Mother had two beautiful daughters born three years a part. The first was a beautiful, large blue eyed, strawberry blonde named for her aunt and her great grandmother. The second was a cute, petite, pixyish brunette also with piercing blue eyes who was named for a cousin and a close friend. Now after six years, her husband’s new job a success, the purchase of their dream home in the suburbs, she was thrilled to be expecting again in hope of a son. She was still young enough – merely thirty – and so expected a healthy pregnancy and birth.
When the baby boy was born, he was truly the apple of his father’s eye. He had a shock of bright red hair , pale skin, and those big blue eyes that run in our family. He was named for both a saint and a baseball player. He was adored by the whole family and his sisters especially welcomed this new live doll into their hearts.
The worst thing about it for the girls was that now their shared bedroom also became a nursery for the baby, his crib, and other essential furnishings. It was time to add on another bedroom and an additional bathroom as a reward for the wife who had produced this squalling, laughing heir nicknamed “Pony Boy”.
When Pony Boy was one year old, Mother was already three months pregnant with another child.
“Why don’t you get an abortion?” Grandmother asked.
“Where would I go?”
“Mexico?”
“Unsafe.”
“Japan?”
“Too far. Too expensive.”
Mother became noticibly quieter sitting on the sofa in her red shorts jump suit, her belly growing bigger by the day. She had no choice but to have the child and a second beautiful son was born with that red hair again, those same blue eyes, and a sweet disposition. He was named after an uncle and his great grandmother. He grew into a kind quiet child with some learning challenges that could be traced to increased alcohol use due to Mother’s depression during that unplanned pregnancy so close together.
The discussion continues:
Abortion was illegal in the U.S. There was still the option of the back alley abortion by someone who might or might not be qualified to do the job. Sometimes in the past a woman in trouble could get a doctor or midwife to perform the illegal procedure. Grandmother herself had had three abortions in the days before birth control became reliable and readily available. Sexual mores were relaxing in the 1920′s to allow some experimentation by women who were a little wild and curious. Bathtub gin was the order of the day. Shortened skirts, bobbed hair, and jazz further enticed a generation who had been pent up by the 19th century. Many women died or received permanent injuries as a result of botched procedures. Grandmother almost died during one of these procedures.
Another problem occurred because of “change of life” babies. A woman thinking she didn’t have to worry as much about birth control became pregnant in her mid to late forties or even fifties. The risk of these pregnancies producing Down’s Syndrome babies was one out of nineteen. Down’s Syndrome kids are so sweet. They have sweet personalities, but are plagued with other complicated health problems as a result of their condition and usually have a shortened life span. Still, abortion was illegal even in these cases.
Birth control just didn’t exist reliably until the mid sixties when the pill gained approval and accepted use. Before the pill a woman had the choice of convincing her male partner to use a condom or she could use a diaphragm or spermicide. Condoms have actually been in use for thousands of years. In the way old days they were made from animal intestines and were used primarily to prevent the spread of venereal disease. Douching and the rhythm method were other unreliable methods used to prevent pregnancy. If a woman became pregnant her only recourse was to have the child or risk death in an illegal abortion.
Finally, we got a victory and the historic case of Roe versus Wade became law. Abortion became safe and legal. I was on the pill, but it didn’t work looking back probably because I wasn’t taking it correctly. I chose to have an abortion when I became pregnant by a casual relationship that I had no intention of continuing. Getting pregnant in the first place was a stupid mistake on my part, but the abortion wasn’t a hard decision. I simply went into the doctor’s office, filled out some papers and asked for one. Each of my siblings had to make their own choices and several of the following generation have also had choices.
When I got pregnant with my daughter I wanted a baby. I loved the mere idea of her. My daughter was born on Christmas Day and she was so beautiful and such a miracle that when I became pregnant with my son on her birthday one year later, I didn’t even consider having an abortion. It was great to have them so close together. I loved it, but I was committed to having only two children so I had my tubes tied when I was twenty-six the day after my son’s birth. The doctor was hesitant, but I insisted. A woman’s choice.
I come from a family of strong women. And I trace my lineage through my mother’s side. I am the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter of the youngest daughter of the daughter of Lydia Meekel who came across country on a covered wagon to the west. I long for a girl child from my own daughter to pass on my boon; a baby girl child with those famous blue eyes and reddish hair who I can sing to and rock with all my love. But I don’t know if I’ll ever have that. Because I taught my daughter that she has choices. She is thirty-five years old and she has already made two choices not to have children. I said nothing to her about it. it was her choice, but it was hard for me. It is always each individual woman’s choice – not the man- not any man. Not any other woman – each woman to make for themselves.
My great grandmother had seven children; she had no choice. My grandmother had three children and three choices. My mother had four children and no choice. I had two children and one choice. My daughter has had two choices and so far no children. Choice must be protected. Even if it means some of our lines die out. Each woman must have The Choice. Must. Choice is a must.
{ 0 comments… add one now }