By Jessica Fletcher
Mt friend Patty is scheduled to give birth to her baby on Friday. This baby’s heart stopped beating a few days ago. She will give birth to her child whose life slipped away, without warning, while she was safely nestled inside of her. Patty has two boys, and last year, she gave birth to a stillborn daughter. I cannot describe how angry, and how heartbroken she is. I can imagine her angst, and I find myself also disgusted with the injustice of it happening to her not only once, but twice. Two children born sleeping, and never to wake. She will never hear them cry, and she will only be able to hold them for a little while. Their eyes will stay shut, and their small bodies will be still, and cold. They’ll be taken from her arms, and buried in the earth never having even seen it.
I think of my friend as I watch the media circus surrounding the atrocities that Planned Parenthood is finally being called out for (the recent videos intact babies being vivisected, organs harvested and sold for the profit of Planned Parenthood). I watch the arguments being made in comment threads, whether it’s nobler for Planned Parenthood to be selling the fetal tissue and cadavers for “research,” or the “fact” that they save so many women’s lives through STD screenings. My stomach turns. My pulse quickens. I cannot stop myself from speaking out to these people, whom I view as deceived at best, and ignorant at worst. They call me all manner of names, accuse me of ignoring science, and clinging to religion. I must be some dirty right winger who won’t stop trying to take women’s rights, and, their choice from them. I am enraged that I have to even argue that killing children is wrong. Why can’t they see that their sole stance is to champion an organization whose mission it is to primarily dismember and slaughter defenseless babies?
I close my laptop, set aside my phone, and watch as my children are there. They’re playing or fighting with each other, squealing in delight or mock outrage. They’re sticky, they’ve only just finished destroying my clean house with toys and leftover snacks.
My three year old clambers up onto my lap, his chubby arms and legs squeeze my sides as he holds on and buries his nose and mouth into my shoulder. He looks up at me and presses his face to mine. I can smell whatever he last chewed on, mixed with the sour sweet scent of his baby soft-squishy skin, and he hums, “mmmmmmwwwahhhhh!” This is how he gives kisses. Then he lets go and has me set him down, running off as soon as his feet touch the laminate flooring. I try not to think of how much I wanted to not be pregnant with him when I found out I was. I’ve been there, in the pro-“choice” camp. Thankfully, I pulled my head out of my ass before I was completely ingrained into the culture of death.
I try not to think of how lacking of empathy or compassion these people truly are. There have now been five videos released, describing and laying out unequivocally what Planned Parenthood’s true purpose is. Their supporters have multiplied, and doubled down. I want to believe that people are not truly evil, and I try to empathize with them. Then I see what they turn a blind eye to, and defend. My rage returns. We should not be arguing that it is wrong to kill children. The level of depravity one must embrace to accept, and defend the ridiculous position that women have an unalienable right to kill their unborn child is disturbing, at best. I believe it is merely a symptom of the decay of moral absolutes, and we have been treading into the murky waters of moral relativism for some time now. I’m not a philosopher. I don’t have all the answers. I know all of us are born with a sense of right and wrong. We are not born innocent. However, the unborn and other young children are as close to innocence as humans can ever conceive of being. As mothers, we get to watch and nurture the innocence in the young lives entrusted to us more closely than anyone else. It is our job to nourish them from the inside, choose which foods to strengthen their developing bodies, and surround them with which voices, music, and other sounds they’ll associate with being home.
Becoming a mother is a gift, and not all are ready for it when it happens. I wasn’t. I was nineteen and alone. Many people pressured me to “take care of it.” I thought about it and considered it longer than I should have. There were very compelling arguments made for this by people who knew me and cared about me and my future. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew in my heart it would destroy not only my baby, but a part of me as well.
I am especially disgusted when I speak to someone who is already a mother, and who advocates abortion with gusto. I want to ask of them, “Which of your children would you kill now?” I don’t ask them. I don’t like arguing in the first place. It’s very tiresome arguing with supposedly sentient beings that are allegedly capable of reasoning that it is wrong to kill children.
Jessica Fletcher is a guest writer for Mommy Perfect and her views as expressed in this article are not necessarily the opinions of Mommy Perfect.