lawmummy

I had one of those awkward moments this week.  A friend who did not know I was pregnant asked me if I was expecting.  I thought she knew.  Her husband certainly knew.  And I feel hugely pregnant (with only five weeks to go) but it has been so wintry for so long that she only ever saw me in heavy coats.  And she didn’t know.

It’s complicated by a bunch of things. 

First, this was not an intentional pregnancy.  I am not going to lie about it when people ask (if you don’t want to know, please, please don’t ask in the first place).

Second, I don’t love being pregnant.  I never have.  There is no difference for me whether I’m puking my guts out (like with Katie) or if things are good (like now), I just don’t enjoy the state of being pregnant.  One of my good friends told me that she loves being pregnant because people do stuff for her.  And that is exactly the reason that I don’t.  I don’t want anyone to "do" anything for me.  I just want to "be".  I love my girls.  But I didn’t love the pregnancies.

But third, and most complicated, my friend has been trying to get pregnant for a really long time.  Ten years.

It’s the kind of thing that I know that I can’t do anything about, but I still feel guilty.  I hate feeling like I have more babies than I know what to do with, and she can’t have any.  And I so wish things were different for her.

This getting pregnant/not getting pregnant thing is a really stressful part of many of my friends’ lives.  I will admit that, with Katie, I was seriously concerned about our chances of getting pregnant.  I went off of the pill after having a discussion with my doctor about the fact that there might be some difficulties because of my health/history.  I was told that someone of my age should expect to get pregnant within three months of going off of the pill.  And three months passed.  And six months.  In the interim, several of my friends got pregnant.  I was genuinely happy for each of them.  I never disclosed that Chris and I were "trying" as it just didn’t seem appropriate - and my friends’ pregnancies were never about me to begin with and I didn’t want to make them about me.  Then nine months passed.  And I was beginning to think that something was wrong.  Chris wasn’t worried - we were trying to take the "if it happens, it happens" approach.  And I had always said that I would adopt if something went wrong - two of my closest friends were adopted and this was always in the back of my mind as a viable alternative.

Ten months after I went off of the pill, I found out that I was pregnant.  I was pretty psyched and told my close friends and family only after the first trimester (yes, I am old-fashioned that way, which is good because I subsequently miscarried on the second pregnancy and I was glad that no one knew).  There was one exception - a friend who guessed that I was pregnant about a month and a half in.  And her reaction?  She cried.  Not because she was happy for me, but because she wanted a baby and her husband and her could not reach an agreement on when she would start trying.  She actually had to leave the room and couldn’t talk to me for a day or so.  I was completely miserable about it.

She had a baby about a year after I had Katie.  It was a long year.  There was a lot of self-pity and crying and resentment in the interim.  By the time that I had Katie, we were good, she was fine - and remarkably helpful.  But the in between was really hard to take.

It’s a strange feeling, this guilt and resentment that women have towards each other because of something that ultimately is all about luck of the draw.  You’d think we’d learn to be happy for each other rather than competitive, wistful or sorrowful.  And pregnancy is really about the parents, and not about being spiteful or purposefully hurting someone.  Despite the craziness, you’d think we, as women, would recognize this a lot sooner.

But we have made motherhood almost a series of competitions.  I have friends who openly brag about getting pregnant "on the first time" - who cares?  It’s not about how quick or how often, or how good or bad you feel as compared to someone else, or, as I am finding out this go round, how much weight you do or don’t gain as compared to others.  Why do those things even matter?  (In the interest of full disclosure, I say this even as I posted a comment to Baby Poop and Suits about her "weight gain" this pregnancy because she was complaining about it and in her pictures, she looks amazing.)

Why can’t we just be happy for each other?

When I started my own law firm six years ago, I didn’t really know much about marketing the firm.  I signed up for a zillion legal marketing newsletter-type things and quickly unsubscribed to most of them, finding them annoying.

But I always enjoyed my weekly newsletter from Trey Ryder, a legal marketer out west in Arizona.  His newsletters were very personal and he always replied to comments.

About a year and a half ago, his wife had a stroke.  He shared that with us, along with her path to recovery, in his newsletters.  I actually felt like I knew them both.

Today, he just posted that his wife had died.  And it’s one of those weird things because I never knew her - but I followed her life through Trey’s posts - much as I do many of my fellow bloggers.  To hear of her death today saddened me.  Trey also posted a little bio on his web site about her and I found it really moving.   It reminded me of two things:  (1) how lucky I am to have such a great family who is well and happy and (2) how the internet has really brought us together, it is such a small world.

