The organisers of slutwalk are suggesting that parents bring their children along to these marches. Now I don’t want to come over all Mary Whitehouse, if women want to don their leather bra and hot pants and march along the street to protest about rape in the name of empowerment that’s entirely up to them, although the point of these marches has escaped me.

Do the organisers really think that these walks are going to prevent rape or sexual assaults, which anyone with half an ounce of common sense knows, is never about the victim, the fault or blame always lies with the attacker. Let’s be clear here, rape and sexual assaults are always about power and violence, sex is simply the weapon used to inflict this upon another. A woman or man, walking down the street or out and about in the general public, does not consent to sexual assault by virtue of how they may be dressed or behaving. The majority of rape victims are women, although we cannot forget that male rape is also prevalent in society,  but it must be remembered that the reported crime figures regarding the incidence of male rape is estimated to be only the tip of the iceberg, most incidents go unreported, due to the still very taboo nature of the crime.

Are any potential rapists likely to go home and re-think their lives on the basis of witnessing the march? Or will the sight of women sexually objectivising themselves and ironically, for a bunch of feminists turning themselves into objects for fetishistic sexual admiration, further entrench the link between dress and sexually promiscuous behaviour? Will women in their micro-mini skirts and bras reinforce the idea that women are simply objects for the viewing pleasure of men? Will this whole march prove somewhat counter-productive as women are deliberately flaunting their sexual attributes and buying into the whole “prick-tease” attitude? We know that men are wired to respond sexually to visual stimuli whereas a woman’s sexual responses are, on the whole, more complex than a simple physical reaction. Slutwalking is glorified teasing. It’s saying look at me, I am a sexual being, I have the freedom to dress as I want, to behave as I want (none of which are freedoms that I would wish to deny) I’m going to dress as provocatively as I can, I’m going to associate myself with a word that has connotations of not being choosy about with whom I might have sexual relations, and if a man has a sexual response to me on the basis of how I am dressed, then he has to deal with it.

All of which is fine up to a point, of course if a man does have a physical response to a woman, then he needs to ensure that his sexual desires are appropriately and consensually channelled,  and the same applies to women. But the question needs to be asked, if women don’t want to be objectified, if they don’t want to be “slut-shamed”, i.e judged by their sexuality and potentially feel unsafe as a result, why they then choose to present themselves solely in terms of their sexuality? There is nothing brave or empowered about going on a slutwalk, whereby safety is guaranteed in numbers. All it does is present a totty fest for the likes of Jeremy Clarkson.

Dressing in a sexually provocative fashion is usually something that is grown out of by the mid twenties. Most teenagers who dress sexually provocatively, do so because they are insecure, they want to attract the opposite sex, they want to be attractive to the opposite sex, but haven’t yet gleaned the emotional maturity and sophistication to work out that there are better and more effective ways of meeting your soul-mate than simply reducing yourself to a collection of your various body parts. And why is it that a chorus  ” you’re not going out dressed like that” still resonates around most households containing a teenage girl, the length and breadth of the country? Is it because parents want to “slut shame” or is it because parents are actually wishing to protect their children, because they realise the message that teenagers may inadvertently or otherwise be sending out? That they realise that their children may be solely identifying themselves as someone who is available for sexual activity, something that is fraught with danger for inexperienced teens.

Most women come to the realisation that actually they want a partner who loves them for who they are, soul, mind and body, not just the latter. To dress sexually provocatively screams immaturity and attracts attention for all the wrong reasons. Generally women who dress like sluts are not taken seriously by men and women alike and with good reason, namely that they are reducing themselves to the level of an object, they are showing themselves in a one-dimensional aspect. And by dressing sluttily I mean by leaving nothing to the imagination. There is a distinct difference between dressing sexily, which leaves room for  a hint of imagination and dressing in a sexually explicit fashion.

And this is why I find it incredible that the organisers of this walk, are inviting people to bring their children. No doubt these would be the same type of women who would scream at me for taking my children along to a pro-life rally due to it being “inappropriate”. I cannot think of anything more inappropriate  than to take children along to a march which is concerned with the very adult business of sexual behaviour. To take my seven year old along, would surely necessitate an explanation of both sex and rape? How on earth is this appropriate for a child? How is appropriate to take a child along to a march where she will be surrounded by people dressed in a sexually provocative fashion, and explain that men like to see ladies dressed in their knickers and that sometimes a lady in this state might make a man want to do things to her without her consent which could hurt her? How on earth does one explain to a young child the various implications of the word ‘slut’?

