The top places to be a mom are Norway, Australia, and Iceland. The worst places are Chad, Niger and then Afghanistan at the very bottom. Surprising (to me) was that the U.S. ranks 28th, which is actually down a spot from the previous year. Here’s why:

One in every 4,800 American women dies due to pregnancy. It’s one of the highest maternal-morbidity rates in the developed world. To put that number into perspective, in Bosnia, Herzegovina, Greece and Italy, the risk of maternal death is less than one in 25,000 — and in Ireland, it’s less than one in 47,600.

But it’s not just American moms who die due to pregnancy: American babies don’t fare so well, either. Our infant-mortality rate is pretty dismal for the developed world, with eight out of every 1,000 children dying before their fifth birthdays. A child born in the U.S. is more than twice as likely as a child born in Finland, Iceland, Sweden or Singapore to die before his fifth birthday. Also, the U.S. has the least-generous maternity-leave policy of any developed country, fewer women in elected government positions than other developed countries and fewer kids enrolled in preschool.

The list illustrates that access to education, economic opportunities and proper health care provide the best chance for mothers and children to survive and thrive. In the U.S., we should do a lot better. So, what’s the deal with the ranking?

First, let’s look at infant mortality.

“Infant mortality is defined as the number of children born alive who die after birth — but this differs state to state and country to country,” said Dr. Benjamin Sachs, a fellow of the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

For example, he says in the U.S., a baby born at 17 weeks who later died would be considered a miscarriage. But, a baby born at 23 weeks who later died would count towards the infant mortality rate, even though it only had a 20% chance of survival outside the womb. In some other countries, this would instead be considered a miscarriage.

Abortion politics in the U.S. also are thought to play a factor.

“About 20 percent of the children who die in the U.S. do so from birth defects,” said Sachs. “In a country that has a liberal abortion policy, those children will die in abortion — some countries even allow third-trimester abortions so their rates [of infant mortality] are going to be lower,” he said.

Next, let’s look at maternal mortality, which is shockingly high for a country so rich as ours. Only, that’s the difference. If you’re a rich American, you’re more likely to be better educated, with better health care. But, if you’re in a lower economic class, or an illegal immigrant, you’re at greater risk.

Powers said Save the Children’s research has also found that pregnant “minority” women who seek medical care do not end up getting the same quality of care as pregnant women “in the majority.”

That is appalling.

There are 40 million people in the U.S. without health insurance, a large population of which are illegal immigrants. The doctors interviewed agreed that the rates would improve if every pregnant woman were guaranteed access to health care.

Also, other factors at play may include the obesity epidemic here as well as the older age of some mothers.

The bottom line: Maternal and infant mortality rates are complicated issues where more than one factor may be at fault. Still, the U.S. has a long way to go–especially when it comes to maternity leave, flexible workplaces, and affordable health care. We can do better for our mothers.

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So here’s the reality: I am childfree. That means that I have no children…by choice.

Those of us who identify as childfree use this term instead of ‘childless’ – because ‘childless’ implies there is a lack of something in our lives. People without ferrets wouldn’t identify themselves as ‘ferretless.’

Childfree does not mean that I hate children. I like older children. I just don’t want any of my own. Very smart people look at me like I have two heads if I ever say that I don’t really like babies, so I rarely bring it up anymore. Saying that I don’t like cats but I don’t kill cats either also does not help.

She goes on to list the most common ignorant reactions by people who don’t believe her when she says she isn’t interested in reproducing:

1. “You’ll change your mind.” I am nearly 35 years old. I’m pretty sure that 1) I know my own mind at this point, and 2) Don’t you think that if I wanted children, it would have happened by now? Other CFers prefer to say: “When did you know you wanted children? You’ll change your mind.”

I’m running into similar assumptions–and a similar entitlement people seem to feel about announcing their expert opinions on my personal life–with regard to the expectation that since I’ve recently produced one child, another one must be on the way soon.

See, it’s not enough to pop just one out. Everybody wants to know, when am I having the next one?

