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.

Life chain.

I went to my second (never know when these things are happening) Life Chain, or Pro-Life demonstration.

Just as a reminder,

This is not ok. It’s not your “Choice.” And it’s not ok.

Seven dead babies and a whole lotta stupid.

I am all for forcible sterilization of this woman. Really, how many people have to die before women like these learn to keep their pants on?

Can’t feed em? Don’t breed em.

What a great bumper sticker. Except not really.

I found this story about a Maryland housing official proudly displaying it on his vehicle. I’m sure he grew up in the best neighbourhood, went to only the best schools, never ever lived paycheque to paycheque, and had life handed to him on a silver platter. (And then got a job in public housing. Good for him.) I only kinda partially agree with this statement. It’s hard to look at pictures of emaciated babies in third world countries who will starve to death before they learn to walk, and it’s too easy to wonder what their parents were thinking.

Now let’s snap into context. This is North America. There is no reason for anyone to starve to death here. In particular, there is no reason for a child to be homeless. We help each other here. Now, it’s not ok to have eight or ten babies when you really can’t afford them.  No one has children just to get a roof. That would be like chopping your feet off to save money on shoes.

I have never ever met a little girl whose wanted to be a “welfare mom” when she grew up. I never thought I would be going through school with two kids and a mortgage by myself. Shit happens, life happens, and we make the most of it. But public housing is usually a temporary thing. It’s there to help. It’s there to lower rent payments so children can have food and clothes and diapers, etc. It’s not always long-term, and it doesn’t need to be a shameful thing. If the help is available, who would be foolish enough to not accept it?

I’ve heard comments. Unnecessary comments. Posed to myself, and others in my situation. I’ve always thought.. my goodness.. if you cannot help me, you don’t need to make it worse. There has to be a middle class. There has to be a lower class. That’s just the way it works. If we all got paid the very same amount of money.. well, correct me if I’m wrong.. but didn’t Hitler have an idea about that 60 years ago or so? It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to raise a child from birth to college age. Should I have set that aside before I had children? Should I have aborted them?

I hope others can begin to think twice (at least) before passing judgement. It could have been you. It could have been your mother who applied for government housing to keep you safe, and to keep you warm. Or it could have been you who looked in an empty refrigerator one moment, and a hungry child the next, wondering if your baby was getting tired of rice and hotdogs.

Be thankful you are in a position to criticize. And not the one needing help. 

To quote…

“It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish.” 
  —  Mother Teresa

Mommy loves me, this I know.

It’s Mother’s Day again. It wasn’t a day free of poopy diapers and baby puke and whining or shopping with two kids in tow. My sister made us lunch (it was awesome), but other than that, it was a regular day. Or was it? I’ve found Mother’s Day to be a great time to reflect.

Five years ago on Mother’s Day, The Girl and I went to church. She was all of two months old, and it was my first Mother’s Day as a mother. After the service I was shocked when the man next to me wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Someone who wasn’t even my kid. As the next few years went on, The Girl would come home from daycare with Mother’s Day treats: pictures she’d drawn, or other art her tiny little hands had “help” with. I loved all of them, and was genuinely surprised each time. Maybe I’ll never get used to the thoughtfulness of her care providers

This year was especially wonderful. The Girl came home from preschool with a candle holder she’d made out of a baby food jar, a picture of herself on the monkeybars, and this (which I plan to keep forever and ever):

 

Friday after school, I picked both kids up from daycare. The Girl surprised me again (no, really!) with a potted plant, and a fantastic piece of art. I love when she’s quoted, even if we all know she’s fibbing

 

And The Boy. I rushed in to get him, grabbed his jacket and hat from his locker, and heard one of the ladies who cares for him say, “Don’t forget your card!” I was shocked. I took a thin piece of yellow paper off the shelf, opened it, and my eyes immediately teared up.

 

My pregnancy with The Boy was hard. Not physically — it went as well as any pregnancy should go. I was in school, trying to make a better life for The Girl and I, alone, facing the social stigma of already having one child out of wedlock, financially just getting by, and I found myself pregnant. Again. Alone. I cringe at “unwanted,” but he was definitely “unplanned” and I had a really hard time accepting that I would have another mouth to feed, and honestly, had a hard time even accepting the pregnancy. Some days, I had wished it would just go away…

And then, this poor little thing, who’s beautiful and funny and full of smiles and never ever asks for anything except milk and snuggles made ME a Mother’s Day card. I flipped it open carefully.

 

But the only words I could see were, “I know it’s hard, Mommy. Thanks for having me.”

Pick on someone your own size

Had a longer post written, and scrapped it. This speaks for itself: