Note: This was written in reaction to the “Mommy, I am your baby” post that is currently circulating around Tumblr. Thought it was about time we hear from the person who is actually self-aware and not just the clump of cells residing inside of them.
My name is Bria and I am the person whose uterus you are currently residing in. I am 28 years old and I actually have beautiful brown eyes and brown hair. Like, right now. Not “will” in nine months or so, but have it currently. I already have one child. His name is Ryatt and he has my beautiful brown eyes and brown hair. He is three years old and loves Thomas the Tank Engine. You? You don’t love anything, because right now, you are really just a clump of cells that has no cognitive development. You can’t love anything. Not me, not Thomas the Tank Engine, not flowers and birdies and sunshine. You get all your sustenance from me and cannot live on your own outside of my uterus.
But enough about you, let’s talk about me. Like I already said, I am 28 years old. This puts me in the majority age range for people who get abortions. (People in their 20s account for more than half of all abortions; people aged 20–24 obtain 33% of all abortions, and people aged 25–29 obtain 24%.) Like I said, I already have one child to care for (like 61% of people who obtain an abortion) and I currently have no place of my own and am living with my mentally and emotionally abusive mother. I have no job and don’t even qualify for social services because I have not lived in the state I am currently residing in for over 3 months. This is also pretty common among people who obtain abortions - 42% have incomes below 100% of the federal poverty level and 27% have incomes between 100–199% of the federal poverty level. I am looking for a job, but the economy is tough and there is not a lot out there. It’s even tougher for me because I was forced to drop out of college due to mental health issues that I am still dealing with today. So I have no college degree, which qualifies me only for menial jobs in retail or food service. Because these jobs pay so very little, I would never be there to raise you and would have to rely on others. This would probably be a complete stranger at a second-rate daycare center, as I am unwilling to leave you with my mother, have no other family and I can’t really afford to put you in a fancy, bells-and-whistles daycare.
These are all actually pretty common reasons why people obtain abortions. Three-fourths of people cite concern for or responsibility to other individuals; three-fourths say they cannot afford a child; three-fourths say that having a baby would interfere with work, school or the ability to care for dependents; and half say they do not want to be a single parent or are having problems with their husband or partner.
Because I know when I am supposed to get my period, I knew I was pregnant almost right away. Turns out, this is pretty common, too, as over 61% of abortions are performed at less than 9 weeks from a person’s last menstrual period (which would be about 7 weeks from conception). At this point, you really have no thoughts or feelings because, remember when I said you were a clump of cells? I meant it. Those are pictures of what an abortion looks like when done between 5 and 6 weeks. Pretty stark contrast from the gory images that are normally shoved down your throat, huh, fetus?
And, fetus, while I may be a little sad after you are gone, a lot of really smart people have done a lot of really intensive studies and they have concluded that “post abortion syndrome” as a wide-spead occurrence is myth. Also, some more really smart people have assured me that abortion is pretty much one of the safest medical procedures I can undergo in the United States today and, that when performed in the first trimester, it poses little to no long-term risk to future pregnancies, should I ever decide to become pregnant again.
Fetus, as you can see, this is really the best decision for me and for the beautiful little boy who is sleeping with his arms curled around me. I want to go to school to become a sign language interpreter so I can hopefully get a place of my own and not have to rely on other people for my food and shelter. I want to provide a good, healthy, stable life for the child I already have and for any children I may have in the future. And I have thought about it a lot (because abortion is not something anyone enters into lightly) and I could not do that while caring for another child. I would apologize, but there is really nothing to apologize for. I am doing what I know in my heart is the absolute best thing for me and my son. You will not feel any pain, as you are not able to do that until about 24 weeks old, and you don’t even know you exist, so I doubt that you know that you are now gone.
Every abortion is just…
One more person exercising their right to bodily autonomy and self-determination based on what they feel is the best choice for them.
From Reddit, where the comments are also worth reading:
Guys, listen. Here’s the deal.
I love you guys with every shred of my hard-left leaning heart. But I think you might be doing something wrong. Here is one thing that can help you.
Tomorrow, wear a polo and khakis
Seriously. polos and khakis. Every time you guys DO finally get some fucking press, it’s a scrawny dude with dreads in a ratty t-shirt. You’re going big here, dress it. Tomorrow, Polo shirt and Khakis.
Why? Because you need to get the right-leaning equivalent of me on your side. I’m 35 right now. I understand where the hippy thing comes from. I get it as well as a guy who’s 35 can. My Counterparts do not. They think you are scummy druggies on welfare and when they see on tv a bunch of people who they think are S.D’s on W, they root for the cops to hit you again.
Speaking of the cops, Who do you think they’ll mace first? SD’s on W, or a guy in khakis and a polo? Seriously, it’s fucking cop camouflage. And if they DO come for you. When people at home see PEOPLE THAT LOOK LIKE THEMgetting abused by police… That’s when shit changes.
Seeing protesters get beat up means nothing because protesters get beat up all the time. Therefore, don’t look like a protester! This connects you to the person watching and opens them to your side!
So for serious. Do it. You’re almost about to tip this thing over. Polos and khakis. Cop Camo + target audience = Shave, shower and polos and khakis.
TL;DR: Polo shirt and Khakis = dress code for nyc protests tomorrow.
Edit: Going to bed soon, one more thing before I turn it over to all of you.
Please spread this as much as you can. Professionalism will help push this thing over the edge. You have labor pushing you. National Media is starting to wake up to you. You’re almost there. Keep pushing.
Think: Business Casual Friday. Don’t play it up like the Billionaires for healthcare. You’re just a guy, going to work in this big office building here.
