, which has quite a number of benefits, such as preparing a mother for the responsibility of nurturing a newborn baby."
HIs attitude that pain prepares women for the demands of motherhood sounds a bit too Old Testament to me. Labour pain is natural and temporary, as he says. Of course if you have, say, 12 hours of it, your ability to bond, to recover, to enjoy the rite of passage - much less perform the accompanying dance and attend the feast later - is pretty much dented anyway.
His comments ignore also that understaffed hospitals aren't so well-equipped to escort women through a "natural", often leaving them on their own for long stretches of time. Let's face it, the natural part of natural childbirth from the past wasn't always so rosy, since it sometimes resulted in the very natural state of death for mother or child.
While several experts have denounced Walsh's views as "wrong" and his criticisms misplaced, targets introduced to NHS trusts are placing pressure on hospitals to stop large numbers of women from opting for epidurals.
Fashions in childbirth rise and fall like just about everything else, but the judgment accompanying these blanket rules and statements points the finger at individual women rather than the structures, cultures and health services that surround childbirth in the UK right now. Chastising a woman for determining that she needs pain relief to go on is unnatural indeed.
You can always tell a woman who’s had a baby from one who hasn’t, a surgeon was once quoted in an article I read. Her belly button goes from an upright vertical like a keyhole to a horizontal shape, like, say, a prone drunkard (that last part of the description is mine).
While it may be true, there’s something unsettling about the focus on the appearance of post-baby bellies that stretches across our culture like a Lycra pregnancy top. Naturally there is the onslaught of celebrity pictures accompanied by copy that swoons over how AMAZING and GORGEOUS they look now that it appears they never had a child at all.
And recently the mummy tummy tuck – like Botox, lipo and injectables – has trickled down to the masses, wherein it’s considered an acceptable expense, in order to “get back to where you were.”
I didn’t feel like myself anymore, writes one woman in Saturday’s Weekend section, about getting an “apron” of excess tissue cut off and a new tummy button fashioned. In certain cases (like hers) pregnancy-related hernias make this type of operation not simply cosmetic.
It’s supposed to be empowering to say a woman’s post-baby tummy tuck is a personal decision, a choice she makes for herself that makes her feel good. Except it weaves itself into a larger picture of motherhood and body image. It ignores the factors that make a squishy tummy on your family beach holiday not part of life’s rich tapestry but a bit of window dressing that needs taking in. What we are supposed to be, after having one, two, five kids, is as slim as svelte as our 21-year-old selves.
There is also the danger. As the death of ex-footballer Colin Hendrie's wife from post-baby liposuction shows, things can and do go disastrously wrong during cosmetic surgery.
These days getting a nose job to “correct” the appearance of a wide Black nose or a prominent Jewish one is considered retrograde, almost self-loathin. Yet “correcting” a post-baby belly is not only accepted, it’s becoming more and more fashionable. Along the way, it has become normalised, rejecting and distorting the natural female body, even an gym-honed one.
There’s little acceptance that when your tummy is out to “there” for more than nine months, it’s going to have some effect on your body (even 40something childless friends report suddenly developing a belly where there wasn’t one before. It’s called getting older).
It’s all well and good saying, hey if it makes her feel better, go for it. But that really acquiesces to an attitude that is a lot more damaging than some extra flesh around the middle. Undergoing the risks of abdominal surgery? Going to the expense to get the belly of Angelina or Reese? Having my friendly surgeon create a brand new belly button?
No thanks, I’ll keep the slightly limp, horizontal telltale version I have. After all, my mother gave it to me.
Eighty-one per cent of parents think they know what they're children are doing online, according to the Norton Online Living Report. But 31 per cent of kids say their parents don't know what they view online. Tell us what online risks concern you.
Alpha Mummy regular Jenny Colgan thinks Shaheen Jafargholi singing at Jackson's memorial is a bad idea, to say the least.
Oh, Simon Cowell. I can't help it. I quite like you. And I know you made your reputation on being a blisteringly honest money-generator. But really, truly, whatever on earth possessed you to saying 'Yeah, fine, sure' to 12-year-old Shaheen Jafargholi from Britain's Got Talent singing at Michael Jackson's memorial service?
At its very best it's in the worst possible taste - like saying, 'Hey, Michael, you know all those dreadful allegations that pretty much ruined your life? Well, here's a flagrant reminder right here; a pretty, pre-adolescent boy'.