So, tonight I am saying a little prayer for a man who I never actually met, but only virtually met, and his family.  May Steph rest in peace.

Did you hear the one about the lawyer who sued eHarmony because they refused to find him a date?

Only that’s not the opening to a joke, it’s the real deal. 

A lawyer in California, no doubt a real winner, has filed suit against eHarmony for their "unmarried only" policy.  John Claassen, the lawyer who filed the suit seeking $12,000 in civil penalties is not yet divorced and claims that his civil rights are being violated by the company.

Isn’t dating hard enough these days?

And don’t you wonder about someone in their mid-30s who is just that anxious to start dating again before his divorce is even final?

Don’t get me wrong.  I understand that divorce takes time.  Trust me, there have puh-lenty in my family.  And I also understand that sometimes you’re ready to "get back in there" a la When Harry Met Sally.

But litigation?

Everything bad that happens in life is not actionable.

Listen, far be it for me to tell you what to do with your life but here’s my advice of the day:  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.  A grown man who attempts to solve issues in his social life through the use of the courts doesn’t strike me as the best person with whom to "experience a lifetime of love" (that’s eHarmony’s slogan).  Something about forcing your way onto the online dating scene is kind of like being the guy that the hostess just had to invite to the party even though all of her friends warned her not to…

When it comes to dating, I don’t know how you really know who the "right" one is - I’ve posted before that I don’t know that I believe in "sparks" - but I have a hunch or two about knowing who the "wrong" one is, and, well, you read the article and make up your own mind…

Katie is potty-trained.  As in zero accidents during the day.  As in super dry.  As in Chris and I are doing little potty-training dances of joy around the house.

Ahh.

And so, you might ask, what is our secret?  What nugget of perfect parenting can we pass along?

We paid her.

Yes, I’ll say it loud and proud:  we paid her.

The sticker chart had grown old.  And the "competition" was most unwelcome (though in our defense, we had nothing to do with that).

We made the decision one day just to put her in big girl underwear - and she was doing pretty well.  Some duck down the toilet and head in the toilet issues along the way to be sure, but she was most grown up, insisting on choosing her own big girl underwear, using the potty with the door closed ("Mommy, I want you OUT."  Fair enough.  I don’t like an audience either.) and letting us know - even while in the car on the Turnpike - that she needed to find a potty. 

Somewhere along the line, Chris decided that she needed more of an incentive.  And so she and he struck a deal:  a penny a pee, a nickel a poop.  She thought this was grand.

One day, I had to take her out of the house in big girl underwear, so I upped the ante:  double the kitty when she goes "off site."

And she was loving this money thing, always reminding us after her hands were washed that she "NEEDS her penny."

She put her stash in her little bank.  Chris told her that she could buy herself a toy when she saved enough money.  I convinced her otherwise.  I was one of those kids that never had any money growing up - we were poor.  And we have no accounts for our kids yet (yes, I advise parents to open UTMA/UGMA/529/ESA accounts all of the time and have not done so for my own kids) - until now.  Katie and I went by ourselves to the bank and opened up an account.  I put a little cash in each of the accounts for the girls and then added Katie’s money (she got to use the coin counter).  She now has a "Little Savers" account - and she’s earning interest.  She has a better rate than me for goodness sake!  I figure this way, when we’re ready for vacation, she has a little fun money:  a buck or two can go pretty far in rural Maine.  And better yet, now she gets to fill her bank again.

I’m sure that there are psychologists frowning as they read this, parents thinking that we’ve done some horrible thing and whatever.  But here’s the deal:  I don’t care.  Katie is finally potty-trained.  She can go to the pool this summer!  She can enter preschool in fall!

All is right with the world.

Again, it’s what Chris and I refer to as our "Malcolm X" style of parenting:  By whatever means necessary.

This evening, I had a confrontation with a stupid driver.

Chris has a theory that cars and driving are the root of much of the evil in the world, and I second that emotion.  Practically every time I have to get into the car (which, thankfully, isn’t much), I have to deal with some joker who feels the need to make an illegal left turn in front of me or have conversations on his/her cell phone to the point where no attention is being paid to the road whatsoever (what is the deal with that, by the way?).  A fair number of people become idiots in their cars and it drives me crazy (pun completely intended).

So, anyway, tonight I was pulling into the diner parking lot with a friend in the car, the girls in the back seat.  I was pulling into the ENTRANCE (this is an important part of the story) off of a major street, which also happens to be a state highway.

