This is actually part of a series I have been working on (Read:Thinking about in the shower) for awhile. The other parts will be up when I feel like it.

Deciding to become a parent, or discovering you are about to be can send you frantically searching the Internet reading every book you can find, and interrogating everyone you know who has ever seen a child on what to expect. The thing is, while the Internet has approximately two billion pages related to pregnancy and child-rearing, the bookstore has 76,003 books on the topic and most parents won’t shut up about their kids, and are more than thrilled to tell you the Right Way To Do Everything, 97% of the tips, tricks and information you find are going to be crap that has absolutely not-a-damn-thing to do with the actual pregnancy experience you will have and the actual child(ren) you will end up with. And, trust me, even if you DON’T ask, people are going to give you advice and tell you their horrible, horrible labor stories while using words like “mucus plug” and discussing “placenta options”. (The best option: Don’t look at it. Just…don’t. )
Anyway, as a veteran (ha!) mother of four with such credentials as “I haven’t locked any of them in my car by accident, yet.” and “Most of them can kind-of wipe their own asses!”, I’ve decided that this makes me qualified to give you advice that doesn’t suck, and share with you the facts that you really need to know about this journey you are about to go on.
I’m starting with toddlers, instead of pregnancy, mostly because I’ve spent the last week dealing with the stomach plague and this one was closer to being done than “pregnancy”.

-Toddlers are terrorists.
The first thing you need to know is that toddlers are, in fact, tiny dictators who will completely rule your life. The sooner you recognize this fact and accept it, the better off you will be.

-The “Terrible Two’s” start at 18 months

and um, I’ll let you know when they end.

-Your child is going to publicly humiliate you. More than once.
Childrens mouths learn to form words well before their brain learns to filter them (I’ll let you know when the filtering kicks in just as soon as that actually happens) so you will, at some point, end up in public with a child who  dramatically points at the overweight man behind you and asks loudly if he is the Staypuff Marshmellow Man, or why that lady is made out of chocolate. Also, you will, at some point, end up in a store or restaurant with a toddler who is screaming and flailing and basically acting like they have a problem that requires medication, or perhaps a priest. And half the people who see you will be judging you and thinking “MY children will NEVER act like that.” and the other half will be laughing at you because they know you were once the person judging THEM and saying “MY child will NEVER act like that.” and, well, karma is a bitch. Which brings us to…

-You will find yourself doing most of those things you swore you’d never do.
Don’t feel bad. All of us are great parents until we actually HAVE children. Also, don’t be surprised if you start channeling your own mother or father at some point.

-Nature made toddlers adorable to keep us from killing them.
No matter what kind of evil mischief your kid gets into, all they have to do is smile at you and all will be forgiven. For example, they could, say, strip naked while supposedly taking a nap, poop on the floor, empty the contents of every drawer in their room, cover everything-including themselves- with marker, and when you open the door and are just about to lose your shit, they will jump up, smile, throw their hands in the air and yell, “HAPPY BIRFDAY!” And all is lost.

-Everyone has an opinion. And they are all wrong.
When you have a kid, people seem to feel obligated to share with you what their child, nephew or third-cousin-twice-removed was doing at that age, and why your child is slow/weird/possibly autistic for not. It’s going to make you crazy and you’ll be tempted to let it get to you and start playing “Keeping up with the Madisons'”. Don’t. So that Madison kid in your playgroup was walking at ten months and conjugating Latin by 2 1/2, while your baby has just managed to master the delicate art of getting her finger IN her nostril instead of her eye. There’s a WIDE range of “normal” for all those milestones so throw out that “What to Expect” book and relax. Unless your pediatrician is concerned (and in some cases, even if they are) do not stress over when your kid is going to walk, talk, jump, and learn French. It will come. I had one walk at nine months old and one walk at nearly sixteen months. But they all walked, eventually. Also, for the love of the gods,

– Do not stress about potty training.
Just don’t. Kids do it when they are ready. No sooner, no later. All the M&M’s and “Once Upon a Potty” books in the world won’t make a damn bit of difference if your child just isn’t ready. Just let them watch you go. (Yeah, accept the fact that you’ll be going to the bathroom with an audience for the next ten years, sorry.) Talk to them about it. Cheer and wave “bye-bye” after they flush for you. Sit them on the potty every so often. It’ll come. And once it does, you’ll get the wonderful tour of every dirty restroom in your entire city experience, and the joy of Teaching Them To Pee Behind The Bush At The Rest Stop so enjoy your diaper time while you have it. Also, put Post Its in your purse. Use them to cover the sensors on those godawful self-flushing toilets with the child-strength suction. Trust me on this, the “Toilets Trying To Eat Me” nightmares and an irrational fear of public toilets require lots of therapy (for you) and lots of peeing on the floor in Target (for them) (hopefully in that order).