On the other hand, it also says, 'Hey, let's make this kid really, really famous. As we all know, it worked out so brilliantly for Michael Jackson'. Does everyone involved think that people won't be watching and sniggering, making remarks about Jesus juice. Whatever he did, Jackson used his fame and influence to persuade parents to let their children participate in things like sleepovers they wouldn't have countenanced otherwise.
Or people will be sadly reminded how the handsome young showbiz dynamo changed into "Wacko Jacko".
It seems to me the supreme act of tastelessness that given everything that went wrong in that man's life - stardom far too early, far too many people saying yes to him and, at in the best possible light, highly unfortunate experiences with pre-adolescents - that you'd happily send a young boy to sing a song in celebration of all that. It's just wrong, album deal or no bloody album deal.
More on Alpha Mummy:
10-year-old Hollie Steel on Britain's Got Talent: it's child labour
Colgan: How much should Julie Myerson have revealed about her son?
 The role of dad during a child's birth has gained more and more prominence over the years, to the point that it's expected that today's new father will do some of the work himself by cutting the cord or "catching" the baby (for experienced rugby players only).
But is the idea all it's cracked up to be? Laura Yates, who blogs for the Birmingham Mail, doesn't think so. In a post entitled "Who says boyfriends should be present during labour?" she says that women with partner-coaches tend to get more epidurals (he doesn't like to see you in pain so is more likely to encourage it). She also thinks the messy reality can interfere with life after birth - that the moment of crowning becomes seared in his brain, emerging - as it were - every time he revisits the area.
She doesn't say whether her boyfriend is also the daddy, but she's right about one thing though - having your partner in the room has become de rigeur and to deviate from the practice seems to imply something about your relationship or the type of parent your partner will be.
Throughout my whole pregnancy with The Kid at no point did I have any deep rooted desire to have the Other Half there during the birth. Judging by the response I got from some of my friends, that made me as much as a monster as Harold Shipman. One friend was horrified when I said I'd been thinking about going it alone. She told me I'd be depriving my man of one of the most important moments in his life.
Of course, there's also the small factor of what the dad/boyfriend/husband wants. Being there to offer support and lay eyes on the newborn can be as motivating for men as women.
During my pregnancy I briefly floated the idea that my mother accompany me rather than my husband. It was out of the question as far as he was concerned. He wanted to be there and have the birth as something we did together, for better or worse. On the day itself, he was steadfast and soothing and kept talking to me throughout the whole thing.
In the end, Yates's boyfriend did attend the birth. He stayed up next to her head rather than grabbing a ringside seat further south. That's an approach I wholeheartedly endorse. If the partner is in the room, the birth should be a shared experience, not a rubbernecking opportunity.
More on Alpha Mummy
Can women orgasm during childbirth?
The Hello Kitty maternity hospital
Freebirthing: the stylish new way to have a baby
What was your midwife or nurse like?
"Barbara", you may recall, is the appellation that I give any child that crosses me. In that respect, the concept of "Barbara" is a bit like the concept of "Bob" in Twin Peaks. It is a malign spirit that can enter any child, at any time, cause great evil - and then leave again. "Barbara" was in the child that made Eavie's Barbies "do sexing" in the kitchen. Then "Barbara" entered the child who decided who could and couldn't play with her, on the basis of whether they had Sky+ or not.
This week, "Barbara" visited a childrens' birthday party, and entered another willing vessel. Whilst in control of this child, "Barbara" made it take up a stick against a rival - and smack him right in the knackers. Apparently, the clatter was hard enough for the boy to start bleeding in a fairly copious manner - leading to one of the sights no mother ever wants to see at a birthday party for an eight year old: a boy walking into the kitchen, screaming, cupping his bloody crotch in his hands. Especially when you're in the middle of pouring out Ribena into 27 small, plastic cups.
When I heard of the latest doings of Barbara, I was initially quite horrified. After all, partial circumcision is a heavy toll to pay for a hand full of Jamboree Biscuits, and a party-bag. But then I remembered, at my school, a boy - who I suppose we must refer to as "Barbara" - stabbed another boy - who, as he was quite annoying too, probably also must be referred to as "Barbara" - through the eye with an icicle. And at my husband's school, one pupil murdered another. But that was in Birmingham. Barbara, it is clear, is as old as time.