It’s not my friends or family who would say the most troubling things. The truly surprising remarks come out of the mouths of my coworkers. Cultural assumptions run deep, so I try not to believe people are simply rude, but slightly misguided. But imagine yourself in my shoes….

I really don’t think I could love my son more. I’m completely dazzled by him. I knew I would love my kid, but jeez, what a kid! I can’t believe how lucky I got. But I find I am also loving the growing independence I have as he gets to be a toddler. I enjoy working, and I have to find time for writing. Throw in the second great depression and some serious job insecurity for my family, the fact that my husband and I got started on the whole baby making thing late, and more than anything else, this growing gut feeling that we both share that tells us that our family is perfect the way it is, and there you have it. We probably can’t afford another child, but for us, that is more of a relief than a tragedy. We’re not really anxious to have another child. And shouldn’t you be excited about any child? Just because you have one, does that make you more prepared for another one? It seems like a cataclysmic change that we’re honestly not eager to make, and our age means we’re basically deciding to stop at one–barring any unforseen accidents.

So in answer to the surprisingly intrusive question about whether I’m having a second child soon, I’d love to say, “Not interested. I’m very happy with just one child, and it worked out that way, so I’m stoked! Yay me!” But that doesn’t seem to be the right answer.

Here are the things I’ve heard at work.

From one of my supervisors, who also recently had a baby: “Have you ever met an only child? Aren’t they awful?” This was his way of saying that he and his wife plan on having a second child. Replace any minority for “only child” and you realize how terrible this sounds. Yet he felt comfortable saying it casually.

From another coworker: “My mother said never have just one baby. You should have another one.”

No, I’ve never met this coworker’s mother, but she seems to know me.

I’ve learned that the only acceptable response to anyone forward enough to ask whether we’re having another baby is simply, “Well, we’ll see.” That’s all. It’s short, dismissive, open ended enough to satisfy any agenda, and it completely deflects any need to defend my own positive feelings about having just one kid.

Friends of mine who’ve also decided to stick with one child report similar pressures and probing questions from near strangers.

I don’t need to make a crusade out of my daily interactions with people. I’m not on a mission to convince the world that having only one child is valid. Screw the world. When it comes to stuff like this, I’m mostly pretty private–er, except for the writing it all on the blog thing. You know, we make an exception there.

But I do find it very interesting that I’m somewhat in the closet, in some situations, about wanting a small family. I sort of follow a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Except that I’m always getting asked. So I just tell in the vaguest way possible. And that’s the most interesting thing–that people feel entitled to ask.

“Are you going to have more?”

“Are you going to try for a girl?”

“When are you having another baby?”

I’m surprised people don’t stop to think that these might be painful questions for someone going through secondary infertility. Having known so many people who struggled with this, that’s the first issue that would stop me from asking such a personal question. I wouldn’t want to ambush a woman with that kind of emotional pain.

However, it’s certainly not the case with me that I’m trying and failing to have a second child. My husband and I are just realizing, as we get close to two years after the first, that we’re kind of thinking more about getting a dog than getting pregnant again. We got rid of our glider, we’re giving away the baby clothes, and while there’s a little doubt, mostly, we’re happy with three of us. Life’s good.

I suppose that’s another possible answer, but I’ll stick with, “We’ll see,” for now. It’s more polite, anyway, than, “None of your beeswax!”

Lamaze Class at A Local Hospital 

My husband and I signed up for a four week Lamaze class taught through a local hospital. We barely made it through the first class and never went back. Our problem was really with the teacher and not the class, but oh what a big problem it was! 

Right off the bat, the instructor had an unfortunate voice. Loud, nasal… annoying. My willingness to ignore the voice and concentrate on the message may have been a mistake. It turns out that when a screechy harpy voice is mixed with condescension, unsubstantiated claims, anti-doctor paranoia and anti-vaccination messages, the voice quickly becomes intolerable. 

