Tag Archives: men

On mothers’ groups and men-bashing

“Yeah, my husband will change diapers when I ask him to, but only if we have the man-friendly/easy-to-use ones clean.”

“Sure he says he’ll clean the bathroom, but he’s a man, it’s like he doesn’t see the dirt.”

“My spouse is such a GUY — fifty things to do before my family comes over, and he spends an hour on one that’s not even on the list.”

“Bloody men!”

I hate hearing phrases like these. Hate. (Loathe might be a more accurate word.) They drive me absolutely up the wall, and occasionally send me to a safe space (or Twitter) to rant about how much I cringe upon hearing them — and I do, seemingly inevitably though to greater or lesser extents, any time a group of women (especially mothers) gather together.

A short list of the problems with these and similar phrases:

  • They extrapolate from one man to all men as though men are a monolith, each identical to the other. (Sometimes this is “reduced” to “only” straight men — because “gay” and “straight” are two discrete categories, and within each all individuals are the same.)
  • Related, they extrapolate from “once” (or, granted, a historical pattern) to “always”, thus encouraging (which is not to say entirely creating) a self-fulfilling prophesy.
  • They assume inadequate performance is due to inherent incompetence rather than cultural learning (or lack thereof).
  • They assign said incompetence to gender — or sometimes, explicitly to (inevitably cissexist) symbols of gender, such as cocks or Y-chromosomes.
  • They excuse, and thus encourage, said incompetence — after all, he can’t change that he’s a man/guy/has a penis; plus, who wants to do more of anything that gets them berated?
  • They exclude men from the domestic sphere, leaving women as the ones who must be competent at home, thus denying them the freedom to move into the public sphere.
  • They’re wrong, both factually an morally, for all the above reasons.

Yet — I almost never say anything when they’re said. What could I say? I’m one of the “lucky” ones1, so any protests would read as either bragging, preaching, or rubbing their noses in what many others don’t have and I do. Yet murmur vague concurring noises, and I’m agreeing to sexism — not “reverse sexism”, but the logical sequela of women-need-to-stay-at-home misogyny. Go off on a rant about society and the damage of kyriarchy, and I’ve both lost my audience (a minor issue) and completely ignored the emotional content of my friends’ complaints (a rather more major one).

For there are reasons women complain about the incompetence of the men in their lives, not least because it’s true — if not as a generalization, then for them, in their lives. And it’s crappy, and of course they want to complain and vent to a supportive audience of their peers, many of whom experience similar personal aggravations and injustices. These phrases do reinforce misogyny and sexism, both personally and culturally, but ultimately it’s not women’s job to make sure men do theirs, not our job (alone) to eliminate sexism, and in many relationships it’s just not as simple as stepping back and changing our words and trusting that suddenly, magically, the men will step up and do their share.

I wish that were always the case — and it sometimes is, and I invite you to decide to what extent that’s true in your relationship, because I surely am not going to attempt to — but sometimes leaving things up to a woman’s partner puts her children at risk; sometimes ceasing to excuse him increases the antagonism at home; sometimes it increases verbal/emotional abuse, or risks turning it into physical abuse. Complaining, though often counterproductive, is sometimes a woman’s only coping mechanism in a situation where she has little power and a very small set of crappy options. Furthermore, generalizing those complaints to “men” instead of her man places her in solidarity with other (male-partnered) women rather than (falsely!) placing the blame on her and her “bad choice” of a partner. I can’t — won’t — deprive someone of their coping mechanism, won’t condescend to presume even that such is true for every woman I’m listening to, won’t offend by assuming ill-intent or laziness.

And so I cringe, say nothing, and think of my child — self-declared boy, statistically likely to be straight and one day woman-partnered — and I hope that he never gives his lover cause to evoke these phrases, never is hobbled in his parenting or partnership by these all too pervasive cultural ideas.

ETA: And just in case we needed evidence this is hardly a mothers-started idea, making it even more pointless to blame individual women, here’s evidence of just how pervasive the-incompetent-dad idea is.

  1. A phrase which itself silences the few complaints with my partner I may have, because then not only would I be placing myself as “perfect” — hah! — to his “imperfect”, I’m also not “appreciating” my “luck”.

