In a desperate clawing effort to prevent myself from making a pan of homemade yeast cinnamon rolls*, made with the Atomic Fireball cinnamoniness of Vietnamese cassia, let me ask you something. Some things, more properly.
Thing the first, for those of you who partake of condomless male-female sex:
But underneath those pretty little useless pillows lurks a bundle of castoff boxer shorts, shredded t-shirts, and old soft towels. They are the Sex Rags (also a good name for a band), and they are for exactly what you think they are for. Each is used once and washed; the basket holds only the fresh rags (which occasionally do double duty as a soft cloth for wiping glasses, or for blowing one's nose when the handkerchiefs are not at hand. It is a sanitary arrangement, I assure you, but above all, it is simultaneously comfortable and functional. Clean-up's a breeze, and no little rolls of Kleenex are left behind in my dainty nether regions.
I want to know how you address this issue. Grab the first handy pair of underpants you can? Squeeze tight and run for the can? Crouch over a soft nest of cedar chips and sphagnum moss? Do you sleep in the wet spot? I need to know.
Thing the second, brought on by my being sent home from work early due to The Blizzard of Ought-Five, Part Seventy-Four:
There was a time when an early dismissal from work meant one thing, and that thing was green and fragrant and sticky and kept in a special box with a cunning little glass object. These days I think, "Hey! I can post!" or "Hey! I can take a nap!" or "Hey! Nachos!" We take our pleasures where we can, no? Anyway.
So the other day I had a quarter of a glass of wine, nay, a thimbleful, and you know what else I had? A Coke. Eight ounces of glass-encased deliciousness. And the sad thing? Is that I felt a little weird about it. I think it has mostly to do with how tentative I feel about pregnancy, how conscious I am my total lack of control -- and it makes me want to control the smallest things. At the same time, though, I don't think that an 8-oz Coke once in a while is a problem. Hell, every day isn't a problem, except for the unnecessary sugar, but it's not a Big Gulp, and it's a million times better than aspartame. I think a cup of coffee is fine, and I think a glass of wine here and there (with food, ideally) is not even worthy of mention. If I were a midwife or doctor, and a client told me that she used marijuana once in a while (say, a couple of times a month), I would not consider it a problem for a second.**
I'm having an awful time applying that kind of easy-going thinking to myself though. It was the same way when I was doing fertility treatments: I would obsessively avoid coffee, wine, other delights. (Of course then I would always crack, but whatever.) In theory, and in my beliefs about other peope, I am fairly liberal. In practice I am a bit of a teetotaler, and make my weekly cup of coffee with a tablespoon of brewed coffee and a mug full of milk.
Anyway, in the interest of examining the gulf between belief and practice (which for many people, I suspect, is not a gulf at all) I would love to hear what you -- who might be or have been pregnant, who might be trying to conceive, who might be lactating -- feel comfortable ingesting yourself, and what you think is okay for other people. Caffeine? Antidepressants? Alcohol? Antianxiety drugs? Marijuana? Tylenol? Lik-M-Aid?
*Before you tell me that there is no such thing as an ill-conceived pan of cinnamon rolls, please realize that I have no intention of sharing them with you. In fact I would eat them all in front of you until I lay groaning and sticky on the floor, besotted, and if there were any left at this point I would push them into my mouth in a doughy sweet wad, just so no one else could have any but me.
**There is not a goddamned marijuana-in-pregnancy study out there that controls for socioeconomic status AND use of other drugs -- which is the big issue -- and shows a convincing ill effect. Studies look at pregnant women using marijuana who are simultaneously using cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamine, and then blame any neonatal problems on marijuana. That's some ass-crappy science right there.
There is, however, a study to the contrary.