It started off poorly and only got worse. During our initial introductions, I mentioned I had received a voice mail from my doctor saying that I didn’t pass my first glucose test and that I’d need to take another. I could feel my “can we pleeeeeeze just get through this and leave” husband wince, but I wanted to have something more to say to the group than, “Hi I’m Jessie, I’ve had a very easy, uneventful pregnancy and I’m having a boy.” Big mistake: The instructor insinuated that my doctor was probably doing it to cover her ass and that they make the bar low so the doctors who are in cahoots with the drug companies and laboratories can get money by making women take the second test. Next came a list of gestational diabetes horror stories. I smiled, waited for her to stop screeching at me long enough to gently tell her that I was going to talk to my doctor and take the second test before I began worrying about gestational diabetes.  Luckily I had read about it and talked to friends so I knew that only 4% of women actually get gestational diabetes. Many women don’t pass the first test but do pass the second. I also knew that if I did have it, gestational diabetes is a very manageable condition. Otherwise she may have freaked me out. 

When I’ve mentioned the second glucose test to others, I’ve been told that a mid-wife would simply measure my belly and check my diet and shame on my doctor for treating me like I was sick. But, isn’t the only way to know for sure that your blood sugar levels are normal to draw blood and measure the amount of sugar? Why wouldn’t I want to know for sure? Making sure I’m healthy isn’t treating me like I’m sick, it’s called preventative medicine, people.

I’m here to tell you that the second glucose test is NO FUN! Mine was fifteen hours of fasting and four blood draws. I would happily go through that discomfort to make absolutely certain that my baby and I are healthy. After passing my second glucose test, I celebrated with a thick slice of chocolate cake. 

All through the class the instructor would tell us not to be scared about our pregnancy or the birth, after all, “It’s not a medical emergency.” Then, immediately screech examples of all the scary and horrible things that can happen during childbirth. Fascinating. Appalling. Funny.    

I knew when signing up that Lamaze advocates unmediated birth and the point is to help manage the pain without medication. Great. That’s fine until the instructor implies that interventions somehow harm the baby and the mother and doctors push for you to have en epidural because they get kickbacks from drug companies while offering no evidence to support these claims. Mainly, those who choose something like a c-section or epidural miss out on having an “authentic” childbirth and aren’t real women. 

There were two couples in the class who got pregnant using In Vitro Fertilization. I think this is a beautiful wonderful thing! The teacher seemed to think so too. I would call In Vitro Fertilization a pretty hard-core intervention. Apparently the teacher was fine with the use interventions to get pregnant but not to relieve pain during delivery. Highly illogical, Captain.  

Toward the end of class she said, “Doctors coming out of medical school now don’t even see unmediated births anymore.”  This was just too much for my husband. He felt that was an extraordinary claim and required some extraordinary evidence.  He asked her where she got her information. After some back and forth and evasion on her part, she admitted that she inferred that information from “articles”.  That just wasn’t good enough for us. We were done with her.

Like I said before, my problem was with the teacher not the class. I thought about trying to find a different class but decided that it just wasn’t for me. I’m not anti birthing class, it’s just not my thing.  

Infant CPR Class

This two and a half hour class was two hours too long. The class was informative and the instructors were knowledgeable. They handed out a pamphlet with a lot of good information and we saw an instructional video that was helpful. The instructors also answered questions, watched us practice on dummies and corrected us if we were doing something wrong, which I found comforting. The rest felt like filler. It would have been a perfect class if it lasted 30- 45 minutes.

Maternity Tour of Cedars-Sinai

This was a great. The tour of the Maternity facilities was given in a group and lasted about one hour. My husband described our tour guide as “The Winner of the Jewish Lady from New York Contest”. She was funny, informative and helpful. We got all sorts of useful information on: where to park, what rooms we will be in when in during early labor, where we will be during delivery, what happens to the baby right after delivery (they remain with the family at Cedars, by the way) contact information, what to bring with us and more.  This was an hour well spent.