I've reviewed for the Times travel section the best folks on Twitter who are writing about their own trips, travel tips and pictures that take you away from it all.
Check out the story here if you missed it.
 Remember the good old days when all you had to do to get kids agitated was to send three guys to the nearest orbiting rock? These days only high-definition computer graphics and fictional characters with Happy Meal spinoff toys sets their little hearts a-pounding.
But the 40th anniversary of the Moon landing presents a stellar (or make that interstellar) opportunity to fire the imagination of the next generation of space engineers, astrophysicists, jet pilots and, of course, astronauts.
Here, the best toys, treats and space-themed goodies for inquiring minds. 3...2...1...
1. Astronaut Ice Cream
This freeze dried, vacuum packed, ready to eat, Neapolitan ice cream is a favourite with astronauts as a space party treat.
£2.99 www.spacekids.co.uk
2. Moon in my room, a moon light for bedroom with sensors
This detailed model of the moon hangs on the wall and, with its built-in light sensor, begins to shine as it gets dark. It comes with a free audio CD of facts about the Moon and its relationship to Earth.
£30 www.sciencemuseumstore.com
3. NASA space suit (orange)
A wonderfully detailed replica space suit, closely modelled on the NASA shuttle pilot suit. It features authentic-looking chest and waist harnesses and a padded neck collar ring, for maximum safety during those rough landings.
£34.99 www.spacekids.co.uk
4. Astronaut space boots
These official-looking space boots are intended to be worn over shoes and complete any astronaut costume with their NASA logos and special zipped compartments.
£17.99 www.spacekids.co.uk
5. Space blanket
A genuine NASA spin-off product, this blanket will protect your child from solar radiation and help protect their multi-million pound rocket when travelling in outer space.
£4.99 www.spacekids.co.uk
Continue reading "Moon landing: the 21 best space toys to get kids excited about space " »
 I loved Purple Dragon when I first visited it after launch. But considering I'm no longer a member of my grown-up member's club, paying to join one for my daughter seemed like one too many parental sacrifices.
Call it a credit crunch correction or simply good things coming to those who wait, but the chic kids members club is now running summer school sessions that give children and their adults access to all its usual groovy resources as well as some additional fun activities.
Sessions for 3 to 5 year olds are £40 for morning or afternoon; children aged 5 and up go for full-day sessions from 9:30 to 3:30 (£60). Weekly and monthly summer memberships are also available (£75 and £200, respectively).
Unlike the activities that I have planned for my daughter over summer break - endless Dora re-runs, adventures in Boots's toothpaste aisle - their activities include cooking courses, circus activities, Bollywood-themed days, Grand Prix fun, and meeting a real policeman and fireman. While the kids play, parents can take a yoga class, have a massage, eat lunch, check email, or have a drink on the terrace. Membership, it appears, has its privileges for adults too.
www.purpledragonplay.com/
 Dahling, don't tell me you're not on the list already? Everybody who's anybody is attending a swine flu party these days. Or so they say. Or maybe they don't really say that at all.
The BBC says there have been reports of people intentionally seeking out the company of people with swine flu to build up the immunity of their kids. Justine Roberts of Mumsnet spoke this morning on BBC Radio about discussions on their message boards in which mums were talking about the idea of swine flu parties. Dr Jarvis, chairman of the British Medical Association's public health committee who has been working to diagnose and treat people with swine flu, even advised against going to a swine flu party at a conference in Liverpool. He said:
"I have heard of reports of people throwing swine flu parties.
"I don't think it is a good idea. I would not want it myself.
"It is quite a mild virus, but people still get ill and there is a risk of mortality."
Of course, chicken pox parties are a traditional part of childhood, when the parents or nannies round up the kids, schedule a playdate and wait for the wee ones to rub off on one another. In New York, because of rules that children starting school need to have had either a vaccination or the pox itself, chicken pox parties are popular - and effortful - affairs, with kids in party dresses sharing lollipops and parents driving hours to attend.
But read closely and you see it's all a ferfuffle over nothing. BBC writes about "reports" of the get-togethers. As Justine points out on one Mumsnet thread, discussions about them centre around mums wondering whether whether it's better to get swine flu now rather than in autumn when it will have mutated and be more virulent. It's a valid question. Even the doctors don't know. But has anyone ever been invited? Has anyone stocked up on fairy cakes and actually thrown one?
