By Brad Lindemann
Thanks for checking on me. My name is unknown, though I became a woman-in-waiting inside my Mommy's tummy 12 weeks ago. She doesn't know I'm a girl though. But, with 4D ultrasound technology and a little bit of luck, she actually could find out. It just depends upon what dance moves I'm doing when the sonographer captures the images...or not.
You see, my mommy's not sure she wants to see me...now or ever. She's still deciding if she wants to keep me. It's her choice, you know. Something about her reproductive rights. Rights given to her 44 years ago by seven men in black robes. All seven of them professed to believe in the God who created me. Their average age was 65 in 1973, so they're all dead now. I wonder if they still believe that Mommy has a right to choose life or death for me?
Many of those who think of me as a choice, not a child, believe that I'm something less than human until the day I'm born. They argue about it all the time with those who believe that I've been a real person from the moment Mommy and Daddy made me. Sometimes they even ask the old men and women in black robes what they think about it. Nobody ever asks me what I think. Nobody seems to care about my reproductive rights.
From where I'm sitting, everyone around me seems to be asking the wrong question -when does life begin? Isn't the more important question -when does life end? If my Mommy chooses to have the doctor take me out of her tummy before I'm ready to live outside, isn't she choosing to end my life? When time is the only thing standing between me and the life God destined me to live, wouldn't it be wrong for Mommy to stop the clock?
Just look at me. Well, it's not really me, but a painstakingly crafted reproduction. Do I look like a blob of tissue to you...something you'd expect to find in the dumpster behind a clinic? I don't think so. And, I don't think you do either. Not in your heart-of-hearts. Not in the depths of your soul, away from noise of the culture. You know better. And if you're a woman, this knowing is hard-wired into your DNA. You cannot escape it...this knowing...this gnawing.
Thanks again for checking in. Sometimes I get lonely and scared in here. Mommy doesn't talk to me. She's too scared to admit that there really is a me...a woman-in-waiting. I'm roaring as loud as I can, but she can't hear me. Nobody seems to be able to hear me. Hmmm, here's a thought. I hope you don't mind my asking...
...will you roar for me?