Conclusion 

When I first got pregnant I was excited (I still am!), went a little nuts and signed up for a bunch of classes. I signed up for Lamaze, Infant CPR, a Maternity Tour of the Hospital, Breast Feeding and a Baby Care Class. Yes, a little excessive. Personally, I learn best through watching a demonstration or a lecture so I thought that the classes would be a good way for me to go. But maternity classes are different then having someone walk you through the advanced effects in Final Cut Pro, media management for the AVID or going through a video tutorial on doing motion graphics in After Effects. (I’m a Video/TV editor) The Maternity classes I’ve experienced have a little bit of great info mixed in with a lot of opinion and emotion and just aren’t for me. 

I canceled the Breast Feeding Class.  I will probably go the Baby Care class, because I can’t get my money back, but I told my husband that he shouldn’t go. He is happily going to a funeral instead. Seriously. 

I have a fantastic doctor who is happy to sit with us and answer all of our questions. I’ll get a visit from a lactation consultant when I’m in the hospital after delivery and I can ask the nurses about all the stuff that will be covered in the Baby Care Class during my two day stay at the hospital. I also have plenty of people to ask and books I can read if I have a problem with anything. I feel well taken care of and have full access to all the info I could ever possibly need.

My conclusion on classes is that they can offer some good information. That same information is readily available in books, from your doctor, at the hospital, or from other people who have had kids. How you choose to get the information is just a matter of personal preference.

First of all I want to announce that I am 5 1/2 months (22 weeks today,  Thursday March 26^th,2009) pregnant with our first child! It’s a boy, and my belly is getting bigger by the day.  My husband has been sweet and wonderful and has decreased his teasing of me to a bare minimum. 

As you may know, pregnancy attracts advice. Most of my friends have been fantastic and have only given me the good and welcome sort of advice, meaning, the advice is either based in scientific fact or admittedly anecdotal and offered as something that helped them and I should take or leave as I see fit. The annoying advice has come from acquaintances and strangers. 

I understand that when people give advice or say silly things about pregnancy, 99.99% of the time it is coming from a positive place. They are trying to help, connect, wish you well or simply say something kind. The best and most mature thing to do is smile, nod and then change the subject. For the most part, that has been what I’ve done, but if I’m particularly tired, hungry or hormonal it can be a bit difficult. 

So far, I’ve been lucky and I only have petty complaints. Here are three:

1)    Astrology: When I tell someone my due date they calculate the baby’s astrological sign. So far I’ve been told 4 different signs. I understand that it’s often used as filler conversation because it’s not always easy to think of something to say to someone who’s having their first kid.  Also, it’s generally turned into something nice.  They never say, “ Oh he’s going to be a Leo, I hate Leo’s. They’re pushy and egotistical. You better keep your brat of a kid away from me!”  But do they really think that if I were to have my baby two months earlier it would make him a completely different type of person?

2)    Diet: Unless you are my doctor, don’t tell me what to eat!  Oh boy, this is the one that makes me mad. I generally don’t take kindly to being told what to do with my body, and that includes what to put in it. My body, my choice. When I’ve been given unsolicited advice about diet, I want to say, “You know, when I got pregnant I made the decision not to consult any doctors or read anything about pre-natal health and nutrition. I decided to entrust my health and the health of my baby to the unsolicited advice from pushy, annoying strangers and acquaintances. So, thank you for the advice and you can rest assured that you saved a baby’s life today.”

Yes, they mean well but it does imply that I haven’t thought about this and I find that slightly insulting. I’m sure I’m being overly sensitive and the most mature thing is to just smile and nod. 

