(*DISCLAIMER*: This is not meant to offend anyone who does any of the things listed below. It is merely an impersonal now-versus-then reflection. Don't kill me, please!)
I sometimes -- no, often -- contemplate the difficulty of waiting for things. How much more open people are with each other, since technology has made this possible. How tough it is to resist immediate gratification. What effect this mentality has had on certain rites of passage in our lives.
When I was little, I sometimes saw women who were expecting children, and there was an aura of mystery about the whole thing. They didn't talk much about being pregnant or what they intended for the future; they merely discussed whatever was going on at that moment. In the months to follow, I would hear that they'd just had a baby boy or girl, and what name they had selected. It was exciting. There'd been a sort of suspense leading up to it.
These days, you hear people's casual statements that they're trying to get pregnant (sometimes with details on the conception attempts). The next month, she tells everyone she is having symptoms and is going to take such-and-such pregnancy test. Then, voila, it's confirmed: they've succeeded! (Sometimes people take photos of the pregnancy test result itself and send them out in mass e-mails.) Oh, and the due date. . . everybody has to know the due date. Well, that's nothing new.
A few months after that, they announce whether it's a boy or girl, and therefore what its full name will be. OK. . . now, people know what the nursery will look like and what color gifts to buy. Oh, and what baby name to put on the gifts.
A couple of months after that, they obtain (and often distribute) crystal-clear ultrasound pictures that show every line, every speck of hair, every aspect of the baby's face before it is born. Also, pregnancy portraits. Sometimes with, um, minimal clothing involved. (choke, cough--DemiMoore--cough)
A couple of months after that, the induction or C-section date and time are determined, if applicable. Always must take the doctor's vacation schedule into account. At about this time, a baby shower is held where every present is straight from the registry. (Sometimes three or four baby showers, maybe to compete with the two bridal showers and pre-engagement party and actual-engagement party and bachelor/bachelorette parties that are thrown whenever someone is getting married.)
While the labor is going on, cell phones, text messages, and/or the Internet are used to provide minute-by-minute progress updates to everyone, so that people can roughly guess what time the baby will arrive. The baby makes its debut at approximately that hour, and there are no surprises really. It's all been planned. There have been about half a dozen "layers of congratulations," as I call them, throughout the last nine months. The only information remaining to tell people is exactly how much the baby weighs, and I'm pretty sure THAT can be estimated during prenatal appointments, too.
I'm not necessarily saying this is wrong. I've just been thinking about my (now-obviously-outdated) expectations while I grew up, and how they differ from today's reality -- today's tendency to publicize, to advertise. How rare it is for people to delay those revelations by saying to the doctor, "I don't want to know what sex the baby is." I always thought I would want to wait the whole nine months and just privately wonder, speculate, daydream, let time naturally fill in the missing answers instead of hurrying to fill them in, myself. But we've turned into such an impatient, data-starved society, and I've fallen prey to that, too. We want to know everything right away. We can't wait to hear the latest news development, to map out our day so that it will unfold most conveniently and efficiently.
I read an article lately about how our cars have become not just vehicles anymore, but offices, kitchens, dressing rooms, media/entertainment centers. People work, eat, put on makeup, watch TV, talk on the phone, send out e-mails, hold their pets, probably even practice the guitar while they drive. Reproduction is mirroring the same mindset. People used to meet their babies and discover everything about them on the day they were born, because they didn't have an alternative. Now, they can hit all these landmarks during the pregnancy itself. And given the choice, they frequently do.
I don't know what approach I'm going to take, when/if that day ever comes. I can make all the predictions and decisions I want. Still, I suppose there's no way to know for sure what will happen until I'm in those shoes myself.
I sometimes -- no, often -- contemplate the difficulty of waiting for things. How much more open people are with each other, since technology has made this possible. How tough it is to resist immediate gratification. What effect this mentality has had on certain rites of passage in our lives.
When I was little, I sometimes saw women who were expecting children, and there was an aura of mystery about the whole thing. They didn't talk much about being pregnant or what they intended for the future; they merely discussed whatever was going on at that moment. In the months to follow, I would hear that they'd just had a baby boy or girl, and what name they had selected. It was exciting. There'd been a sort of suspense leading up to it.
These days, you hear people's casual statements that they're trying to get pregnant (sometimes with details on the conception attempts). The next month, she tells everyone she is having symptoms and is going to take such-and-such pregnancy test. Then, voila, it's confirmed: they've succeeded! (Sometimes people take photos of the pregnancy test result itself and send them out in mass e-mails.) Oh, and the due date. . . everybody has to know the due date. Well, that's nothing new.
A few months after that, they announce whether it's a boy or girl, and therefore what its full name will be. OK. . . now, people know what the nursery will look like and what color gifts to buy. Oh, and what baby name to put on the gifts.
A couple of months after that, they obtain (and often distribute) crystal-clear ultrasound pictures that show every line, every speck of hair, every aspect of the baby's face before it is born. Also, pregnancy portraits. Sometimes with, um, minimal clothing involved. (choke, cough--DemiMoore--cough)
A couple of months after that, the induction or C-section date and time are determined, if applicable. Always must take the doctor's vacation schedule into account. At about this time, a baby shower is held where every present is straight from the registry. (Sometimes three or four baby showers, maybe to compete with the two bridal showers and pre-engagement party and actual-engagement party and bachelor/bachelorette parties that are thrown whenever someone is getting married.)
While the labor is going on, cell phones, text messages, and/or the Internet are used to provide minute-by-minute progress updates to everyone, so that people can roughly guess what time the baby will arrive. The baby makes its debut at approximately that hour, and there are no surprises really. It's all been planned. There have been about half a dozen "layers of congratulations," as I call them, throughout the last nine months. The only information remaining to tell people is exactly how much the baby weighs, and I'm pretty sure THAT can be estimated during prenatal appointments, too.
I'm not necessarily saying this is wrong. I've just been thinking about my (now-obviously-outdated) expectations while I grew up, and how they differ from today's reality -- today's tendency to publicize, to advertise. How rare it is for people to delay those revelations by saying to the doctor, "I don't want to know what sex the baby is." I always thought I would want to wait the whole nine months and just privately wonder, speculate, daydream, let time naturally fill in the missing answers instead of hurrying to fill them in, myself. But we've turned into such an impatient, data-starved society, and I've fallen prey to that, too. We want to know everything right away. We can't wait to hear the latest news development, to map out our day so that it will unfold most conveniently and efficiently.
I read an article lately about how our cars have become not just vehicles anymore, but offices, kitchens, dressing rooms, media/entertainment centers. People work, eat, put on makeup, watch TV, talk on the phone, send out e-mails, hold their pets, probably even practice the guitar while they drive. Reproduction is mirroring the same mindset. People used to meet their babies and discover everything about them on the day they were born, because they didn't have an alternative. Now, they can hit all these landmarks during the pregnancy itself. And given the choice, they frequently do.
I don't know what approach I'm going to take, when/if that day ever comes. I can make all the predictions and decisions I want. Still, I suppose there's no way to know for sure what will happen until I'm in those shoes myself.