This idiot woman with biggish hair and an even bigger SUV (hereinout referred to as the "Big Ass SUV") pulled right in front of me in an attempt to exit through the entrance.  She had plenty of space to back up and let me pass but she wouldn’t.  She put her SUV in park and waited.

I was not willing to back my car up onto the busy road - especially with my kids in the back.  So I waited.

I finally got out of the car, much to my friend’s dismay, and yelled at the woman in the car.  She told me to move my car - even though she could have safely backed hers up without any effort and, yeah, again, SHE WAS EXITING OUT OF THE ENTRANCE.

Her fat ugly daughter (yes, I was bitter, but she was also, in fact, both fat and ugly - I’m assuming the daughter part) yelled at me "You’re the asshole, you jerk."  Nice manners, too.

I get back into my car, and deciding that I just can’t deal, put it in reverse and back up a few feet.  By now, the woman could, if she tried, move her Big Ass SUV around my car and get out.  But she refuses, gesturing with her hand that there was not enough room. 

Now, I do not drive a small car.  I have two children and I do, in fact, have a Subaru Forester, which is bigger than I would prefer but by no means mammoth on the scale of say, a Yukon.  I do not have to pay extra to park my car in city lots, nor do I have to bend in my side mirrors to park my car in a garage.  It is a "normal" sized car.  And it is routinely full with at least three people, and usually four, and sometimes a dog.  I have issues with people who buy freaking buildings on wheels to chaffeur themselves around - and perhaps one other person - for aesthetics or feeling good about themselves or whatever.  It’s rude.  It’s bad for the environment.  It’s difficult for other drivers to maneuver around or see around.  And, in the City, it takes up parking.  It is, perhaps, one of my biggest pet peeves.

I get out of my car again and yell at the woman to drive her Big Ass SUV around my car because I cannot back up again.  Her daughter keeps yelling at me.

Okay, at this point of the story, I will admit that I am 100% in the wrong here.  I should not have gotten out of the car the first time or the second time.  But I’m also really pissed because the horrible white trash woman with the big hair, bigger daughter and Big Ass SUV needed to (a) observe basic rules (entrance means entrance, not exit); (b) exercise some courtesy (she clearly had more room than me to maneuver - and backing up for her would mean backing into the lot and not into the road); and (c) buy a vehicle that she could actually drive.

But, too late.  I’ve already gotten out of the car twice.  Hugely pregnant, my girls in the back.  The pinnacle of stupidity.  But I’m pissed.

I back up again - and this time, I can’t back up any further.  Not only am I close to the road (less than a car length, including the sidewalk) but there is now a car behind me.

And believe it or not, the stupid woman is still motioning that she can’t fit.  There is more than two car lengths to her right (empty parking spaces) where she could clearly go around…  Her bigger issue was that she apparently wanted to drive in the lane but there’s only one lane because, again, IT’S A FREAKING ENTRANCE, not an exit.  There is one lane.  For cars to enter.  She was not getting the picture.

She finally goes around and yells at me that I can’t drive.  Right, because I’m the one going the right way?  I just don’t get people.

Again, no lectures, please, on why this was stupid and inappropriate for me to do.  I know that it was.  It was one of those things that became bigger than it was in the moment because I was pissed.  But I was pissed because "she started it" (I sound like my four year old, I know) and she was wrong.  Maybe that’s part of my being a lawyer, this notion that he who commits the biggest wrong should pay (isn’t that comparable negligence or some such nonsense - I don’t practice tort law).  But mostly it’s just stupid and I know this.  But rules are rules.  The rules of the road are there for consistency and to ensure that there are no surprises like, oh, say, someone exiting at the entrance.

And then there’s the size of the vehicle.  If it’s for show, it’s sad and pathetic.  If you haul horse trailers or have carpools, I get it.  But if it’s just for the sake of saying you have a big vehicle, shame, shame on you.

It’s a pet peeve.

And so, for today, here is a list of my top ten pet peeves/annoyances, as always, in no particular order:

1.  Ridiculously large cars.
2.  Ridiculously large houses.
3.  People who talk continuously about the ridiculously large cars and houses that they own.
4.  People who talk on cell phones in restaurants or cars.
5.  Cell phone rings that get louder as they ring - and the folks that allow it to go on and on so that they can hear it.
6.  People that expect free legal advice because they think it’s expensive, but would never expect a doctor to treat them for free.
7.  Name droppers.
8.  People with no ability to empathize with others.
9.  People who "reply all" on emails without thinking about whether everyone really needs to know (as someone who gets lots and lots of email every day, I’d rather spend my time reading relevant email).
10.  Telemarketers.  All of them.

