


No, it’s a joke. Really.
I got this jar of FAUX birth control pills from the Essure company, which peddles a “permanent birth control” procedure that they say is safer than tubal ligation and can be done in an outpatient setting. While I haven’t checked out what it’s all about, their marketing is spot-on. The jar of tiny white mints, meant to mimic the pills so many women rely on, reminds us that the average woman takes “9,450 birth control pills in her lifetime.” All I can say is HOLY CRAP.

And the contents of the jar – which I’ve barely put a dent in despite munching them like, well, like candy, represents only one-third of the pills a woman may take (so, about 3,000), or the same number likely consumed between the ages of 40 and menopause.
It’s a funny coincidence that chomping my birth control pills has become a joke around the office at a time when I’m having angst over my eldest child going to college (I can’t possibly be old enough for that – I just finished college myself!), a coworker is expecting for the first time, AND I just ran across this article in the NY Times about an Italian town that’s paying women to have babies.
Now, that’s a job I could have excelled at. You see, I’m one of the fortunate ones for whom being pregnant was as easy as falling off a log (no pun intended!). 18 years later I’m realizing I was lucky to quit at just 4 children (though I offered to surrogate for a friend) because raising them is the hard part.
Why does it seem that people focus on the pregnancy but gloss over the importance of preparation for the ensuing decades? Because the Hollywood babes are all preggers and the equipment involved is so cool? Wait ‘til Britney et al are looking for Outward Bound programs for their ill-adjusted offspring. Then maybe the focus will turn from Peg strollers to the stuff that matters... and maybe schools will get $1 billion funding and the Army will hold bakesales, right??