Swine flu parties are a daft idea, not least because of the question of what to put in the party bag. There's also the risk of death, which spoils the fun, regular flu symptoms which are pretty terrible anyway and no guarantee you would actually create immunity.
But beyond that, swine flu parties are a daft idea because they are only that: an idea. Unless, of course, you've been invited to one. In which case, let me know what they served for snacks.
 Potty Mummy has written in with a post about online safety, with an anecdote that will give you pause. It's easy to think they we are sensible parents, bringing up sensible children who "get" the boundaries online. But we can't be complacent about the role that social networking can play in our children's lives.
In her post she describes a friend who discovers that her daughter has an online "friend" who is anything but.
We keep our computer in the sitting room and we always keep on eye on what the kids are doing online - emailing a handful of known friends for the older one, visiting the wonderful Poisson Rouge games site for the younger one. We have passwords to our accounts and parental controls on theirs. But is it enough?
Read Potty Mummy's post and tell us, what do you do to keep your kids safe online?
(Image: logo from Potty Mummy's blog)
More on the Times
1 in 10 parents haven't talked to kids about internet security
 In one day, two of the biggest icons of my youth have died.
Michael Jackson's death is dominating newspapers and websites as forcefully as it dominated the parties and radio waves of my youth. I still remember the slumber party at my friend Erin's one year, where seven girls ran screeching around the entire house, choreographing dances to the songs from Thriller. His unexpected death is sad - I can't help wondering what's going to happen with his children. But his music is more evocative of the past than relevant to the present for me.
Farrah Fawcett's death is different. Her posters papered bedroom walls of boys and girls in my hometown and for a while she represented all I understood to be desirable about being a woman. Fresh, beautiful, sexy, happy. At the centre of it all was the hair. THAT poster (pictured) and her season on Charlie's Angels didn't just heat up a generation of teenage boys. It activated a thousand hot rollers and curling irons for girls in search of feathering. Every schoolday began the same way: You flipped the hair backwards with hot implement of your choice, pressed it down with the flat of your hand and laid down a layer of Aqua Net.
Even if, like me, you identified more with another of the Angels (I'd always considered myself a Jaclyn Smith-type), you were in some way reacting to the power of that toothy white smile, that perfect picture of California beauty (despite her Corpus Christi, Texas provenance).
As Farrah's pop culture status faded, she imparted different powerful lessons about how a certain kind of beauty can keep you from ever fully transcending it. Beauty fades, tastes change and by my mid-teens, the Farrah kind of girl was a bit too man-pleasing, too fussy, too retro compared to our new pop culture role models (Madonna and all those strange bands on this new music channel, MTV). It was the first time I realised that there could be a downside to being beautiful.
By the time Farrah appeared, acting loopy, on David Letterman several years ago, she seemed an embarrassing reminder of an embarrassing era of jiggle TV, terrible pantsuits and retrograde sexual politics. They even played the Charlie's Angels theme tune as she made her entrance.
Of course, Farrah Fawcett isn't just a symbol for the rest of the us. She was a performer who seemed to clearly understand her predicament ("I was famous before I even had a craft," she once said) and who earned awards for serious work. She had a family and a longtime partner in Ryan O'Neal. And she fought cancer and lost.
So Tim Burton, Helena Bonham Carter and Johnny Depp have partnered together again for Disney's new Alice in Wonderland and it's going to be the frothy sweet charmfest we've all come to expect from their projects. Remember the cuddly Edward Scissorhands and the heartwarming Sweeney Todd?
In fact, these concept images from the film, released in 3D early next year, look amazing. Burton has never let a cute fluffy moment suffice when a dark and slightly sinister one can be excavated beneath it, and, gratifyingly, this project appears as mind-bending as the original story. It also looks gorgeous and tantalising. Can't wait! (Click on the images to see the pictures at full size.)
 A woman in America pleaded guilty to child neglect for breast-feeding while intoxicated. Neighbours called the police when they say the 26-year-old slurring her speech and feeding her six-week-old baby.
Alcohol passes into the milk and the amount the mother drinks corresponds directly to the amount the child ingests. Pouring the booze in your mouth while you have baby to breast is a bad idea.
The mother will be sentenced to a felony charge. But thankfully the judge was thoughtful enough not to require she register as an offender against children. Methinks some support in curbing her drinking problem would be much more in order.