The problem with “the problem with men”

This is how feminists get a reputation for being humorless: we fail to laugh at jokes or quips that serve the kyriarchy. Like the one I heard yesterday, from D, an otherwise dear friend, spouse of my sister-in-all-but-genetics-and-law.

He and The Man were outside with the Boychick and his cousin, watching them run through the sprinklers (well, encouraging them to, anyway: the Boychick was standing at the edges saying it was “too cold!”, while his cousin happily ran around getting soaked). D came in, and my sister asked if they had towels out there for them. D’s reply was “Of course not: we’re men, we don’t think that far ahead!”

He didn’t understand why I raised an eyebrow and rolled my eyes, and nor did anyone else in the room.

The Man would have gotten it.

The problem with “the problem with men” type “jokes” is that they serve to support the patriarchy-assigned sexist gender-roles. Although directed at men, and not women, and supposedly OK and “not sexist” by being at the expense of men, and not women, by supporting the limiting and dehumanizing gender roles of the patriarchy, they ultimately hurt women. Not to mention being incredibly insulting to men who have worked hard to get past said limiting stereotypes.

These jokes are especially problematical when about the incompetence of men in the domestic sphere, for by casting men as bumbling idiots in the home, it falls on women to pick up the slack there, keeping us tethered to the domestic sphere, leaving the public sphere, with its associated privilege and power, exclusively the domain of men.

So call me a humorless feminist all you like, but I fail to see why I should laugh at tired old sexist tropes that dehumanize and underestimate the capabilities of my best beloveds, many of whom are male, while ultimately reinforcing my own oppression.

It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor, it’s that I’d much rather laugh at the patriarchy rather than with it, and that requires thinking for yourself instead of regurgitating the partriarchy’s old standbys.

You can do it. I believe in you.

The Adventures of The Family Lactational, and a Fathers’ Day postscript

Okeedoke, I was trying to write an entire actual, y’know, post to go with these comics, but… nah. Later, maybe.

For now, a quick explanation: several years ago, long before the Boychick’s conception much less birth or extrauterine life (which is to say, way before I had any first-hand experience with any of this), I came up with the idea for a comic-based handbook for new fathers/non-lactating coparents. It would address the concerns non-lactating parents often express about how to be “involved” when their mamababy is a breastfeeding dyad. I liked the idea so much, I drew up half a dozen examples, starring the superheroes Nursing Mom, Supportive Partner (originally conceived as Super Dad, the rejection of which title and my ambivalence toward SP meriting a post to itself), and Amazing Babe.

They sucked.

But that’s OK, because I liked them.

I redrew them, from lined paper (bad for photocopying) to beautiful textured journal paper (er, also bad for photocopying, in hindsight)… and then forgot them.

Well, not exactly forgot: I’d pull them out and look at them and go “hey, this was a neat idea!” every once in a while, and then I’d carefully put the originals back in to the journal with the newer sketches, and put the journal back on the shelf, and not do anything with them.

Consider this a slightly more public, virtual rendition of that tradition.

For your titillation (sorry, I had to), may I present the partial adventures of

The Family Lactational


[Image: Mom in rocker nursing baby, partner bringing plate with drink and apple. Text: Supportive Partner helps keep Nursing Mom hydrated and healthy!]


[Image: Partner wearing baby in sling, on a walk holding hands with mom. Text: Supportive Partner spends lots of time with Nursing Mom and Amazing Babe!]


[Image: Mom nursing babe in sling, partner blocking talking head pointing and "blah blah blah"ing. Text: Supportive Partner guards Nursing Mom from Interfering Ignorami!]


[Image: Partner and Mom in family bed, superhero capes hung up for the night, babe asleep in between them, cat at foot of bed. Text: Supportive Partner spends the night with Nursing Mom and Amazing Babe!]