-Your toddler will eventually learn to do everything.
At once. You’ll look over to see them riding a unicycle while juggling and singing “Twinkle, Twinkle” in French. And your camera batteries will be dead. And when you rush out and gather everyone you know to come and see, and you tell them all excitedly to “Watch what he can do!” they will surround him and he will be sitting on the floor, drooling, with a finger up one nostril…THIS he will do for the camera.

…and no pants. Even though he had pants five seconds ago and Where the hell are your pants, kid?

-Toddlers live by a unique set of internal rules.
These rules usually require them to want the opposite of any given thing at any time. If the light it on, it must be off. If something is closed it must be opened, if it is opened, it MUST be closed. When you want to stay, they want to leave, when you want to go, they must not leave, ever. Don’t ever ask them what they want, to wear for example. (The answer will be “No.”) Give them two choices you are ok with and let them pick one. (The answer will still probably be “No.”)

-They are faster than you.
You will spend twenty minutes wrestling them into clothing and shoes and then you will turn around, pick up your purse and take one step only to find them completely naked with shoes on their hands. Plan accordingly. You will never be “On time” for anything again.
-99.4% of your Facebook Friends do not care about your experiences with potty training. That adorable picture of your toddler in the bathtub with a soap mohawk? The sweet video of him in his first halloween costume toddling towards the camera?

They. Don’t. Care.
Your kid is the most adorable and awesome kid in the world. But aside from the kids grandparents who live far away and that one friend with the puppy screen saver, the rest of the world does not want to see 1257864 potty training updates and video of every single thing he ever did, ever.

– Your kid is probably eating enough.
Yes, I know she had four Cheerios, a half a dog-treat and that thing from under the couch that might have been a skittle or might have been a bead for lunch. You’re going to stress about this. Don’t. As long as they get a somewhat balanced variety of food over the course of a week and they aren’t losing weight or turning funny colors, and poop is still coming out, it’s all good. Throw in a vitamin or some Pediasure from time to time if it’s bothering you that much.

-Don’t worry. They’re all bi-polar, manipulative little rabid raccoons.
You kid is going to be weird. And that’s normal. (probably) One minute they will be joyously laughing, the next, having the meltdown to end all meltdowns. Put DOWN the Lithium. Step away from the Internet child psychology websites. I know your cousins grandmas sister was psychotic, but so is every other toddler on the planet. They’ll grow out of it. (Get used to that phrase. Along with “It’s just a phase.” While true, it’s going to irritate the crap out of you because knowing it won’t last doesn’t HELP YOU NOW. But it does help to remember that this won’t last forever and you should try and embrace and cherish the good parts as much as you can. In retrospect, it all goes SO fast.)

-Your life will (still) revolve around someone elses bowel movements.
This starts with pregnancy, this weird poop-centric alternate universe where you spend more time then you ever thought possible thinking, talking and even writing about poop. Discussing your kids poop schedule will be done with your partner over dinner or your mother over coffee. It starts with the whole “Will I poop while pushing?” issue. (Yes.) From there it moves to “Are they pooping enough?” if you’re breastfeeding or “Is this formula making their poop weird” if not, and on to “When will they poop in the potty?” And “Why is there poop on the lamp?” And this won’t end until they are like, fifteen. (With any luck, they’ll stop pooping on the lamp around age six, though.)

-They learn SO much SO fast.
Little ears are listening and little eyes are watching. Everything you do. And right now is the time when their brains are set to full speed. They absorb everything. It’s actually pretty amazing. But don’t be surprised if you hear a Teddy bear repeating a phrase you use, with perfect inflection and all as it talks to a dinosaur. You will see a lot of you reflected back from your child, so it’s probably a good idea to watch what you do and say a bit more now. There’s nothing quite like the fun of hearing a snide remark you’ve made about the other mom in the playgroup coming out of your child in front of said mom at the next Mommy & Me class.

-At some point during this time, you’re going to do something that makes you feel like a failure as a parent.
You aren’t. We all fuck up. One of the good things about toddlers is that they have very bad memory skills. So if you accidentally do lock them in the car and the nice fireman has to come rescue them, chances are, they won’t remember it and i11f they do, it’ll be “That time I saw the fireman with the cool hat!”. Don’t feel too guilty if you drop a can of tuna on their foot or accidentally teach them to be a pyromaniac.

