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Before our son Ethan was born, my husband George and I made it our life’s mission to argue about EVERYTHING. We argued about our future son’s name, the color of his room, the organic formula he would consume and eventually shit out, in addition to the non-gender biased, non-toxic, EARTH FIRST! approved toys that I placed in his nursery. One of the most heated arguments George and I had was over his repulsive insistence that our son Ethan take any and all vaccinations our drearily Western thinking pediatrician offered.
To all you horrified mommies and daddies reading this blog who subscribe to that ‘MMR-vaccine-definitely-causes-Autism’ bullshit, bear in mind George is a product of the early 60′s, when the prevailing AMA-approved philosophy dictated that expectant mommies possess NO knowledge of the inoculations their babies received, and were encouraged to smoke and drink heavily during any future pregnancies in order to decrease their offspring’s birth weight. It is somewhat surprising that the radical and ‘progressive’ decade that gave rise to the Vietnam war, Nixon, and LSD would uncharacteristically embrace the old-fashioned ‘smoking-and-drinking-while-pregnant-is good’ philosophy of the 50′s. Of course all the fun ended in the 70′s and 80′s when it was determined that smoking caused cancer and expectant parents were beginning to question the advice of the American Medical Association.
Against my better instincts, I agreed to the horrifying regimen of vaccinations recommended by Big Pharma. Now of course, my son Ethan has developed a paralyzing fear of needles. The instant our family doctor injected him with the first of the 82 zillion inoculations he was to receive, the ear shattering, nerve jangling shrieking began.
One night as my husband George and I fought over the merits of the frightening innocuations my son was receiving, my mother casually and alarmingly announced to me ”Christ, I don’t know what you two baby ‘experts’ are whining about. Not only did I smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish while I was pregnant with Tod, I also had a whole series of hormone shots to make sure he’d come out picture perfect.”
The last of my mother’s statements caused me to spit up the expensive Grey Goose vodka I had been sipping and the blood in my veins to suddenly run cold. Flabbergasted, George and I immediately ceased arguing and turned our attention to my mother who was reclining regally on my living room sofa and enjoying an enormous, Alexis Carrington-sized Apple Martini.
“What hormone shots?” I asked, suddenly terrified.
“I don’t know.” my mother responded.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“How should I know what the doctor shot me up with.” As if her ignorance was the most natural thing in the world, my mother explained, ”In those days, you did what the doctor said and you shut your mouth. Now, which one of you two Fagelahs is gonna freshen my cocktail?”
George shot me a piteous look as I stared at my mother in abject horror.
(To be continued.)
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