So sad. I would say this is not to read if you are yourself pregnant, at whatever stage. But this story gives an idea of the beauty and power of the human soul, no matter how shortly lived.
I felt an unholy storm move through my body, and after that there is a brief lapse in my recollection; either I blacked out from the pain or I have blotted out the memory. And then there was another person on the floor in front of me, moving his arms and legs, alive. I heard myself say out loud, “This can’t be good.” But it looked good. My baby was as pretty as a seashell. He was translucent and pink and very, very small, but he was flawless. His lovely lips were opening and closing, opening and closing, swallowing the new world. For a length of time I cannot delineate, I sat there, awestruck, transfixed. Every finger, every toenail, the golden shadow of his eyebrows coming in, the elegance of his shoulders—all of it was miraculous, astonishing. I held him up to my face, his head and shoulders filling my hand, his legs dangling almost to my elbow. I tried to think of something maternal I could do to convey to him that I was, in fact, his mother, and that I had the situation completely under control. I kissed his forehead and his skin felt like a silky frog’s on my mouth.
by 
I bet Ariel Levy is pro-choice. And yet reading her story, she constantly talks about the baby, the other person, etc. It’s sad, and it’s probably bad, but I must confess I find myself hardening against these people, with their rock-hard hypocrisy. A baby and a person if you wanted it; less than nothing if you don’t. To me, the great mystery and the great horror of the pro-choice person.
It’s a fair comment, Mary Ann. And, I confess, I have felt the same way in moments, though not this one. But in the end, if she is pro-choice, and I think she probably is, do you think that this experience will not figure into her calculations over time? The journey is a life long for all of us, and I will not give up hope that someone who can so beautifully express how she felt on the birth of her son can also change her mind.
The author’s name was familiar to me, so I googled it, and I realize I am aware of this her book Female Chauvinist Pigs. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Female_Chauvinist_Pigs
Her own website says she worked for Planned Parenthood. Alas…
Mary Ann, you may have been right on.
Sadly, I don’t think this experience will factor into her calculations over time. I remember reading the pro-choice ruminations of the pregnant doctor, who felt her own baby kick as she was herself aborting someone’s else’s baby. And she rationalized it all away. Or the family that aborted the defective fetus (Down’s Syndrome) and then had a funeral for it. We are living in a sentimental age in which people are perfectly happy to indulge their emotions while simultaneously turning their heads away from the brutal reality of what they do or cause to be done.
Hit the nail on the head Mary Ann in describing the age as ‘sentimental’. What’s amazing about ooey-gooeyness is it sees itself as the zenith of existence. To ‘feel’ is to be! What I do is irrelevant. If I feel, I am.
Dear. Dear.
This seems to be a whole world away from love towards another. Not the ‘love’ of feeling, affection or sentiment but love that is the deliberate assent of the will that sees the well being of the other as the purpose of actions and the true nature of personhood.