To make wholesale changes to your blog - and keep the old stuff?

Okay, it’s really not that hard, I’m just not used to the coding, etc.  My brain doesn’t work that way.

But this is what I’ve figured out…  If you have previously subscribed to my blog, the old Blogger settings won’t work (yeah, makes sense, but it took me awhile to figure out how to fix it).

If you subscribe via Bloglet, you can subscribe directly on the page.  I’ve added the sign-up info under "Blogger Doo-dads" and it works just like before.  If you subscribe via Bloglines, you have to manually put in the feed info.  You can do this by clicking on the "subscribe" link on the page to get the feed URL or you can just copy it from here:  http://lawmummy.typepad.com/mommy_grows_up/index.rdf and put the feed URL directly into Bloglines.

It’s taking me a bit to work out the kinks.  Please keep sending me your feedback/questions/annoyances as I switch over.  I aim to please (I am, after all, a middle child).

There is an interesting (but long, I’ll warn you in advance) interview on the Legal Talk Network about the gender gap in the legal profession - you can listen in RealPlayer.

The guests on the show include Lauren Stiller
Rikleen, senior partner at Bowditch & Dewey and author of

"Ending the Gauntlet: Removing Barriers to Women’s Success in the Law";  New England School of Law Professor Ronald Chester; and Attorney Mary Musette Stewart, President of the Central
Florida Association of Women Lawyers.

The focus of the show is the pitifully low percentage of female partners in the legal profession (they put it at 17%), and why that might be, an issue that I have touched on again and again and again. 

In the interview, I thought there was a bit too much emphasis on maternity leave, which I agree is a major issue at law firms, but I also believe that it is often merely a convenient excuse to keep the profession as largely a "boys’ club."  Many of my colleagues and myself noted obstacles in pay, hours and assignments well before I became a mother.

I did like that there was significant discussion about the culture of law firms, including the reliance on the billable hour, and also the networking/mentoring opportunities that exist for male associates but are rarely offered to female associates.  Interestingly, it was also mentioned that clients play a major role in this issue - something I wouldn’t have thought about - with a suggestion that perhaps women don’t market themselves as well to clients as they could, and that clients respond accordingly. 

All in all, worth a listen.

I haven’t yet had the chance to read the book by Ms. Rikleen, but I plan to.  I’ll let you know what I think.

And, apparently there was an article in the New York Times on this issue over the weekend…  So much to catch up on!

Lunch took an hour and a half today.  I will never, ever understand why my sister-in-law claims that she has "no time to eat."  I actually had time to read the paper while my ravenous little monkeys took their time eating lots and lots of peanut butter and bagels.

After lunch, it was naptime for Amy.  Twenty minutes later, there is still no sleeping.  I fear this is the beginning of the end for naptimes for her…  Ah, but we had it good there for a bit (again, having never experienced this - ever - with Katie).

While I was changing Amy and putting her down, Katie was in the potty.  When I stopped by to see if she needed help, she said, "No, Mommy, go away.  I’m pooping.  Close the door."  And I did.

But then, a rather long time went by - maybe ten minutes?  I walked back to the bathroom door and knocked.

"Katie?"

Nothing.

"Katie?"

I opened the door.  There, wearing only a tee shirt and socks was Katie, rubbing her eyes.  She had shampoo in her hair.

"Katie, sweetie, what’s going on?"

"There is shampoo in my eyes."

"Well, okay, get in the tub and let’s get the shampoo out of your eyes." 

There was protestations but finally, she let me take off the shirt and socks and she climbed into the tub.  I used the shower head (thank goodness for the European style ones, by the way) and rinsed her head and her face.  I toweled her off and told her to go to her room so that we can put some clothes on.

While in her room, I asked her why she needed shampoo to go poop.  And trust me, I really didn’t want to know.

Katie explained, logically, that she needed to shampoo because her hair was wet and dirty.  I asked how that happened.  And she said it was because she got her hair wet in the potty.  Confused?  Yeah, me, too.  But she explained with a totally straight face that she was trying to see the holes in the potty where you flush and it got her hair wet.  It was "gross" and therefore, she needed to shampoo.  Ahh, mystery solved. 