More on Alpha Mummy
Jenny Colgan on the mum who let her 3-year-old smoke
Now it's OK to have a drink, government says
How much should you drink around children?
It’s hard to describe how happy my husband was when the new Star Trek movie came out. Here was a perfect father-son bonding opportunity, along with piecing together the huge Lego models he insists on buying every year. But this past weekend all his hopes were dashed.
“Let’s go see Star Trek,” he said to my step-son, who practically snorted in derision.
“Star Trek is geeky,” he said. He put his fingers up like glasses in front of his eyes. “’Hi, my name is Michael and I want to see Star Trek.’”
It turns out that Michael is the smartest, most math-minded student in his class and Michael loves all things Trekkie.
My husband knew then that his son finally had his number, had at last pegged him for what he was.
Of course he’ll still go see Star Trek. But so far he’s failing to recruit the next generation.
Micahel sent in a link to the Ackermania blog, which has a great story about receiving pitches from clueless PR folks. (She knows whence she speaks, being a PR person herself.) Check it out.
The big question is, "Are you in the market to hand over an eye-watering £500 on a trampoline?" If the answer is "Yes" - as it was for us, after we'd decided to stay at home for the summer holidays* - then buy this one: the Springfree from Australia. Obviously it's gigantically more expensive than all the trampolines at Argos, but design-wise, it's like the iPod of tramps. All the springs are underneath, and it has a huge net around it, so, unless your kids fall on each other, there's no way they can hurt themselves. Everything is bounce.
My Kiwi friend, Michael, came over to look at it the first day we put it up.
"Everyone has trampolines in New Zealand," he said, examining it with a practised eye. "Of course, with the normal trampolines with the springs round the side, you have a lot of accidents. It was a common occurrence for a young man to mis-bounce, fall, and get his testicles trapped."
I had a feeling that I get regularly around Michael - that he has seen things we could never even imagine.
That first day, the kids stayed on the trampoline for six hours straight. They ate their tea on it - but not while bouncing, after I explained to them about choking, my inability to do the Heimlich, and how dreary and depressing the funeral of a child can be.
A month later, and it's their "Third Space" in the house, after the telly, and my bloody wardrobe, which they will not stay out of.
"Can I have this dress after you die?" Dora asks, in my red silk thing from Whistles.
"No. I'm going to be buried in it. Sod off on your trampoline. I could have bought ten pairs of shoes for that."
*I can't abide not being near my own toilet, and the garden is looking lovely
Last week Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists put out a statement about the best time to have babies: between age 20 and 35. The risks are lower then for baby and mother and the women are less likely to miscarry.
Thanks for the newsflash, docs. As a result, the message for women is have the baby/babies first, worry about your career later.
But wait, where are the daddies? Where is the message for young men to prioritise starting a family while the woman in their life is still young and fruitful? Many commentators decry the increasing number of women who decide to have children without a full-time daddy in the picture. But when it comes to planning a pregnancy, the message is addressed to the women only.
And of course there are the ramifications for a woman's work - whether it's a highflying career or simply a job that pays a living wage. Getting pregnant right out of school puts you behind all those other people in prospects, contacts and experience. Landing your first job after university at age 27 can't be easy, even if you've had a partner who has been able to support you for the past 5 years.
Minette Marin wrote on the topic, saying, "There was never a good or obvious moment for Ms Youngthing to have a baby and it’s cruel and unrealistic to tell her, as she sits in the IVF clinic, that she should have done so at twentysomething."
The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists does a lot of meaningful work, but I'm wondering just what the benefit of this particular advice really is.
School Gate blog: A young, single college student chooses grad school over baby
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Natasha Kaplinsky's pregnancy: when did she know?
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 Forget sex and drugs. Delia Lloyd (pictured), who blogs at www.realdelia.com, has written in about the touchy subject of teaching your children about death. It can be complicated and confounding, especially since Just Say No doesn't really apply. We talk about heaven at our house, but that doesn't fit with every family. How do you handle it in yours?
The Deadness: Talking to Your Kids About Death About six months ago, my five year-old developed an obsession with death. When pressed, she’d say that she wasn’t actually afraid of dying, but of what she called “the deadness.” Specifically, she was afraid of being under ground and having - quote - “rats and crows nibble on her body” - end quote. (Apparently I’ve given birth to an Edgar Allan Poe in the making...)