3)   Morning Sickness: Fortunately, I never got any morning sickness. Some people tell me that is because I was fit and healthy before I got pregnant and because I try to take care of myself now that I am pregnant. As much as I would like to take credit for the relative ease of my pregnancy, I can’t. As far as I can tell, I’m just lucky.  From what I’ve read no one really knows exactly what causes morning sickness or why some women get it and some don’t. It would also mean that women who do have morning sickness did something wrong, which they didn’t. Now it’s true that we CAN do things to hurt our pregnancy, like use drugs and alcohol, or things that help, like getting moderate exercise but, difficult as it is to accept, there is a lot about pregnancy that is out of our control.  It’s human nature to assign causes for things beyond our control. During pregnancy, the woman’s diet, habits and environment get scrutinized, sometimes with good reason but often not. For example, reaching for things over my head isn’t going to make the umbilical cord wrap around the baby’s neck, eating a lot of nuts isn’t going to make the baby allergic to nuts, and drinking regular and not organic orange juice isn’t going to make me deliver prematurely.

I believe that people are trying to be nice and encouraging when they tell me that I did something to make my pregnancy relatively easy, but it’s not true. If I accept the credit, then I have to accept the blame as well. In any case, I try to just smile and nod and change the subject.

As I look more and more pregnant I’m getting more and more unsolicited advice and I’m getting a little tired of the smile and nod technique. My husband also recommends stopping the conversation by asking them to you email the advice, but I haven’t tried it yet.

Fortunately no one has tried to talk to me about not vaccinating my kids or about how you are killing your child if you don’t breast feed for two years. We’ll see what happens when they do.

I welcome advice and recommendations from readers! Please write in!

It happened again recently that I ran into an acquaintance who was doing acupuncture to help fertility. This happens all the time in LA, really, where many people believe in acupuncture, and where many, many women (at least in my circle) have put off having children until their late 30s or early 40s. I admit that I tried acupuncture myself, at a time when I was diagnosed with serious fertility problems. I spent a couple hundred dollars on sessions with needles and some pills with herbs. I never did take the pills, because I started some actual, medical fertility treatments and didn’t want to combine the medicine I was taking with an unknown element. And then, I decided the acupuncture was silly, so I stopped going.

My travails with infertility pretty much sealed the deal on my becoming a skeptic (or you could say a critical thinker, rational mom, or what have you), because I was embittered by my encounter with alternative medicine and supplements. I was, at one point, imbibing a two-ounce “shot” of wheatgrass every day, because I heard that this was supposed to help fertility. In fact, I heard that wheatgrass was supposed to contain all of the nutrients in a full pound of vegetables. All it took to prove the falseness of this claim was a quick glance at the back of a package of frozen wheatgrass, where the nutritional information is listed. Two ounces of wheatgrass really doesn’t contain the nutrients of even one vegetable, let alone a whole pound—of anything.

Steven Novella does a great job of breaking down the reasons to be skeptical of acupuncture here.

Essentially, it just doesn’t work, and there’s really no evidence that it’s ever worked. Yet, I know plenty of well-educated, well-spoken, intelligent people who will say, without any irony, “Oh, acupuncture is supposed to be great for fertility!” So how do smart people fall for this stuff? What’s the hook, and why do some of us bite? Why do we drink wheatgrass, take supplements, do yoga for fertility, or any number of other “treatments” whose efficacy is unproven?

Here are some thoughts.

1. My friends don’t lie. Word of mouth is powerful. I have no reason to doubt that my friends are honest people who mean well. If someone tells me she’s heard wheatgrass is effective, why would I think she’s offering a bogus waste of money?

2. I’m no doctor. I have only the smallest inkling of how ibuprofen works, but I know that it does. The explanation of chi and meridians might sound a little mystical, because we can’t see those things. But we can’t see germs, either. For those of us who are not doctors or scientists, a lot of things can sound plausible.

3. Desperation is a big motivator. I remember when I was singing the praises of wheatgrass, my mother, a medical professional, said something that fell on somewhat deaf ears: “Anecdotal evidence doesn’t really count.” In truth, there’s really not even good anecdotal evidence that wheatgrass helps fertility. But I read about it in a Chinese medicine book I bought. (So add that to the total money I wasted on Chinese medicine.) Wheatgrass is also discussed in Julia Indichnova’s book Inconceivable. She tries the entire spectrum of “natural” cures—juicing, yoga, acupuncture, wheatgrass, colon cleansing. Eventually, in spite of high FSH diagnosis (this was my diagnosis, and it’s not an easy one), she conceives naturally, and she attributes this conception to her change in lifestyle. So many women I know with high FSH read this book like it’s the Bible. It’s a lifeline for them. When you are desperate, anecdotal evidence is hope, and it’s tough to hear otherwise.