They’ll forgive you. (But your neighbors slightly singed cat might not.)

-Parenting a toddler is a lot like being on a roller-coaster.
There’s ups and downs and the occasional inconvenient vomiting. Every day you’ll look at them and feel your heart burst with love as you realize that adorable little blob of goos and gaas is turning into an actual person. A person that YOU made. And every day you’ll spend some time locked in your bathroom, hiding, because that person that you made really did not want THAT kind of juice in THAT cup. And now he really wants to hit you in the head with said cup. You aren’t bi-polar either. Welcome to toddler-hood.

It’s five am. Which I guess makes it really early in the morning and no longer late at night. The things I think about when I’ve hit that level of so-over-tired-I-can-no-longer-sleep are odd. So. Welcome to the shit I think about at five A.M. And the reason why I don’t sleep much. Sorry. This may make you want to drink Draino. You were warned.

I wrote a comment about god on someones blog post recently. It was a really good comment and it was probably the only time I’ve ever been able to really explain my views coherently. And blogger ate it. It’s not something I can recreate, because it will never be as good.
I hate that. It happens with lost blog posts too. Words just disappeared into the void, eaten by the impermanence of Internet, never to be seen again.
Sometimes the Internet seems almost more real than reality. We have conversations here, make life long friends, even meet our future lovers. We change peoples life for the better, or at times for the worse. And it’s all with the words and images we share. Words and images that can spread like wildfire, reaching people you’d never imagined being able to reach. A celebrity you adore might come across a tweet or blog post you’ve created, someone you admire from afar might actually read your words, and for a second, you’ll be connected. You might make a stranger smile today. You might make a friend think. Or, your words might hurt someone. Or, you know, be eaten by fucking blogger and never be seen again.

Speaking of reaching out to people, I’ve started a new project. It is called Strangers With Kindness and it’s about using the incredible magic superpowers that the Internet has given us all to make a difference in peoples lives. It’s about making the world a better place, one person, one story at a time. We will be sharing stories that highlight the good in people. That tell of how total strangers have reached out a hand to a fellow human in need and made their day.
Not only will we be sharing those stories, but we will be making them ourselves. We are going to find people out there who need a ray of sunshine in their lives, and we are going to Love Bomb them.
It’s going to be amazing. You want to be involved. The feeling you get from helping someone in need, for no reason other than to be awesome, is like no other feeling in the world. You want to feel that feeling. Trust me.

I’d actually planned on like, sleeping a bit tonight. But then the vomit fairy made a stop by my place. She’s a bitch, that fairy. She took out the eight-year-old just for the fuck of it. And for no reason that we can discern, other than to torture her, (and her mother) a bit. Thankfully, after seven straight hours of spewing out of all orifices, the worst seems over.
It’s funny how kids seem to be able to remain in high spirits even between bouts of side splitting poop-stravaganzas.
Us adults on the other hand are whiny crybabies, and if my husband catches this and I have to listen to him moan about how he’s never been so sick before in his life and he means it this time, for REAL, I’m probably going to have to smother him with my red throw pillow.
Don’t worry. As long as there is one wife on that jury, I’m getting off.