"I’m sorry, Mommy" she said to me. 

"Oh, that’s alright,"  I told her.  "No need to be sorry."

After all, who am I to judge…  Remember #7?

It’s open season on ducks at my house. 

I.have.had.it.with.all.ducks.

I’ve already dealt with the duck down the toilet dilemma this week.  And I’ve dealt with the ducks in the bath trauma (I wouldn’t allow more rubber ducks in the bath on yesterday, which is apparently the worst thing in the world that could have happened to Katie, judging from the screaming "I WANT DUCKS!" that went on).

And then tonight, "Duck" went missing.

"Duck" is Amy’s toy.  It looks like a small washcloth with the head of a duck.  Our friends in Germany bought it for Katie, who wasn’t all that intrigued.  Amy, however, has become obsessed with said duck.  She will not sleep without it.

This is all very new and different for me.  Katie never had a "thing" that she was attached to - and believe it or not, we actually tried to get her hooked on something, anything.  Our pediatrician had suggested that it might help her sleep.  Katie of the "I will never nap even as an infant" and the "I refuse to go to sleep until 1 in the morning for the first 12 months of my life" ilk was driving me slowly mad.  So, we asked our pediatrician for suggestions.  We tried Filbert.  We tried cosleeping.  We tried everything.  And the pediatrician thought that giving her something for security might calm her down.  She was so not interested.  We tried dolls, bears, blankets.  Nothing.  And to this day, she is not particularly picky about her toys - she likes to sleep with "Bear" or Clifford, sometimes Madeline, and sometimes Curly-Curly (her name for Raggedy Ann), but no real favorites.

Amy, on the other hand, is absolutely glued to the duck.  She walks around with it.  She takes it in the car.  The duck must accompany her at all times.

In desperation, I have fished it out of the washing machine while soaking wet and handed it to her to calm her down.  You see, Amy is generally the calm one.  She is, for the most part, much more easy-going than her sister.  She has always been smiley and always been our sleeper (thank God).  She still takes naps, which results in a pleasant Amy - which, in turn, results in a pleasant Mommy.  Katie is still so serious, with a plan for every minute of the day, and doesn’t have time to sleep.  Chris says, in this regard, she is like her Mom.

We generally have the duck handy, having learned that it is not a good idea to let the duck out of our sights, in the event that we have a trauma.

And tonight, in the midst of my severe back and leg pain (that damn sciatica), I was putting the girls to bed and I couldn’t find the duck.  I searched all three floors.  I went out to the car (in my pjs, mind you).  I searched through the laundry.  I asked Katie where "Duck" was (she generally knows when no one else is, she’s very observant, that Katie).  Nothing.  And Amy was hysterical.  I called the nanny in desperation and left a voice mail; she called back (bless her) and suggested that I check the car.  Already did that.  Amy was still screaming "DUCK!!! DUCK!!!" 

I ran back downstairs to check the living room once again, swearing the whole time.  Katie and Amy were dancing earlier, and Katie had been performing "Rock Lobster" on the guitar (yeah, I told you she was that cool) and there, under the guitars and bongo drum was "Duck."  Thank God. 

I wandered into Amy’s room and there she was, in a little ball in her crib, crying softly.  I gave her "Duck" and she snuggled very contented, into her pillow with a little smile on her face.  She is quite the cutie.  If she wants the damn duck, she can have the damn duck.  If it makes her happy, then it makes me happy, too.

About a week ago, this post appeared on Rominger Legal News.  I subscribe to their news feed, so I get an email every day giving me the heads up on legal news.  When I saw it, it bothered me a great deal and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why (except to the extent that it’s clearly an editorial piece and not news).  So, I saved it with the intention of doing something with it and promptly forgot about it.

Mar 15, 2006 - The Sun News, Myrtle Beach, S.C.

Author(s): Issac J. Bailey

Mar. 15–Her name is Fabrice McKenzie Bailey. She’s the daughter I didn’t get to hold but will never forget.

She was a "fetus" when her heart stopped beating less than nine weeks into my wife’s second pregnancy. I imagine there are those who wouldn’t consider her a fetus because her body hadn’t even formed and they could make a medical case that we couldn’t have possibly known her gender.

I’ll let others quibble over such minutiae. My wife and I know we have another daughter, even though we didn’t get to meet her. She was planned. She was — and is — loved. She was taken from us prematurely.

I remember Fabrice every time I think about tackling the issue of abortion.