Is it really appropriate to start teaching children that they can have sex with whoever they like and whenever they like and there should be absolutely no consequences? Surely by introducing the idea that others may be judgemental of their sexual behaviour, that in itself gives them pause for thought about sexual behaviours and norms? I can just imagine what my child’s school, who operate a zero tolerance policy on swearing and bad language, would make of her weekend diary detailing slutwalking with mummy and the accompanying drawings.

The word “slut” implies that one is not particularly choosy about one’s sexual partners, that one has plenty of them and defines themselves by their sexuality. Well that’s fine and dandy, you have as many sexual partners as you like and be proud of that, dress as provocatively as you like, be seen purely in terms of a sexual object, invite men to be sexually aroused by your appearance, but don’t expect me to endorse your quasi page 3 parade nor pass that message on to my children.

I wonder how many women who feel that it is so empowering to walk semi-naked through the streets with a group of similarly attired women, at zero risk of assault, would actually choose to wear the same clothing, or lack thereof and walk through a city centre alone in the small hours of the morning? Or would encourage their daughters to do similar? Because if we don’t invite sexual appraisal by our appearance, then surely both a niquab wearing and  scantily clad woman walking through a city centre alone at 2am would be at identical risk?

It’s all about taking responsibility and taking ownership.  You choose to dress in a sexually provocative fashion, then you choose to be judged purely in those terms, like it or not. That’s not inviting rape, as I stated, the responsibility always lies with the attacker, but you are marking yourself out as a target for those with proclivities towards sexual violence, regardless of whether that’s right, just or fair. In an ideal world, a woman should be able to wear whatever she likes without inviting judgement, be that bikini or burka. The world we live in is far from ideal and defining yourself purely in terms of sexuality or sexual attractiveness does little to change stereotypes.

Besides far more empowering is knowing that you don’t need to define yourself in those terms, that your attractiveness and sexuality transcends the mere physical. Tramping around in the altogether, celebrating your freedom to dress as you please is one thing, but don’t expect it to change any attitudes. Still Primark might finally discover that they have a run on their padded bras for seven-year olds.

Why I am so vehemently opposed to abortion? Well just lying here in bed, gazing at Felicity, and thinking how beautiful and perfect she is in every way.

I then think back to the abortion that was suggested on 3 separate occasions in pregnancy. It terrifies me to think how easy it could have been to take this “healthcare option”.

There are no words that can accurately describe the horror of any physical harm coming to my baby and the thought of preventing her from being born or existing is beyond my comprehension. Why should she have been denied a chance to live, why should she have been killed at what would have been 22 weeks, because she was inconvenient.

To the troll who commented “just what the world needs, more jobless people having babies” do you still think I should have killed this child? To the doctors who suggested there were strong medical grounds to kill my child were you really justified?

She is perfect in every way and I am apoplectically angry that we live in a society that would have not only turned a blind eye but also sanctioned my killing my beautiful baby as moral and licit.

On what grounds was it OK to kill my child and how in the name of all that is good and holy can this be right?

Gruesome rumours regarding Margaret Thatcher’s alleged imminent demise swept Twitter today. It was something of an unpleasant spectacle, quite why someone would think it amusing to fake a news report stating that anyone was hours from death is beyond me. Almost as bad was the inevitable gloating, invoking the usual clichés of dancing on her grave and worse. What struck me, is that much of the sentiment eagerly anticipating her death and the celebrations that would follow, came from precisely the same people who have been professing so much outrage about the assassination of Osama Bin Laden. There seemed to me to be more than a little dissonance between on the one hand,  people working themselves up into states of apoplexy about the killing of the leader of a known terrorist organisation and on the other, positively wishing for a nasty, painful and protracted death of an eighty-five year old woman in frail health, who was as well as being a democratically elected leader, was a mother and grandmother.

I don’t hold with the dehumanization of anyone. Whilst I can’t bring myself to feel grief-stricken over the death of Osama Bin Laden, I can see that perhaps America had legitimate grounds for his execution, there are nonetheless some moral issues to consider here. Fr Lombardi struck entirely the right note when he said that

“faced with the death of a man,  a Christian never rejoices but reflects on the serious responsibility of each and every one of us before God and before man, and hopes and commits himself so that no event be an opportunity for further growth of hatred, but for peace.”