Kira got a card from her sisters today. At one point Vi writes “I love you and I miss you like heck!”
This kills me. These people are destroying the lives of four children.
I miss them both so painfully it hurts. But Violet, she gets to me the most. Because, Vi, is MY child you see. There’s a much longer story in here, but the abridged version is that she’s mine. She’s not theirs. Me and my ex were separated when she was conceived. I made some, er, unwise choices, being as I was, overcome with grief and rage after my then-boyfriend of five years and father of our then less-than-one-year-old-daughter confessed that he had been having an affair with the only woman I was allowed to have a friendship with. So, I ended up pregnant with Vi, in the usual way, and her “real” father claimed he was sterile and there was no possible way she could exist. And walked out. After cutting my brake lines.
Cue my ex-husbands brothers horrible tragic death in the middle of this Springer-esque drama, and we end up back together. I’d just discovered I was pregnant- eleven weeks or so at that-and I was very upfront and honest about it. He decided he would pretend the child was his and that was that. Everyone in our families knew and this led to his mother getting drunk one night and spending five hours trying to threaten, coerce, intimidate and plead with me to have an abortion. At twenty-four weeks. She also proceeded to tell me about her abortions which started at age fifteen, and how they weren’t so bad. She ended the night by telling me “Well at least she won’t be ugly” after having seen a picture of the biological father.
Anyway, my ex, (let’s call him “Rex” from now on.) threatened me with abandonment if I didn’t let him sign the paternity papers at the hospital. One of his favorite ways to keep me in line was to tell me if I ever tried to leave him or dud X, Y or Z, he’d leave me and take the kids and I’d be fucked, because I had no money, no skills, no job, no friends and no car. All carefully orchestrated by him, mind you. (The very first thing I did during that first split was finally get my drivers license, which, at age 20, I’d never been allowed to do.)
I digress. The point is, he signed the papers though I wanted to leave the birth certificate blank. It was obvious when she was born that she wasn’t his, based on blood type alone.
(He has since claimed he had a paternity test done proving she is in fact his. She’s not. Mathematically, and scientifically not possible. Besides that, she’s the exact female replica of her bio-father. Like EXACT.)
The point is, she is living with people who treat her like shit and let her sister beat the crap out of her, and who have no biological ties to her whatsoever. I’m not saying you have to be related by blood to have a living bond with a child, far from it. But I am saying, Rex, and his mother have made it quite clear that her sister is the favorite and they only keep Vi around to placate her. She’s the one that deals with the full force of her sisters diseases and disorders. She keeps her sister out of their hair, occupies her so they don’t have to.
And the last time she was here, she begged me, in tears to please PLEASE get her away from them, and her sister. Please.
And oh gods, I tried baby. I really did. She was absolutely terrified. The look or horror in her face when I told Rex and his mother what she wanted was pure fear. They both claimed if it was what she wanted they’d support it and then immediately started with the manipulation. They had signed her up for voice lessons, bought her a new bedroom set. Started sending her pictures of her beloved dogs daily, reminding her that she couldn’t take them of course. And once they went home they started grilling them about every second of their time here, twisted every.single.thing. Until the whole trip, in both their minds was a horror story of screaming and suck. The accounts my ex mother-in-law spewed at me of what she thinks happened here last summer were so incredibly fucked up, exaggerated and warped that it’s no wonder the kids “chose” not to come back this summer.
So yeah. My child was kidnapped and is now being mind fucked and abused. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.
She’s on fucking Klonopin to make her sleep. She wets the bed at ten still. She’s on Focalin or some shut for her supposed “ADHD”. Basically, she is drugged so they can control her. She was off all that shut for nearly three months when she was here- and sugar too, don’t even get me started on what these people feed these kids-and she was FINE. Perfect. Awesome and happy.
Fucking fuck. Just…fuck.

And this is why I shouldn’t write at five AM either.

As a parent, I absolutely love the perspective and comments of my non-“breeder” friends. (Usually-there are some rather large exceptions to this.)
Aside from getting a chance to live vicariously in a world that is not, generally, dominated by breastfeeding debate, finding the best BPA-free feeding utensils and being immersed in other peoples feces, the childless insight into parenting can be enlightening. Sometimes we parents get so wrapped up in our kids that we can’t see what is plainly obvious to an outsider.

So, I’m thrilled to be able to share with you this guest post on parenting by the amazing @kindalikethis ( Who blogs regularly here.)


The Best Parents Are The Ones That Don’t Have Children.

To tell you the truth, this is the first time in my life I have heard this phrase. Since the few days that have passed, I have been told it’s common? Anyways, I’m not a parent. And because I’m not a parent, I’m not one to tell someone how to raise, or discipline their child. But I AM a woman, and therefore I have maternal instincts, and a natural care toward children.

Last week I was on vacation in LA with my mom for her birthday. Disneyland. While in line for a ride, it kept stopping. They weren’t telling people to get out of line unless they knew it would be down for more than 30 minutes. So, needless to say, those of us in line were waiting for a while, and were tired. It was hot. A bunch of kids were walking around in costume, and little girls everywhere where wearing princess dresses; Belle, Cinderella, Snow White… you get it.

I think it would be sort of dumb for someone not to expect their children to sit on the hand-rails. I mean, in all my life I’ve never understood why they don’t put some sort of bench all along or something! I can hear a father telling his daughter behind me not to sit on the hand railing, because she was sitting on the bottom row and her dress was touching the ground. Hey, I understand, have you seen how expensive those things are?

