Fetus-Hating Grandmother or Daughter-Loving Mom?
Abortion laws put my family at risk
“I feel compelled to reiterate my personal view that this decision to repeal the abortion ban in Arizona effectively means that we are allowing the murder of unborn children up to 15 weeks of pregnancy.” — Arizona House Speaker Ben Toma, referring to legislative efforts to strike Arizona’s 160-year-old near-total abortion ban.
I’m preparing to welcome a new grandchild, and oh my god, I’m so excited. Thus far I’ve crocheted a pair of baby shoes, two sweaters and a blanket, and bought lots of tiny, cute clothes. I’m helping to plan my daughter’s baby shower, and I’m currently re-learning all I can about labor and delivery, in order to support my daughter and her husband when her time comes.
But according to conservatives, I also delight in murdering unborn children — because I oppose a 160-year-old law banning abortions in my state.
How can this be? Why would an enthusiastic grandmother object to a law restricting abortions? Why will this fervently devoted mother celebrate when Arizona’s 1864 abortion ban is finally laid to rest? Why would I, who planned and delivered and loved three babies, who never chose (or was in the position of needing to choose) to terminate a pregnancy, passionately support that right for others?
And how can political and religious groups possibly believe that someone like me could simultaneously celebrate a new life while savagely enjoying the thought of killing fetuses?
It’s absurd. Of course it is.
A mother’s fear
Here’s the truth. When I learned that abortion would be essentially banned in Arizona — that the state’s GOP-appointed Supreme Court had ruled that women would be forced to abide by a Civil War-era law — I felt a rush of terror. My pregnant daughter lives in this state. Her age puts her pregnancy at higher risk. Her journey to motherhood hasn’t been easy, and involved IVF.
What if something went wrong? Would she get the help she needed? Could she get it in time?
My daughter resides in a rural area. She has limited — very limited — options when it comes to medical care. Would her maternity clinic close? Would her OB/GYN stop treating patients? Would her area’s one and only hospital decide it’s too risky to continue serving pregnant women? Would the lives and welfare of my daughter and her little one be endangered?
I want to be a grandmother again. I want to meet my daughter’s baby. But I don’t want to lose my daughter in the process.
And not only do I want my daughter to survive, I want her to be able to bear another child, if she so chooses. I want her long-term health to be protected. I want her IVF clinic to continue to offer its services, so that couples such as my daughter and her husband, who desperately want children, can get the help they need.
Knowing how much can go wrong with pregnancy, I also want no grandchild of mine to suffer. I want my grandchild to be able to leave this world gently if, heaven forbid, it develops in a way not consistent with life outside the womb. I want my daughter and her husband to be able to decide, with their doctor, how to address the most unfortunate, heartbreaking situation that a pregnant couple can face.
When I was having children three decades ago, I enjoyed these basic human rights. Now I want my daughter to receive the same dignified, compassionate, life-saving care that I did. I want my daughter and grandchildren to be treated with at least as much consideration as we give our treasured pets and valued farm animals.
Is that too much to ask?
And my granddaughter — for the wee one is a girl — what about her? What would this 1864 law mean for the daughters and granddaughters growing up in my state?
The law carries no exception for rape or incest. Little girls could and would be forced to carry their rapists’ babies. They could and would be forced to raise children while they are yet children.
And what would happen to these babies born to babies? The pain goes on and on.
Mothers unite!
The weekend after the Arizona Supreme Court handed down their heartless decision, I found myself in a local sweet shop, signing a petition to put reproductive freedom on Arizona’s November ballot. I wasn’t alone. A dozen other women, mostly middle-aged and older, were in the petition line with me.
Conservatives would have you believe that these grim-faced women — plus the millions of other mothers and grandmothers opposing abortion restrictions — are evil, eager baby killers who don’t understand that their defense of reproductive choice is morally reprehensible.
How condescending! How patronizing to tell those of us who have willingly carried babies in our bodies and lovingly pushed them out — who have fed them from our breasts, comforted them with our warmth, supported them with our labor — that we somehow don’t know what’s good for us, for our daughters, for our grandchildren, for our families.
Thanks to the efforts of Arizona’s Democratic lawmakers and governor, plus a scant handful of Republicans, the abhorrent 1864 abortion ban looks as if it will once again fade into history (although when exactly this will happen is still a matter of conjecture).
It’s my deepest hope that the issue will be forever resolved this coming November, and that voters will be able to decide whether Arizona’s women have a right to modern medical care, or if they must continue to fight for more reproductive freedom than their great-great-great-grandmothers had.
I’ll be there, with my vote and my voice. Am I a grandma who hates unborn babies? No. I’m a mother who wants the best for those she loves, and for the loved ones of others. As long as laws, religion, and a political party put my family at risk, I’ll do what good mothers have always done. I’ll work to keep my babies safe.
