Western philosophy clashes with Rebecca Schuman’s birth plan in her hilarious, harrowing Longreads essay.
Old world traditions clash with aging elitist is a more apt description. The author starts the piece with snark and contempt dripping off the page:
Hence, the entrée in week 35 of one Ina May Gaskin, legendary midwife, and successful deliverer of eleventy-dillion babies at what definitely didn’t seem like a very creepy commune in the middle of Tennessee.
The cringe continues with pop culture references to Hot Pockets, Real Housewives and a birth plan centered around a shit tier Jason Segal comedy. The absolute worst passage is below:
“Tippie toe,” I whispered, barely audible. Tippie toe. It was only fitting. George Costanza, world’s biggest yutz and perennial coward, had nothing on me, who had officially failed to let her all-knowing female body carry out its own innate wishes.
There is a half assed reference to René Descartes but mainly it is an excuse for the author to talk about herself, sitcoms, and her educational credentials. Her husband gets honorable mention as the guy who gets no say in the birth of his child because he refused to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I do not think Ina May is the creepy one.