I, my mother, and about six other people were all leaning against the rail ahead of them. I keep hearing him say to ‘get off the hand rail’ and she keeps saying she’s ‘not on it.’ After a few minutes of this, we, myself and the others leaning on the rail in line, start to feel a sort of jerking/knocking on the rail. I had my sunglasses and mini-mouse head-band ears on, and kind of turned to see what was going on.

This girl was maybe 8 or 9, and the dad was about as tall as, if not a little shorter than me. I’m 5’2”. His hands were wrapped around her wrists so tight her skin around his fingers was white. He was banging her elbows against the railing so hard, it was shaking six grown people along this rail. After a couple of times I finally couldn’t just sit there anymore and I yelled “EXCUSE ME!” really loud and he looked at me with this shocked look on his face.

–Side Note–
If you know me personally, or have followed any of my blogs for long enough, you’ll know I’m not afraid to voice my opinion and I don’t give two shits about my ‘language’ or ‘my mouth’ either. Fuck that. Freedom of speech exists and I waited a long time as a kid and a teen under my mothers roof to ‘do whatever I wanted’ when I was ‘grown up’ so fuck that fucking shit!

Without using a ‘language’ a parent would – hopefully – not want their young child to hear, I told him, in a VERY loud voice, that I understood she was HIS child and he has every right to discipline her. He was about to say something and I put my hand up, which basically was in his short ass face, and I told him if I saw him do it one more time I was going to report him to security. I told him if that’s the way he “disciplines” his child, I highly suggest not doing it in public if he doesn’t want someone doing something about it!

By the time I was done we had about 20 people staring at us. And a few giving me a “thumbs up” with a smirk on their face. I turned back around and left it at that. He didn’t say a word! Just stared at me! After a while I can hear the mother making comments about how she wouldn’t have been so nice, and ‘let someone say something’ to her. Excuse me? Where was she five minutes ago when I was yelling at her husband, a complete stranger? About HER daughter? ‘The fuck? I almost turned around and asked her if she didn’t speak until spoken to just to be a bitch, but it was Disneyland, and my mom’s birthday, so I ignored it. But honestly, you either say something then, when it’s happening right in front of you, or shut the fuck up. Period.

Say what you want, I believe in “physical” child discipline. As in yes, I believe in spanking! Anyone in my generation, or the generations before will say that their parent’s discipline is what kept them from being a prison inmate today, or being dead, or whatever. It’s what kept them from being stuck in a room all summer instead of being at the beach. The generations after me have no idea of this discipline, because all of a sudden, it’s bad to slap your kid. I don’t fucking think so, I think kids now have no clue and that’s why you read the news about teenagers being arrested for murder. MURDER! How bad if your life at 14 and 15 to kill someone for a gold chain and an ipod! Really! Go ride a fucking bike, go swimming, try to experience a god damned childhood for fucks sake.

But there is a fine line you walk being a parent who chooses to touch your child while disciplining them, and I believe that there is absolutely no reason for a parent to be slamming his young, small, frail daughter’s bony elbows into a metal railing hard enough to shake about a thousand plus pounds of people leaning on it. This thing is cemented into the ground. Really. You do the math.

After another twenty minutes of standing there waiting for this ride – god damnit we came all the way there and it was her birthday, we were going to ride this thing if it was the last fucking thing we did – I pretended as if I were going to ask the attendant how much longer we had to wait, which I did, but I also turned him in and told the guy the whole story anyways. When we got to the front, finally, they had security just chillin’, watchin. But I was told that there’s not a whole lot they can do unless they actually see him doing it again. All they can do it report it and keep and eye on them.

Enough for me. I said what I needed to say and it didn’t happen for the rest of the duration of them being directly behind us in line. Who knows what they do at home if they do that kind of crap in public! But I am the type of person who is going to say something if I feel something is out of line. I’m not a ‘bystander’.

¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•`

Being non-judgmental isn’t always easy.

I recently came across this article about selective fetal reduction in the case of twin pregnancy.
I admit, my first, (and second) reaction was gut-wrenching horror and deep sadness.
I was pregnant with twins once, you see.

The night before my first ultrasound, my husband and I were on our “honeymoon”. We spent a night away from the kids after our friends threw us a wedding. At about three a.m. Sunday morning, I woke from an extremely vivid dream in which the ultrasound technician looked at me over her screen and announced that there was, in fact two babies in there. Two peanuts, two alien-like sort-of heads, two hearts, both beating.