We are all created with equal dignity and worth, emotive hyperbole only serves to dehumanize us, thereby justifying acts of violence, and just as Osama Bin Laden was a father, Margaret Thatcher is a mother and grandmother, the difference being that like her or loathe her, Margaret Thatcher did not set out with the aim of wantonly killing swathes of non-combatants, nor was she filmed laughing and celebrating the slaughter of thousands of innocent people. I am well aware that some people might argue that her government had precisely the same effect, however the difference is Maggie was the democratically elected prime minister of this country, voted for by the vast majority. She did not order or sanction the wholesale slaughter of innocent civilians, British troops were not asked to indiscriminately kill vast swathes of population. Whatever Margaret Thatcher did was to act in what she believed to be in the best interests of this country. I don’t think one can accuse her or Denis, of being motivated by self-interest, book deals, publicity stunts or freebies.

Which brings me to the main point, namely state funerals. The question of whether or not a state funeral would be appropriate was mooted. My answer was initially no. It seems to me that either all former British prime ministers should be accorded a state funeral, or none of them should. I then wondered whether or not Margaret Thatcher should be given a state funeral simply on the basis that she was the first female ever to reach the highest echelons of power.

I’ve come to the conclusion that every single former British Prime Minister who has served at least two terms should be accorded some sort of public funeral as should a prime minister who dies whilst in office. Even Blair, whose actions I find indefensible and who frankly makes my blood boil. By public funeral I’m not talking of a royal affair with gun carriages, 21 gun salutes, or any sort of lying in state. I think, in the case of Margaret Thatcher any sort of lying in state, would be of more detriment than of benefit and this would probably apply to most prime ministers We are not talking about venerating the relics of a holy saint, or according former prime ministers a holy and hallowed status, but I think it is only right and proper that the state holds some kind of public ceremony as a mark of respect for the office itself, for our traditions of freedom and democracy and in thanks-giving for those prime ministers who have, often to the detriment of their own personal health, dedicated a prolonged period of time to acting in what they believe to be the best interests of the country. Particularly when, in the cases of Thatcher, Blair and even John Major, they have been democratically elected by the vast majority of the country. Why not give the office of prime-minister the respect it deserves? It was morally indefensible that democracy was snubbed by the omission of two former serving prime ministers at the royal wedding.

Let history and God be their judge and let us be grateful that we do live in a country that will permit us to wear t-shirts hastening and celebrating the demise of a grandmother riddled with Alzheimer’s.

Arrived at 12:45 pm on Thursday 21st April, via planned cesarian section, at 39 + 6, weighing 8lbs and 2oz. I am still alive and she is thriving, so as predicted, I do feel a little silly for publicly stating quite how terrified I was by the whole process. Although I am more than aware that I have a propensity towards melodrama, my fears were not entirely unfounded. I do have a history of hemorrhage, the final few visits to the midwife and consultant involved much talk of cross-matching of blood and being aware, that my previous section had involved a right-angled incision which had nicked a vessel.

Probably fairly routine stuff, but to a medical ignoramus who seems to glean most of her knowledge either from google (bad idea) or Holby City, the prospect was rather terrifying. I had been holding out for a natural birth and though I have absolutely no need to feel defensive about having a section, various press headlines that constantly mention the unacceptably high rates of cesarian sections performed in the UK, combined with the “are you like one of them celebrities who are too posh to push remarks” and disappointed looks I received from various acquaintances, together with my own sense of failure that my body seems to refuse to do what should come naturally in childbirth have made me hyper-sensitive. I will spare the gory gyneaological details, but my consultant concludes, “square peg, round hole, you’ve just got a funny shaped pelvis Mrs F”. Even my midwife, who had been very supportive of plans for a home-birth last time round and in common with most midwives is an advocate of natural birth, felt that in my situation, a natural birth, though not impossible, was highly unlikely. In the event, it was felt that at 39 weeks, with the head still free floating and my blood pressure rising, that a c-section would be the safest option. C-sections certainly have their place, without them, I suspect I would number among the childbirth mortality statistics, but anyone who thinks that they are somehow an easy option is sorely mistaken.

