Radical feminists have always had a problem with having babies. The “pregnant and barefoot” phenomenon (read: things women should be) has haunted us for as long as feminists have been radical. There are babies that need to be adopted, we say. It ruins a woman’s body and makes her sick and angry for nine months, we say.

Men totally get the long end of the stick in all pregnancy-related things, we shriek while burning our bras and snarfing birth control. Generally as I am growing up I find myself being more and more radical about most things, but I actually do think it’s OK for women to get pregnant under some circumstances.

First, they cannot be idiots. I qualify as an idiot any woman who has stopped her life to have a child, especially if her partner’s life is not being stopped as well. By “stopped her life,” I mean has stopped having ambitions and has fuzzed out the next 18 years for bringing up baby. Clearly it is all right to take time off from work. That’s not what I mean. I mean I would prefer, from my “I write a column” pedestal, that mothers have more to do with their time than breastfeed. The only problem is, maternity leave is not long enough and mothers (and fathers) miss crucial stages of development that the 17-year-old babysitters get to see instead. Another idiotic thing to do is to accept and/or continue working at a job that does not have at least six months paid maternity leave. That’s right. I said six months-plus. Having a baby hurts.

Second, they not be Britney Spears or Nicole Richie. Fuck that noise.

Third, they research their options for giving birth. The most popular trend of lying down while birthing is actually the most dangerous position for the mother to be in, as it hinders her ability to push and presses the baby against her kidneys and spine during labor. Squatting is better. Underwater (yes, underwater) birth is also a much healthier option, as the trauma of birth is lessened for the baby, and the water soothes mama’s muscles.

Speaking of trauma, not enough women think about giving birth at home. It cannot be understated how scary hospitals are.

I’m biased: I almost died in a hospital once, and the only people I have visited there died soon after. But I know I am not the only one who has sketch-ville hospital associations, and it is just not necessary to bring a child into that environment. Options, options, options.

Fourth and finally, they tell doctors to mind their own damn business. I cannot stand that the bond between a woman and the child she carries is not intimate anymore. As she gives birth, nurses can chart the pain she feels and rate it on a scale.

Everyone can hear the baby’s heartbeat and see it on a screen. The thing inside of her is not hers anymore. It belongs to an entire room that wants to lay claim to the creation she alone is bringing to term. The doctor guiding her through the most physically taxing experience she may ever have is statistically more likely to be a man. He will never know, however many births he attends, anything about what she feels. In fact, he may facilitate anesthesia so she won’t know what she feels either.

Women must have this moment. There is no other moment in life that will belong so truly to them. It cannot be taken away any longer.
I believe at this time I will adopt my children. But if I Jolie-Pitt it up and mix in some blonde hair and blue eyes, I know at least that my pregnancy will be mine. I will surround myself with women who KNOW, and I will bring someone new into the world that I understand better than anyone else.

And it will probably hurt.