I shook my husband and told him, and his half-asleep reply came: “Cool, we can name them Luke and Leia.” before he rolled back over and resumed his own- I can only assume-light-saber filled-dreams.

The next day, that actually happened.

I admit, I was stunned. It was beyond surreal. I felt so many things. Excitement. Awe. And yes, even a glimmer of fear.

Mostly, I was thrilled. Sure, there were some holy-shit-TWO- newborns moments. Will I ever sleep again? How will I leave the house alone? And: FIVE kids. Eeek. So I read everything I could get my hands on and started accosting random strangers with twins with my questions. And I told people. Because I couldn’t contain my awe/panic/joy.

Sometime before 12 weeks, baby A died.
There were no symptoms. No bleeding. No cramping. Nothing other than an odd feeling of being “less pregnant” around 10 weeks.
These things happen, I was told. Maybe there was something wrong with him, I was counseled. I still had one healthy baby, I was reminded.

To say I didn’t take it well would be an extreme understatement. I spent the rest of my pregnancy googling “Hidden Twin Syndrome”  and feeling my belly obsessively. Maybe they were wrong when they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Maybe he didn’t really vanish. Maybe maybe maybe.
But he did die. He did vanish.

I suppose it’s understandable then, that my initial reaction to this article was something along the lines of: Fuck You.

I judged.

How could anyone willingly put themselves through that? I wondered. How could they, so callously, it seemed, destroy something that I’d do anything to have back? How could they deprive their remaining child of their twin, a relationship that is purportedly one of the most special bonds two people can share? I mean, they’d have been womb-mates, built in best friends for life! How could anyone take that away from their child because it’s inconvenient for them?

And I judged.

Though have not been in the shoes of these women and I cannot know what their lives are like or what experiences and facts their choice was based on, I know that if it was me, today, I would not make the same choice that they did.

And I judged.

I went away from the article. Tried to set it aside. But I kept coming back. I read the comments.
All of them.

It took awhile. And it hurt. It still hurts. But, I realized something eventually, reading those comments.
A great deal of them contained the phrase: “I am pro-choice, BUT…”

This started to get under my skin. It worked its way past my gut, past my heart, past my own experience. Past my judgment.

Into my brain.

Pro-Choice means PROCHOICE Not only choices we agree with. Not only choices we, ourselves would make. Not even only choices we feel are moral.

If we believe that a woman should have the right to choose whether or not to be pregnant, then shouldn’t she be able to choose how many children she is pregnant with? How is this different fundamentally than say, having an abortion after having three children already, because she knows she can not support a fourth? Putting aside the fertility medicine and babies as products aspect of this, it comes down to a woman (or family) deciding how many children they feel they can handle, doesn’t it?
(Note: While the consumeristic aspects of this story do bother me, and were harped on endlessly in the comments, I think that the core issue goes beyond that. This is now done for naturally occurring twins as well as “test-tube babies” so I’m choosing to skip over that part a bit, and focus on the act itself-not how it came to be.)

Then there were comments that said this: “This should be made illegal at once “

As sick as this issue makes me feel, this bothers me more. What about women who can’t physically handle carrying twins to term? What about those who can’t bear the financial burden of twins? Will  women deemed healthy be forced to carry to term and put one up for adoption?

A lot of people also seemed to hold the position of, “Well, if they didn’t want twins they shouldn’t have done IVF with two embryos.”

The thing is, in this country anyway, women undergoing IVF are encouraged to implant several embryos at a time to increase the odds of creating even one healthy baby. Some have even claimed feeling pressured to by the doctors themselves, because doing one at a time is considered a waste of time and money. Yes, there is a risk of multiples when doing IVF, but there’s also an increased chance of spontaneous twinning occurring, for some reason the odds of transferred embryos splitting is higher. So, theoretically a person could do everything to insure only one baby, and still end up with two. Should this woman be forced by law to carry both if that’s not what-for whatever reason-she wants? And where does it end? Will women be forced to keep triplets if a doctor thinks your body can “handle it”?

I’m not going to say that I came to a conclusion. That I know what’s right here. Because I don’t, not really. I know what I would do. But I haven’t walked in “Jennys” shoes.
I know that this makes me uncomfortable. Both the act AND the condemnation of it, somehow.
As hard as I try not to judge others for their choices, I can’t say that I wouldn’t judge a friend for making this choice. A lot of the people who spoke up about this either had twins or were twins themselves. I can’t really blame them for their harsh reactions. Because I get it.
But I’m trying really hard to get the other side of it as well.
What do you think?