One night a few months back, she actually burst into tears at the dinner table over this issue, saying that she didn’t want “the deadness” happening to her. She wanted to die in a museum.
I’m not sure exactly what brought this on. I know that it started sometime before Christmas. It then escalated dramatically when - earnest, historically-sensitive parents that we are - my husband and I decided to take her and her eight year-old brother to the Anne Frank Museum in Amsterdam over the Christmas holidays. Soon after, she started asking whether, when she died, she’d get a grave stone or be put in a mass grave. (I suppose that’s what you get for taking a five year-old to a Holocaust memorial. Lesson learned.)
My husband and I didn’t handle this whole thing very well. Our son had never developed a fixation with death, so we were caught off guard. We just didn’t know how to respond.
At one point, for example, she started asking how old she’d be when she died: 99? 100? She wanted an exact figure. I started quoting statistics about the “new old age” and how people were living much longer than they used to. My husband pulled the number 150 out of the hat. But she was having none of it. She didn’t want “the deadness.”
She was also very interested in what happens to you once you die. Were you reborn? If so, she informed us that she’d like to come back as a boy (she’s a big fan of cross-dressing) and that she’d like to have parents named Jane and Michael (presumably, of Mary Poppins fame.) Once, again, we dropped the ball. Not being religious, we couldn’t give her the easy “you go to heaven” answer. And we’re not sufficiently grounded in Hinduism to do the whole reincarnation thing. Instead, I tried to speak metaphorically. I showed her a book called When the Wind Stops that’s meant to teach children about death. The book’s basic point is that when the sun goes down in one part of the world, it rises somewhere else. Unfortunately, this was the wrong answer for our literal-minded five year old. “But we aren’t the sun. We’re people.” Point well taken. And then a few months back, my father died. The night we broke the news to the kids, my daughter asked: “Can we ride a magic carpet to a place where no one dies?” It broke my heart. Not just because it was the kind of nakedly honest, child-like wish that we - as adults - no longer entertain. But also because it drove home how miserably I’d failed in explaining this whole death thing in a way that was at all meaningful to her. And yet, after my father died, her death obsession began to fade. She still talks about him and will matter-of-factly explain to anyone who’s listening that he’s dead. But somehow, the reality of someone dying whom she knew cured her of talking about “the deadness” in the abstract. Part of it, I think, is that my husband and I made a big point of saying that even though Grandpa was gone, he would live on in our memories. So we kept talking about him and telling the kids stories about his life. And then, when another close family friend died, my husband downloaded some photos of this person and my father and put them up in our living room to commemorate their places in our lives. The next day, my daughter paused in front of the wall with the pictures, as if trying to make sense of them. “Is this the passed away wall?” she finally asked. “Yes it is,” I replied. And for the first time ever, she seemed satisfied with my answer. Delia Lloyd is a writer/journalist/blogger based in London. Her essays have appeared in The International Herald Tribune, The Guardian Abroad and on the BBC World Service. She blogs about adulthood at www.realdelia.com. Visit Winston's Wish, the charity for bereaved children, for advice on coping with bereavement More on Alpha Mummy How would you cope with the death of a child?
When mum is gone: celebrating Father's Day as a single dad
Comparing sexually active teen girls to used toothbrushes or second-hand lollies (aka "suckers") wasn't doing the job, so proponents of the abstinence movement are remaking its image. It's refocussing itself to tackle the issues of STIs and the epidemic of teen pregnancies. An article in The Nation talks about this new rebranding exercise, with a revamped "science"-based approach and Bristol Palin as a poster girl for the movement, featured in the 1 Jun cover story of People magazine. In the Nation piece, Jessica Valenti - author of The Purity Myth - writes:
In the [People] article...Palin says, "Girls need to imagine and picture
their life with a screaming newborn baby and then think before they have
sex.... If girls realized the consequences of sex, nobody would be
having sex." Unless, of course, they were told how to protect themselves
by using birth control.
Continue reading "The abstinence movement gets rebranded" »
Alpha
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Jennifer Howze, mother of
one and stepmother of one, is Lifestyle editor of Times Online
Eleanor Mills, mother of two, is the Saturday editor of the Times
Caitlin Moran, mother of two,
is a columnist for The Times
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