Damn it, all I wanted to do was post a picture of these cute dior shoes I saw in Harper’s Bazaar last night… which turned into a “OMG I COMPLETELY FORGOT HOW MUCH I LOVED DIOR GOWNS” spam… which turned into a “I’ll never be skinny enough to fit into one of those”… which turned into a full on self loathing, I’m ugly moment. FUCK.
Sigh. Now on to find that gorge red Marc Jacobs piece.
I’m really having one of those “I’d love to be married in a Christian Dior gown” moments.
In reality… I watch WAYYY more tennis and I actually play. Can we just say I’m a man fan?
We could terminate the pregnancy, if we could find doctors and nurses willing to provide care, and if we could pay for it out of pocket, since my husband’s insurance was restricted from covering abortion care. Or we could wait. We could allow our son to suffer without comfort, to feel his bones being crushed and broken in the absence of amniotic fluid, until he died in utero, or at delivery, suffocating to death in the absence of developed lungs. Two specialists confirmed that he had no chance at life.
We struggled with the moral questions, the ethical questions, the religious questions, the practical questions, and how to explain to our living child that his brother would not be coming home. We questioned the meaning and value of mercy.
We “chose” to end the pregnancy – not for us, but because choosing mercy was the only thing we could do for our unborn son. I would have liked to have held him. Yet, I know our decision was the right one for our child. I know because of this experience that many times the choice to terminate a pregnancy is made because a woman value’s life: because she or her unborn child, or both is dying, or because they are suffering towards no purpose.
It wasn’t a choice I would wish on my worst enemy, but I’m grateful the choice was mine.” —Mary Vargas, “The Meaning and Value of Mercy” (via Feministe)