4. The proponents are louder than the critics. When I’ve come clean with friends, or on discussion boards, about my skepticism regarding acupuncture, it’s like people come out of the woodwork to agree. But it takes a lot to get out on that skeptic dance floor alone and start the party. People who don’t believe in this stuff know better than to join the conversation. People who are embarrassed that they spent a lot of money tend to keep quiet. The default position, in polite conversation, is to nod and smile.

5. Fertility clinics pair up with acupuncture clinics. There are often brochures for local acupuncture and Chinese medicine clinics in reputable fertility clinics. This gives the impression that doctors endorse these treatments. And actually, some doctors do endorse them, which I find problematic and misleading. The fact that many women who are seeking alternative treatment are simultaneously using assisted reproductive technology just confuses the issue. A typical word of mouth endorsement from the louder proponents goes something along the lines of, “I tried three rounds of IVF, but the one with the acupuncture took!”

I actually have been tinkering with this post for a while, and in the meantime, I found Stephen Barrett’s list of reasons that people may become vulnerable to “quackery.” It looks pretty similar to mine.

He also has a nice article on “Why Quakery Persists.”

Steven Novella recently wrote a great piece on how Evidence Based Medicine is losing the battle against complementary and alternative medicine.

These two and others have been writing about skepticism for much longer than I have, and well, they’re doctors. I feel that my place in this whole affair is as a regular person, not a scientist, just trying to get the word out to other parents. It may be that quackery persists all over the country and the world, but somehow, living in Los Angeles, I just feel surrounded by it. I can’t go to any gathering of friends without hearing about some pseudoscientific treatment and having to simply be as polite as I can about it.

Often friends couch the suggestion to try alternative treatments in terms of thinking positively, implying that skepticism about acupuncture is tantamount to a lack of effort or open mindedness. And really, one could ask, what’s the harm of trying wheatgrass or acupuncture? They might not work, but could they hurt? And aren’t we all free to do what we like? If these things make us feel good, then what’s the problem?

If these treatments take the place of actual treatment, the big problem is that patients who are desperate to have children are actually doing nothing to further that goal. That is tragic, considering that often for women, fertility is a time sensitive issue, and time wasted on ineffective treatments means less time available for effective ones.

If women seek actual treatment in tandem with alternative treatments, the main problem is that they are wasting money that could be better spent on college funds, car payments, or even new wardrobes.

The most pernicious effect may simply be the continued persistence of the prevalence of these kinds of treatments, in spite of much evidence that they do not work. Because I believe that I wasted my money, I now speak up on the subject of acupuncture or wheatgrass, or many other alternative infertility treatments. It takes a gentle touch to do this, when talking about infertility, which is emotional issue for those enduring it. However, I sincerely believe that in addition to dealing with the hardship of infertility, women should not have to deal with the hardship of an empty bank account.

As it turned out, I conceived naturally and went on to have the world’s most perfect baby. It may have been that my brush with infertility was the result of a misdiagnosis. (I’ll try to cover this in another post.) Still, I was an older mom, and I got very lucky. I certainly have a continued empathy for anyone who is facing problems conceiving, which is why I believe it’s important to let women know that acupuncture and wheatgrass, along with many other supposed cures, are just a waste of time and cash.

Favorite quote:

You may hate being pregnant. Even if you feel great physically. You may not bond with your baby. You may not feel overjoyed and amazed whenever your baby kicks. You may find it annoying. You may feel gross having a person inside you. This is not a sign that you will be a terrible mother. Once your baby is here, you will love it.

