The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy: Or, Everything Your Doctor Won’t Tell You by Vicki Iovine
I was very deliberate in choosing which books about pregnancy I wanted to read. I didn’t want to read anything that would make me feel bad in any way. I didn’t want something that would give me too many unnecessary details about rare birth defects or obscure things that cause miscarriages, because that would just make me paranoid for no reason. I don’t need to hear about scary things that only happen to one woman in a million. Second, I didn’t want anything too judgy, anything that would imply you’re a bad mother harming your unborn child if you don’t do X, Y, and Z. Both of these are criticisms that I had heard about the #1 pregnancy guide, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I heard that the diet it recommends is ridiculous and impossible to follow, and that the book said expecting mothers should ask themselves if what they’re eating is good and healthy for their baby before every bite. I don’t think there are expletives enough in the English language to express how I feel about that idea.
So I looked around online for books on pregnancy that seemed sane, and The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy was a name that got mentioned. It was the first book I picked up to give me an overview of what was going to be happening to me. Some things I liked about it were the non-medical focus and the fact that it talked about things like maternity clothes and what to bring to the hospital. It was practical, giving an efficient overview of things I’ll need to know about and will encounter on this journey.
The thing I had the biggest problem with in this book is the body-shaming. It gives all sorts of information about how your body changes in pregnancy, and how it is forever different afterward. The information is useful. But Iovine conveys this information in a tone of horror, as if a mother’s body is disgusting. As if conventional beauty standards are completely correct to judge a non-flat stomach as cringeworthy. She gives advice to women on how to handle psychologically the fact that they no longer qualify as attractive based on these insane standards that our culture has, helping them set realistic expectations, and that is definitely something that pregnant and post-partum women deal with. For example, I’m glad to know that I should give myself 9 months to get back to my pre-baby weight; 9 months up, 9 months down is a solid, sane principle I’ll remember. But the book never once questions the standards of beauty or expresses any outrage that women are being judged in this way, when obviously their bodies have more important things to do than to be judged and ogled by men, things like making a baby. I know that this is a tension most women feel in their own lives: emotionally buying in to conventional beauty standards while knowing intellectually that they’re BS. But I just thought the horror-show descriptions of pregnant and post-partum bodies did more to feed the flames of body-hatred than to help women accept the changes in their bodies. It reinforced the idea that our bodies are disgusting, rather than celebrating the amazing life that our bodies are nurturing.
Another problematic thing was the way the guide talked about sex. I certainly appreciated that sex was a topic it discussed. It was good to hear about recommended positions for late pregnancy and how others dealt with changes in libido and their bodies. I just didn’t like the way that the book talked about husbands and their desire for sex. It was as if the husbands were insatiable sex monsters that the women could never turn down without horrible consequences. If that’s what your husband is like, I don’t know why you’re having his baby, unless it’s that you’re so abused you have no other option. Obviously, saying no to sex, even for several months, should not be a big deal in a healthy marriage, especially if it’s for a legitimate medical reason. A well-adjusted adult male should realize he does not have a right to have intercourse, even if he’s married, and should be able to handle a period of abstinence if he has to. The book even facetiously suggested that all women should conspire to tell all their husbands that their doctors recommend not having sex until 3 months after giving birth, rather than the 6 weeks they typically say. Encouraging dishonesty about sex in a marriage is never a good thing. Again, my main problem was that many of the book’s statements about sex were based on sexist assumptions, like the idea that men are always entitled to sex and wives should feel guilty when they aren’t up to it.
Iovine even combined her poor attitudes about pregnant bodies and sex to talk about how some husbands only have sex with the fat cows gestating their children out of pity or mercy, because the women are so disgustingly hideous that no man could ever be attracted to them. Because of course, men never want to have sex except out of pure animal lust, which they can only feel for young, thin women. They never do it to express caring or commitment or affection or even just to relieve boredom.
Iovine discourages exercise in pregnancy, mainly because she had a particularly traumatic experience herself, bleeding she believes was caused by her exercise and which made her fear a miscarriage. The decision not to exercise makes sense for her based on what happened to her. But since this wasn’t a medical book, I wasn’t told whether or not the medical research evidence is on her side, and that’s what should determine whether Iovine’s view on exercise in pregnancy is one that is worth promulgating. A couple of her reasons for this recommendation had a blame-the-victim, better-safe-than-sorry message that bothered me, and that I had picked up this book specifically to try to avoid. By Iovine’s logic, in order to avoid unending guilt and regret, pregnant women should all just stop living our lives and sit in one place for our entire pregnancy. Generally, this attitude went along with overly dramatic statements overvaluing motherhood and overstating its importance in a woman’s life. Here‘s a great article by Jessica Valenti (personal hero) about why being a mother should not be considered a woman’s most important job; she explains it better than I ever could.
I was also slightly annoyed by the weird capitalization of “Girlfriend” and the just-between-us-girls Sex-and-the-City-brunch tone. The cloying, syrupy word “precious” was used far too often to describe babies and fetuses. These were grating, sentence-level annoyances, much less serious than the anti-feminist assumptions. Overall, I would not recommend this book to another pregnant woman.