I tried for seven years to get pregnant.
That’s seven birthdays. Seven Christmases. Seven changes of weather that turned the summer trees to shades of amber and then disappeared under seven new blankets of snow.
But seven felt like a hundred. I missed my baby without even having met him yet. I longed for him. I watched my husband stare at me, helpless, as I cried for him in the tub. I attended baby showers and faked the smiles and then got in my car afterwards, sobbing into a rain-soaked windshield. I would sit, cross legged, in an empty room reserved for a nursery that temporarily just held boxes of junk and things we wanted to get out of the way–staring at the wall and whispering to God.
And then–it happened.
After nine months of tapping my fingers on his foot from the inside and singing to him and taking selfies in the bathroom mirror as my belly grew–there he was. My baby.
After hours in the dark of night crying and pushing and contorting myself in the tub with my husband at my side, he came into this world squirming, crying, blinking, clutching at my chest, and very much alive. 7 lbs 9 ounces.
A perfect boy.
My husband and I were both instantly in love. Fascinated by his small toes and his gorgeous eyes. Enamored by his pink cheeks and gorgeous dark hair that would later turn a shade of auburn in the sunlight.
I’ll never forget that moment of his arrival. Not for as long as I live.
So now I sit here at a keyboard, shaking. Shaking as I remember that morning so vividly, and on the screen next to me I see the new law that has passed in New York allowing abortion after the 24th week and even up til birth. Shaking that my beautiful moment watching my son open his eyes and start to eat as if he was instructed what to do from inside the womb–could actually become a moment of horror for some woman on the other side of the country as she decides to end the life of someone she created.
This bill that has passed in New York legalizing abortion up until birth is murder that out ranks the numbers of all the wars this earth has ever fought–every genocide–every holocaust and internment camp and bombing and suicide. It outnumbers everything to the point where it is literally the number ONE cause of death.
(Watch this video–it is not graphic, but has lots of information about the astounding numbers)
My sweet son, still wet and wriggling and blinking against the light–was just a lucky one.
If that doesn’t make you sick–you have hardened your heart.
Luke warns us so pointedly:
23 But woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck, in those days! for there shall be great distress in the land, and wrath upon this people.
24 And they shall fall by the edge of the sword, and shall be led away captive into all nations: and Jerusalem shall be troddendown of the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled.
25 ¶ And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring;
26 Men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
Religious or not, we live in a day and age where the fight for human rights is a hot button issue. We have protests for women’s rights in the streets wearing pink hats and holding signs. We make memes of the president as a blimped out orange monster. We scream about the black young men getting pulled over by racist cops and we preach veganism to those who are ignorant toward the mishandling and inhumane treatment of animals. We HATE hate. And rightly so.
And yet–abortion is ok.
Abortion is applauded.
Murder of a child is a RIGHT.
Tell me how it’s okay that we live in a world where we are outraged at how the cows get slaughtered but don’t say a peep when a baby’s brain is suctioned out of his skull while in the birth canal.
Did that visual make you sick?
I waited seven years for my son while women slaughtered theirs. I waited seven years, and some women longer than that, while people march in the streets to have the “right” to kill. IVF is in the ballpark of 20 grand. Adoption is around 40k. The foster system is so corrupt that most families wait years until they’re actually placed. IUI procedures are over $300 a round. Hormone therapy, without insurance, is over 2k a pop.
Abortion, without insurance, is FREE.
Here’s my son at 24 weeks.
He was kicking like crazy, rolling around, reacting to daddy’s voice, and hiccuping every time I had something sweet. He was alive, reactive, silly, and thriving.
It wasn’t my right for seven years to try to conceive. I spent over $50,000 in my attempts. It wasn’t my right to undergo hormone therapy–I had to plead my insurance to cover it. It wasn’t my right to adopt a baby–I went through countless home visits, paid a million costs, and didn’t end up with one anyway.
It wasn’t my right to have this child I so prayed for.
But here, while he kicked and hicupped and fell asleep to the sound of a music box on my stomach–it was my right to end his life.
He knew me right away when placed on my chest–he was soothed by the hand and the whispers of his father beside me. Now he laughs and he plays and he growls like our baby bear and he gets excited by the games his sister plays. He’s a little human who, from the moment he was created, it was my duty to protect his life. That’s motherhood.
That’s human rights.
I pray that you feel the pain I do when I read about this bill. (https://www.wrvo.org/post/legislature-passes-abortion-rights-bill-cuomo-signs-it-law)
I pray that you get sick at the imagery and that you are also haunted by the horror enough to be a voice we SO need in this dark time.
I pray you get angry.
And I pray we don’t fall silent.
The fight for the voiceless is the most important fight we will ever engage in.
And as Martin Luther King said, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
Even at 24 weeks.
One thought on “He knew me at 24 weeks”
Have 3 sons. Remember vividly each joyful birth. Can’t even begin to imagine murdering a child at that stage. Well, actually, any stage.
Paul Olmstead – Sent from my iPhone (920) 254-8736