But what I wanted to say with this, what I really wanted to say and have been having trouble finding the words for, is:

Beloved, when I drew these, I had no idea how far you would blow them out of the water with your fathering, your parenting, your love for our Boychick, your thoughtfulness for me. I had no idea how insulting these caricatures would be to the reality of your deep, rounded, complete parenthood. You had no need for such a guide, and could write your own handbook on how to be a parent (full-stop, not a coparent, not a helping parent, not a mom’s-assistant father) as a feminist male in a patriarchal society — and you should, because the world could and should learn from you: you do nothing miraculous, you never expect accolades for what you do, you expect more from yourself than any one, you just simply, and beautifully, parent our child. It should be nothing out of the ordinary, but it is, and it irritates you that it is, and for that alone, even if I didn’t have the hundred thousand other reasons I have, I would love you.

Thank you. Happy Fathers’ Day.

28 day cycle! And let’s talk about sex

(But no, I didn’t ovulate on day 14. Interesting factoid: the cycle I did finally conceive the Boychick, I not only ovulated on day 14, but then birthed him at 40w9d, which is the actual average length of gestation for a spontaneous labor in a primipara. He was a by the book baby!)

So I started my period today, indicating another cycle we successfully evaded pregnancy, and I’d like to take a moment to wax lyrical about two of the contraceptive methods we use, both of which are generally poohpoohed or dismissed for the very reason I like them: they either require or accept the male partner’s full involvement.

Method one: “coitus interruptus“, or withdrawal. And no, I don’t mean “pull and pray”. Withdrawal, when practiced appropriately, is just about on par with condoms in preventing pregnancy (my edition of Contraceptive Technologies places it at 94% efficacy when practiced perfectly, compared to condoms’ 95%; the above link places it more at 96% to condoms’ 98%). The reasons it’s not recommended, as opposed to condoms, are: it does diddly to protect against diseases, it’s awfully hard for many to practice perfectly, and it requires the woman to trust and rely on her male partner.

My answer to both the first and the last reasons is: this is why it is not recommended outside of a healthy (emotionally and physically) monogamous relationship, but also why it is a good option inside of one. When almost all other forms of contraception require the woman to do the work (take a pill, get a shot, have a device inserted permanently or temporarily), it’s wonderfully refreshing to have a method that requires the man’s full buy in and participation, and puts the onus on him for once.

To the middle objection, that it’s rarely put into perfect use: well, that’s true. Most people don’t even know what appropriate use of the withdrawal method calls for, which is:

  • either a lack of ejaculation or ejaculating far away from the vagina (pulling out barely in time only to spooge on the vulva really doesn’t do any good)
  • AND a lack of having already ejaculated in the previous 24 hours

The reasoning for the second is that although “precum” (properly called pre-ejaculate) does not contain sperm (really!), it might wash out sperm that has been hanging out in the urethra from a previous ejaculation. But since sperm don’t survive long at all outside of a fertile vaginal/uterine environment, even that small chance is over after 24 hours.

So, that’s withdrawal: a perfectly acceptable and effective birth control method for those in an emotionally and physically healthy relationship, with a man willing and able to control himself during PIV (penis in vagina) sex, and who can refrain from orgasm in the 24 hours prior to the PIV moment.

The other, as y’all know by now, is the fertility awareness method. This one doesn’t require full male participation (although it does require at least some, since it involves either abstaining or using back up methods during fertile times), but can: in our house, The Man’s alarm goes off at 6:30am every morning, he gets out the thermometer, turns it on, and wakes me up enough to hand it to me, I stick it in my mouth until it beeps to indicate it’s done, he takes it back, and when he gets up he records the temperature. He also records any factors that might influence the temperature, such as illness or time variation, and the date of any PIV sex and the backup contraceptive method used, if any. I (when I, erm, bother to) record my menstruation and cervical fluids (I also used to chart cervical texture and positioning, which was a really strong indicator, but alas that has become unreadable since birthing the Boychick), and do most of the interpreting.

I’m not going to debate or defend FAM much except to say that it is only as effective as the method used during fertile or unidentifiable times: that is, when full abstention is used during all potentially fertile times (about 1/3 of the month for the average woman, closer to 1/2 for me since I have such a short luteal phase), and potentially fertile times are indeed identifiable (they are not for all women) and defined quite conservatively, it can be highly effective. For us, because we use condoms and withdrawal methods during fertile times, it is closer to 94% (possibly even less, because the efficacy numbers for condoms and withdrawal come from using them across the cycle, not just during known fertile times), which we are comfortable with.