I was more than a little staggered when the anaesthetist conducting the pre-op procedure blithely informed me that if his partner were having a baby he would definitely want her to have a c-section before a natural birth, no question! For medical professionals it seems to be all about medically managing what is, for the majority of women, a perfectly straightforward process, but from my perspective, having experienced a natural birth (albeit a very stressful one, entailing 56 hours of labour and resulting in a high cavity forceps delivery with many related subsequent problems) and now two cesarians, my preference would be for a natural, even if assisted , birth without a  shadow of a doubt. The procedure was traumatic, to go into gory detail would be inappropriate, suffice to say, that unlike the birth of our previous daughter, we have no nice photos to share from the operating theatre. The one brief snap that was taken involves me with an oxygen  mask and several canulas. Then it all got a little hairy.

The good news is that Felicity is thriving. As of yesterday she had already regained her birthweight and weighed 8lbs 4oz. I don’t go in for obsessively weighing babies, being my third I could tell she was absolutely fine, without needing the official check, but it was reassuring nonetheless. I’m in that post-natal mess phase; due to subsequent complications, I am suffering with a low iron count, a problem that dogged me throughout pregnancy, an infection and am the usual mix of hormones and exhaustion,so am at times even more emotional than usual. Low spots include a violent reaction to ferrous sulphate and a sobbing fit in Mothercare when I was informed that my breasts are now an H cup, the only lingerie being available resembling barrage balloons and official confirmation that my cleavage dwarfs Ann Widdecombe’s. For someone who suffers from more than a  spot of body dysmorphia and considers herself fat at a size 10, this temporary change in body shape is taking some coming to terms with. It serves as an excellent lesson in humility and when I see how much benefit Felicity, like all my babies, is deriving from being breast-fed.  I know that it is a small price to pay, but the sight of Pippa Middleton in all her finery brought about a most unedifying attack of envy and determination to hit the WiiFit once I have been declared fit to resume normal activity.

Right now, life is once again extremely hectic with the demands of a week old baby, a 17 month old and a seven year old. There are moments when I’m overwhelmed by it all, moments when I’m riding on a crest of adrenalin and definitely pushing things physically and others when I just want to collapse in the corner in a sobbing, tired heap of emotions. I was released from the hospital on Holy Saturday and attended the Easter Vigil high on painkillers and adrenalin. It was perhaps one of the most moving services of my life, certainly it seemed more than a little appropriate that this was the first Mass that we took Felicity to, I apologise to anyone reading this who spotted me sobbing away on a tide of happiness and gratitude in the pews. I am also extremely grateful for Fr’s look of horror when I asked him prior to the birth whether or not an Easter vigil baptism might be possible. Both him and my mother-in-law were flabberghasted and a little concerned that I was even contemplating leaving the house a few hours after discharge, however my husband knows quite how tenacious I can be when I set my mind on something and was therefore resigned and thus supportive. Though an Easter vigil Baptism would have been wonderful, it would also have been highly inappropriate, the state of my health would have overshadowed proceedings and the day would have been remembered for all the wrong reasons.

In my more rational moments, I know that this current phase of permanent exhaustion and roller-coaster of post-natal hormones will pass. Looking at how big our 17th month old appears by contrast, I also know how quickly this little newborn phase will pass and thus I am determined to enjoy it. Felicity just seems so little and fragile and yet it feels like only yesterday that Imogen, the 17 month old was at exactly the same stage. Yesterday the umbilical cord fell off prompting yet more tears. It inexplicably felt sad, the end of an era, her physical connection with me being severed. But this is the job of parents, to help children to grow to be healthy independent people in their own right. Today, she seems to have woken up from her newborn slumber having been asleep for the majority of the past week and is fully opening her eyes. She has been quite jaundiced so we have been putting the moses basket in a sunny window which has worked wonders in terms of her colour and no doubt has contributed to her new wakefulness.