If you are, or a lady you love is, currently building a human, check it out!

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was elated. My husband and I tried for about 6 months before the baby-making miracle finally occurred. However, looking down at the double pink lines was not as joyous as I had envisioned. I was actually somewhat nervous.

No. I was really nervous.

I grew up in Pennsylvania in a very—and I mean very—Catholic family. I was raised Catholic, baptized Catholic, received all the sacraments, went to Catholic school, attended CCD classes, and I attended church every week—twice—until I was 18.

I moved to South Carolina about 2 and a half years ago to further my career. I now live on the Buckle of the Bible Belt in Upstate SC, home to the most churches and dive bars in the tri-state area.

Oh, and I’m an atheist. So’s my husband.

You can imagine why I was nervous looking at the pregnancy test. Oh sure, I jumped up and down with feverish joy at the prospect of having a child, put all my gin away, and has my husband hide my cigarettes, but I was simultaneously terrified of raising that child religion-free in an area and family that are saturated in faith-based belief.

At the first ultrasound, the embryo looked like a bean, so it received the nickname “Bean.” At 20 weeks, I found out I was having a girl. I still call her Bean. I also still wonder, after these 7 and a half months of pregnancy, What if Bean doesn’t share my thoughts on faith as she gets older? Will I be able to handle that? Will she “go to the dark side”? Is it “the dark side”?

There are so many ways I can answer these questions, but I think it’s best to start out abstract and become more concrete as I think this out.

It is absolutely essential to teach children religion as cultural expression and to instill in them a proper meta-ethic from an early age. There can be no denying this. Religious ideologies saturate our cultures, and as such, it is important that children recognize and understand this. Children must learn how to act ethically, and they have to learn about what religion is, but religion is certainly unnecessary for a person to have a strong ethical and moral foundation.

In the same vein, it is also important for children to develop critical-thinking skills. As such, it is the parent’s responsibility to maintain a safe distance for the child from religious indoctrination and to let the child know that there is no empirical evidence whatsoever for a deity’s existence. This means that people choose to believe in unfalsifiable concepts, like a god, for no other reason than that they want to.

But is that “too biased”? Not from my perspective. I have seen no evidence to the contrary. But I don’t want to be a perpetrator of what I’m trying to keep my daughter away from: indoctrinate her with personal bias. I want to eradicate personal bias if at all possible. (I’m an idealist.)

My concern is that faith-based indoctrination has severe negative ramifications on both children and adults. Teaching children faith as fact is mental child abuse. It stifles creativity, hinders critical thought, opens the door for children to accept logical fallacies as truth, and most likely leads to a “crisis of faith” (read: identity deconstruction) later in life. What’s more, once one allows (or encourages) a child’s evolving reasoning process to digress into a faith-based, authoritarian pursuit, he or she practically closes the door to the spontaneous pursuit curiosity, one of humanity’s fundamental teaching tools. I could never allow that in my home, and I would never want that for my child. I went through that identity deconstruction, and for those of you who have too, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Bean may very well develop a different belief system than my own. It’s quite possible given that the first glance at most religions paints a picture of niceness, fuzzy fluff, bubbles, and glitter (Let’s face it. Which is better to hear? “Sparky is dead, but we can remember all the good times we had with him.” “Sparky died, but he is in doggy heaven still chasing his tail, and yes, when you die, you’ll see him again.”). But at the heart of all dogma one finds it exclusionary and need- and ignorance-based. By that time, however, often the comfort trumps the truth. We have to prevent this for our children. They don’t deserve this.

I will certainly encourage Bean to explore and research other religions, but until she is old enough to critically think, I will do my best to stop any faith from being passed off to her as truth. A mother is supposed to protect her children from abuse, not administer it or be a purveyor of it.

But when Bean is older, Bean can believe whatever she chooses. That is the beauty and purpose of freedom. I only hope Bean will be able to differentiate fact from fiction and use reason as her primary moral compass. Isn’t that what every mom wants for her kid?