There’s something fabulously feminist about a birth prevention method in which a male partner can participate so fully. Not only do I gain so much information about my body and its workings through charting (which would be reason enough to chart, even if a man weren’t involved at all), but we can on occasion have “deliciously natural sex”* without me imbibing anything that alters or affects my biology, and The Man has to do most of the (minimal) work. What’s not to love about that?

I’ve heard and understand the arguments why women shouldn’t rely on men for their pregnancy prevention, and while I understand the need to avoid helpless dependence in most situations, I also think we can go too far into pathological independence. In certain types of relationships, both withdrawal and FAM can be used to encourage male involvement and investment in the birth control method, heighten the relationship between lovers and the quality of lovemaking, and build the best kind of interdependence wherein both parties work together for the benefit of all. And that’s as feminist a goal for birth control methods as any I can think of.

*I love this phrase for PIV sex only inasmuch as “natural” is understood to mean “without barriers or other substances”, and not implying that only PIV sex is “natural”, which of course would be both false and offensive.

Can we stop saying patriarchy is good for men?

If the patriarchy is good for men, then feminism, which opposes and seeks to dismantle the patriarchy, must be bad for men, and men become feminist’s enemies, the pawns and bishop and knights of the patriarchy, if you will. We need to recruit allies, not create enemies which the “us v. them” rhetoric does quite well.

And patriarchy really isn’t good for men, except in comparison to how truly horrible it is for women.

What the patriarchy does is create a hierarchy with (straight white rich thin ablebodied nuerotypical cisgendered) men at top, and (queer black poor fat disabled neurodivergent trans) women at bottom. It piles every privilege on men; values their work and their bodies as the standard; instills in them surety of their superiority; tells them they are closest to God (made in His image!); and gives them free reign to express their anger and hatred with any violence they please to use, at least as long as it’s against a woman.

Sound great? Compared to getting pissed on and shat on and beat on and hated on and enslaved and raped and killed at the bottom of the patriarchal ladder, of course it does. Of course it is. It’s a hundred thousand million times better and easier to live at the top as a straight white rich thin ablebodied nuerotypical cisgendered man than at the bottom as a queer poor fat disabled neurodivergent trans woman of color, and any man who tries to play the “you think you’ve got it hard??” game with a woman deserves, well, any violent expression of anger and hatred she pleases to use.

But simply rearranging that fucked up hierarchy, moving around the pieces so different types get piled on and get to sit on top, isn’t what feminism is about. Feminism (and anti-racism and neurodiversity and other power-protesting movements) is about dismantling the whole unholy ladder entirely. It’s about saying that the circumstances of your birth — your gender, your race, your sexuality, your able-ity — don’t give you more value than anyone else. Men don’t deserve bowing and scraping and every blessing of capitalism; no one does. Power corrupts, and privilege is ugly, and having power and privilege above others is bad for the soul of anyone.

The thing about the patriarchy is that while it gives men more freedom than anyone else by a factor of a thousand, it is not a perfect freedom. Men are allowed to show anger, but not fear or gentleness or vulnerability. Their work is valued, unless they want to do what is considered feminine. Their bodies are valued, as long as their bodies are manly enough. They are like God, but lose the chance to know Goddess as an equal. They are placed above all, and their humanity and humility corroded thereby.

What feminism offers men is a removal of those restrictions. No longer will men be pampered by the service of women, but rather they will be presented with strong, proud partners they can work with. Men won’t be privileged above all others, but all the others will rise up and will join together to the benefit of all. Only the brainwashing of the patriarchy tells us that superiority is better than equality.

In the patriarchy, it is women who get the short end of the stick, to be sure, but I look at my Boychick, as beautiful and vulnerable and perfect as all babies are but “privileged” to be at the top of a stinking ugly inhumane heap of humanity, and I just want to get rid of the damned stick altogether. From here on out, the patriarchy is only going to hurt him, damage him, make him uglier, even as it makes him hurt those below him a million times more. How can that be “good” for him?

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