Life is not going to be easy over the next few months.I feel pulled in several different directions, under self-imposed pressure to be the perfect mother to all my children, but inevitably with 3 of them,  they are not going to get the same amount of attention as my eldest daughter did when she was just the only child. This weekend we had a Royal Wedding diary to complete, with 6 blank pages for writing and decorations and drawings to complete. The teacher had sent a helpful email with extra pages attached and prizes such as Headmaster’s commendations on offer for super work. I am achingly conscious that my daughter’s effort will probably pale in comparison with those of the uber-mummies and competitive parents, being something of a rush job, but with a week old baby and a 17 month old, time and resources are limited. I still feel terrible that I have let her down. It’s been a glorious weekend, we should have been romping in the park, instead I have been sat on the sofa with a baby glued to my breast, unable to do much physical activity because it brings on blood loss. Moments like that make me feel like the worst mother in the world. My time and attention are finite and I feel more than a little inadequate.

But all of this shall pass and things will settle down. When I discovered that I was pregnant, I knew that we would shortly lose our home, our circle of friends, acquaintances and parishioners to whom we had grown close. Everything that was physically grounding us was about to go. We had no idea where we would be living or whether or not my husband would get some kind of a job or if we’d have enough money to survive. I was just embarking on a degree in English Literature, a long-cherished ambition and all of a sudden life was thrown into a massive haitus, everything seemed to be beyond our control and my degree, the one piece of permanence and stability, had to temporarily fall by the wayside.

Each subsequent pregnancy has been harder on me physically. I fell pregnant when our daughter was 8 months, I was still breast-feeding, I struggled on until her first birthday so I could feel that I’d done the right thing for her, but obviously I had only just begun to fully recover from the pregnancy and birth and there I was pregnant again. There are no words to adequately convey how very difficult the last nine months have been physically and emotionally. There have been times when I have been on the very brink, overwhelmed by sickness, tiredness, general despair and panic. I have felt an utter failure as a woman, that I didn’t once bloom, that my condition meant that I couldn’t be the wife and mother that I wanted to be, I looked at all these active blooming healthy women jogging around the park or attending film premieres with undisguised envy. What was wrong with me, why couldn’t I just pull myself together and find some energy? The answer was an iron problem that never managed to fully resolve itself,  constant sickness, diagnosed ante-natal depression and in the latter stages, SPD and  restricted mobility.

But, grim as that all sounds, I am still here and I am blessed with another beautiful healthy baby. I have not had an easy time at all, far from it, but when I look at my baby, who is here now, snuggling under one arm as I type one-handed, I know that it has been more than worth it and though absolutely not desperate to do the whole thing again, I would in a heartbeat.

I am passionately pro-life, I know first-hand how physically and emotionally draining an unplanned pregnancy can be, this is not the first time that I have coped with an unplanned pregnancy, coming at what might seem the most inopportune of times, but the reward has been more than worth the effort. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was offered a termination at 7 weeks, at 18 weeks and at 21 weeks respectively. With all that was going on both physically and emotionally, it seemed like there was a “clear case”. My iron levels were low, my energy was low, I had hyperemesis and I was depressed and frightened;  our world and future was in turmoil. I blogged for a bit of therapy and received hate-mail and trolls. One of my commenters noted that  ” you had unprotected sex, you behaved like an irresponsible 16 year old, you got pregnant, well done you”. There was a lot worse besides.

Point is this. I am not special or particularly strong. I was given all these ridiculous doomsday scenarios about my pregnancy, blood loss and so on and so forth and I’m still here, I’m alive and I have a healthy baby. My pregnancy is not a typical physical experience although I know emotionally many women, even with planned pregnancies go through the mill. I did it, I got through it, it was to date one of the most difficult times of my life, I know I should have been grateful, happy and excited but I was none of th0se things and I experienced guilt on a daily basis, particularly knowing that there are so many who struggle with infertility.

But I’m here, I did it, I’m alive and if I can do it and get through this, then anyone can. Yes prayer helped enormously, as did the support of my husband, but in terms of practical support we had very little. Both sets of parents live hundreds of miles away and have suffered major illness, my father having had a massive heart attack at the beginning of the year, shortly after his 70th birthday. It is only thanks to the support of Christians, both in real life and the on-line Catholic community that gave me the courage to go on. To those who helped, thank you, you know who you are.

