Shanice.

I’ve been following this story about a 23-week baby who survived her own abortion in Florida and was thrown in a bag by a staff member and left to die in a closet of the “medical” clinic.

First, do no harm.

I’m shocked. Not that this happened. But because the world is reeling. What did you think was going to come out of the 18-year-old mother? Were you expecting a lump of cells? Tissue? For the millionth time.. it’s really, truly, an honest-to-goodness baby. Just because you can’t hear her screaming, doesn’t mean she’s not dying. It doesn’t mean she’s not hurting. It doesn’t mean she’s not full of love, and it doesn’t mean she deserves to die in a bag in a closet.

First, do no harm.

Throwing the first stone.

Ok, I’ve had enough. I want you to think about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Now imagine the whole world knows about it. Seriously.

I’m not saying that Nadya Suleman did the dumbest thing imaginable. But for argument’s sake.. let’s say she did. Let’s say that having octuplets was the dumbest thing a person could do. Let’s say it was an insane, selfish, and irresponsible act.. mostly because I can’t find anyone to disagree.

So… now what? This poor woman is being publicly stoned for her choices. For going in for a seventh IVF treatment (good for her!) while being an unemployed, single parent who relies on student loans and government help to feed her children (ohhh.. this is starting to sound familiar).

Everyone is acting as though these children are the first 14 kids in North America to be raised on government dollars. Hey, it happens. If she lived in Canada, the money would be flowing. That’s just the way it goes. We pay taxes for salaries, school systems, roads, buildings.. and yeah.. we pay for other people’s kids. This is North America. We do not throw the poor children to the wolves. And we don’t publicly stone their parents for their choices.

Single or not, student or not, too many kids.. or not. She’s a human being.. and does not deserve the treatment she has been given. She takes care of her children. She feeds and bathes and plays with them. By all accounts, they seem healthy and well-adjusted. No one is accusing her of beating or murdering or neglecting her children. And because she chose not to selectively reduce / abort / murder any of her octuplets, she’s a monster?

On Judgement Day, when you are asked what you did to better the world, do you really think “well.. I wasn’t the one who had the octuplets” is going to cut it? Do you really think your soapbox is contributing?

If you can’t help, for heaven’s sake.. don’t make it worse. Pitch in, or shut up.  And be thankful you’re not the one needing the assistance.

Happy.

When I had The Boy, I spent three days in the hospital. I was in a room with five other new moms, separated by orange curtains on two sides, and walls on the other two. I didn’t have many visitors, and spent most of the day sleeping, feeding the baby, and staring at my thumbs until a nurse came to check on us or mealtime rolled around.

I thought I’d go nuts.

On the second day, I took The Boy to the nursery down the hall so I could grab a much-needed shower. Something was different. The air was still stale. The lighting was still fluorescent. Even the windows were a decent walk away (well, when we consider I had just had a 10lb baby.. anywhere is a decent walk away ).

And then.. I realized what was different. The radio was on.

I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. Sure, staying in the hospital for a couple days can be a chore. It’s boring. It smells funny. I’m pretty sure my cell roommates were insane. But.. hearing that music.. made me realize that I’d somehow lost touch with the outside world… if only for a day or two.

And here I am again. After a horrendous fall.. I’m back in synch with the outside world. I’m happy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it a few months ago, but in some cheesy Sound-Of-Music way, I’m happy.. and all the little things I missed are back.

We’re already halfway through the semester. My schedule isn’t so rough. I have time to piss away an entire afternoon watching movies.  I’ve had time to take The Girl sledding and spend time with friends. The house is cleaner (sorta). The car hasn’t broken down in at least a month. I have time. Time to sleep and play and strum my guitar and get my homework done and read to the kids and spend an afternoon in the park. I feel like me again.

It’s remarkable how silly, cheesy little pleasures in life are taken for granted so easily. Stop and smell the flowers, I suppose.

Stop and play the radio.