Even if you don’t think that you SHOULD be judged on appearances (which I do agree), You have to realize that you ARE. Fight the appearance fight another day. Polos and khakis.
And just like that, I’m a 4.125 gallon donor! (This was my 33rd time donating, and they take a pint of blood each time.)
I seriously urge everyone who is legally allowed to donate blood to do so as regularly as you can, which is once every 8 weeks. It’s quick, it doesn’t hurt or damage you, and your donation really can help save someone’s life. It’s just the right thing to do.
I posted this 8 weeks and 1 day ago. As of this morning, I’m now a 4.25 gallon donor.
If you are eligible to donate and have not been giving — if you haven’t gone out to donate blood in the 8 weeks since I last posted this — then I kindly suggest you get off your butt and find a blood drive near you today.
To be fair, lots of people have good reasons for not doing it every 8 weeks on the dot. I gave a month ago for the first time; I’m really glad I did it, I’ll definitely do it again, but I have low iron and they told me to wait more than 8 weeks before I came back. So give blood, it’s awesome, but be safe about it. You’re no use to anyone if you damage yourself in the process of helping.
I’m lactating, and losing a pint of blood would kill my milk supply. I haven’t given blood in over four years because I’ve been either lactating or pregnant or both. Once I’m done with all that, I’ll visit a blood drive again.
To everyone who’s refollowed, thanks. Sorry it’s taking so long to get things back up. Once I have everything polished I plan to refollow everyone I was previously following. I want to have a few nice surprises finished first.
Now, some quick thoughts and mad speculation on the current series of Doctor Who.
The 7th Doctor traveled with Ace, someone he met ‘accidentally’ as a result of time storm created by her chemistry project. A discussion I had with someone reminded me this, and the fact that meeting Ace was no mere accident.
The time storm was actually created by Fenric, an immensely powerful being with many followers, created by the forces that existed at the beginning of the universe. This might be important, so keep it in mind.
Fenric has secretly manipulated the lives of Ace and her mother, using them as pawns to free himself from imprisonment at the Doctors hands. It was hinted that the Doctor was far older than he let on, and more than ‘just another time lord.’
As a result of Fenric’s intervention, Ace later meets her own mother when she was young, and inadvertently released Fenric. In order to outsmart Fenric, the Doctor had to shatter Ace’s faith in him, which had created a sort of psychic bond between the two.
The Doctor revealed to Fenric that he had known all along that Ace couldn’t have created a time storm and asked Fenric if he really believed he’d bring a troublesome girl like Ace along (Ace was a troubled and rebellious girl when the Doctor met her). This was intended to help shatter Ace’s belief in the Doctor. In the end, the Doctor defeats Fenric, and he seemingly ceases to exist.
Now.. the question. What if Fenric’s followers remained devoted to him, and wanted to bring him back. What if the Doctor’s crash landing into the Amelia Pond’s backyard was more than an accident.
The girl whose live didn’t make sense. The girl whose daughter’s life was manipulated by a religious order known as “The Silence.” The girl who would cause silence to fall. The same Silence that blew up the Doctor’s TARDIS, knowing it would bring an end to entire universe with them in it. But why?
What if The Silence had been counting on the Doctor to do what he always does? Triumph, no matter the cost. If the universe is fading, the Doctor will find a way to reboot it. Recreate the the Big Bang, along with the energies that existed at the beginning of the universe. What if this, all this, is because The Silence is a religious order determined to bring back its ruler? An order that exists to revive Fenric?
Fenric, by the way, is listed at IMDB as appearing in the final episode, played by the talented Mark Gatiss.
There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.
So you wait in this lobby until the third death. There are long tables with coffee, tea, and cookies; you can help yourself. There are people here from all around the world, and with a little effort you can strike up convivial small talk. Just be aware that your conversation may be interrupted at any moment by the Callers, who broadcast your new friend’s name to indicate that there will never again be another remembrance of him by anyone on the Earth. Your friend slumps, face like a shattered and reglued plate, saddened even though the Callers tell him kindly that he’s off to a better place. No one knows where that better place is or what it offers, because no one exiting through that door has returned to tell us. Tragically, many people leave just as their loved ones arrive, since the loved ones were the only ones doing the remembering. We all wag our heads at that typical timing.
The whole place looks like an infinite airport waiting area. There are many famous people from the history books here. If you get bored, you can strike out in any given direction, past aisles and aisles of seats. After many days of walking, you’ll start to notice that people look different, and you’ll hear the tones of foreign languages. People congregate among their own kind, and one sees the spontaneous emergence of territories that mirror the pattern on the surface of the planet: With the exception of the oceans, you’re traversing a map of the Earth. There are no time zones here. No one sleeps, even though they mostly wish they could. The place is evenly lit by fluorescent lights.
Not everyone is sad when the Callers enter the room and shout out the next list of names. On the contrary, some people beg and plead, prostrating themselves at the Callers’ feet. These are generally the folks who have been here a long time, too long, especially those who are remembered for unfair reasons. For example, take the farmer over there, who drowned in a small river two hundred years ago. Now his farm is the site of a small college, and the tour guides each week tell his story. So he’s stuck and he’s miserable. The more his story is told, the more the details drift. He is utterly alienated from his name; it is no longer identical with him but continues to bind. The cheerless woman across the way is praised as a saint, even though the roads in her heart were complicated. The gray-haired man at the vending machine was lionized as a war hero, then demonized as a warlord, and finally canonized as a necessary firebrand between two moments in history. He waits with aching heart for his statues to fall. And that is the curse of this room: since we live in the heads of those who remember us, we lose control of our lives and become who they want us to be.