I was reminded after the unanimous U.S. Supreme Court decision in January that concluded parental notification laws for minors are reasonable as long as there is a judicial bypass in instances where a young girl’s health is at risk or they are in danger. I was reminded by the even more recent decision by South Dakota to effectively outlaw abortion in all cases except when a doctor is trying to save the mother’s live.

And I was reminded after getting word about an article in The New York Times Magazine about a "wrongful birth" of a severely disabled child, which was similar to a case handled by a Myrtle Beach lawyer last year. How disabled must a fetus be to not deserve a chance to bring joy to a family’s life?

Abortion rights are so hotly contested and debated because they force us to examine the uncomfortable intersection of freedom, morality, politics and gender. We grow frustrated, as we demand simple answers for an issue where there are none.

I have no unambiguous answers about how to solve an issue that won’t leave us.

But abortion can’t only be about protecting the fetus … because there’s a real, live woman involved. Abortion can’t be only about protecting the woman because there’s a real baby with a beating heart, like the one that stopped beating for Fabrice.

Abortion can’t be only about women’s rights because we know it is important for children to have a father involved. Abortion can’t be only about individual rights because society has a vested interest in protecting life, though we first must agree when it begins. Abortion can’t be only about parental notification because too many parents are forcing unwilling daughters to abort.

But above all, we can’t allow abortion to remain an overwhelmingly divisive issue if we are serious about solving the problems that lead to so many of them.

For past columns and to read Bailey’s blog, go to MyrtleBeachOnline.com.

Contact ISSAC J. BAILEY at ibailey@thesunnews.com or 626-0357.

Yesterday, I had yet another pregnancy scare.  My OB called and left me
a message on my voice mail that there was a problem with one of my
tests and that I must call "first thing in the morning" and follow-up
with perinatalogy.  Needless to say, I did not sleep well and neither did Chris.  He was, quite arguably, much more concerned than I was.

I have been feeling rotten, which is most uncharacteristic for me this late in my pregnancy.  My back hurts - a lot.  If I stay in one place for too long, I can’t move and it’s incredibly painful to get up.  I’m extremely tired and moody and I feel, quite frankly, icky.  But I have things to do and clients to tend to and children to amuse and care for, so I don’t have too much time to dwell on the things that don’t feel right or the "what ifs" that could happen.  That’s probably a good thing.

So, the phone call panicked me a little because, taken together with all of the other stuff, I feared something horrible was going on, and more importantly, I had time to think about it.

The big news?  Nothing.  The staff had indicated on my chart that my test was abnormal when, in fact, it was not.  Crisis averted.

But in the interim, I did some thinking.  I did think about the "what ifs" and then I realized why this post by Mr. Bailey bothered me so much.  It’s the notion that any one person knows how the rest of us should feel about anything involving our own bodies, our babies.

It’s not my place to tell anyone how to feel.  We all feel differently.  And I have lost a child - I had a miscarriage not too long after Katie was born.  It was unpleasant and painful on a million levels.  It is a weird feeling to lose a child that you did not even really have the chance to know.  And on that level, I can relate to parts of Mr. Bailey’s post.

But then I read that this week, the Governor of Michigan indicated that she will sign legislation that mandates that  abortion providers advise patients that they have the option of seeing an ultrasound and hearing a fetal heartbeat prior to the procedure.  The most amazing part of this law is that the original legislation required pregnant women to view the images prior to the procedure.  Legislation like this already exists in Indiana.

And it became clear to me why Mr. Bailey’s post bothered me so much.  He references society’s vested interest in "protecting life" and then casually mentions that we haven’t yet agreed on when that begins.  I don’t know that his statement is true.

My child was definitely alive when I miscarried.  And my child for this pregnancy is definitely alive.  They were tens of weeks apart but both still alive.

But that doesn’t change how I feel about a woman’s right to choose.  It’s not merely a scientific decision. 

I guess that the driving force behind these laws to "give women the option" of seeing an ultrasound of the fetus prior to an abortion is this notion that perhaps the women just don’t know that there’s a baby?  That there’s a life?  That a little bit of science can make a difficult decision easy?  That’s beyond insulting.

Abortion isn’t an easy decision.  On this, I’ll agree with Mr. Bailey.  But it should still be a decision.

And that’s why this article has eaten at me all week.  Sometimes in life, with miscarriages and stillbirths, we don’t have a choice.  And sometimes, at least for the time being, we do.  Let’s not, as a nation, trivialize a woman’s decision.  Life is hard enough.