When I told my mother I was pregnant her response was “oh NO, that IS bad news”. Other people on-line berated me for my use of NFP, told me how stupid I’d been and expressed sentiments that I’d probably carry on having children until my uterus prolapsed. Others thought it was no bad thing that my “options” had been discussed and probably I was being very foolhardy in not having an abortion. It didn’t help to be repeatedly offered the procedure by various doctors and it scares me that it was brandished about so freely as an option in the later stages. An abortion may have been a short-term health “solution” but at what cost, both in terms of my baby’s life and my mental health. I would never have recovered or forgiven myself, though at times I felt that I would have done anything to recover equilibrium and health. I can see only too clearly how abortion might feel like the only sensible solution to a vulnerable and desperate woman.

Here is the reason why I am so glad that I kept going. Here is the choice that I made, although effectively there never was any element of choice in my mind. This is the child that I didn’t want ending up in the sluice drain and this is the image that I kept in my mind throughout the whole period.

As well as being an early Christian martyr and a patron Saint of mothers who are separated from their children because of war or persecution, Felicity also means bliss or happiness. I don’t think we could have chosen better.

Those who read my article in the Catholic Herald over Christmas will know that Christmas had a special poignancy for us this year, it being the first time we could celebrate the coming of Our Lord together, no longer divided, either physically or spiritually.

This coming Easter promises to be equally special, not only because of the celebration itself, but because of the birth of our child. Easter is always a time of great sadness and joy, and these themes are again echoed in our family circumstances. For the first time we should be able to celebrate the most important occasion in the Christian calendar fully united and yet we will be separate but for once not due to the demands of the Triduum: usually Easter Sunday consisted of four separate Masses, the vigil Mass, the 8am Sunday morning Mass, the 11am Service and finally on the evening of Easter Sunday we would attend Catholic Mass together.

This year seems strangely quiet and both of us are antsy. Robin, because whilst busy at work, is missing the usual Holy Week preparations, there’s been no veiling of statues and icons, no Church to prepare, no Agape supper, no Holy Thursday foot-washing and watch, no Good Friday Walk of Witness, Childrens’ Stations of the Cross, Vicarage Hot cross Buns, Solemn Liturgy and none of the weekend services. This was brought home on Passion Sunday, being ‘just a voice in the crowd’ instead of traditionally reading the part of Christ, seemed bizarre, although being ‘just a voice in the crowd’ is proving to be a humbling and enriching experience. After having led the parish Triduum for 14 years, participating as a member of the parish congregation is giving ample time for spiritual reflection, as opposed to spending Holy Week caught up in the usual whirlwind of preparation and homily writing. This week he was ruefully practicing his singing of the Exultet, something that he won’t need to worry about for a good few years and when he does, no doubt the words will be  those of the new translation.

I am also restless because the baby is going to be born on Holy Thursday. Whilst on Passion Sunday we were urged to bring all of our families to all of the celebration of the Triduum, this is not going to be possible. For the first time in years, I will be unable to participate at all in any of the services, it is likely that I’ll spend the entire weekend in hospital, unless of course they see fit to throw me out 24 hours post-section on Good Friday. Given that I found recovery very difficult following the birth of my second daughter and given that it is a Bank Holiday weekend, I am envisaging that due to staff holidays that it might well be a longer stay, but we shall see. In any event, my attendance either at the vigil or the Sunday morning service is not guaranteed and my priest kindly informed me yesterday that a dispensation was unnecessary.

Last year, I attended the Easter vigil at our local parish Church alone, with just the then 4 month old baby in her car seat. Robin had already begun his journey into the Catholic Church, we knew full well that this would be our last Easter apart, we had no idea where we would be this year, our priest joked with me that perhaps Robin would be received at this year’s vigil, but little did I think that a year on, I would be about to deliver our third child. I was simply looking forward to finally enjoying a quiet, reflective Holy Week, where we could fully participate together, but it’s not to be this year, obviously Robin is planning on attending as many services as he can, hoping to be able to participate in the watch on Thursday night, and the Good Friday solemnities, but with a seven year old and a 17 month old to look after, he’s going to have his hands full!

It’s a very peculiar feeling knowing the precise date you’re going to give birth.  It still feels rather surreal, I can’t quite believe it is finally happening. As I know that I will not be able to participate, or even receive communion, I’m finding it extremely difficult to focus. What isn’t helping is, that for a passionate pro-lifer, I ironically have an absolute phobia and terror of childbirth. If I could get out of it, if I could delegate, I would! Well, actually I wouldn’t,  in that one can unite one’s pain, fear and suffering to Christ, I can’t think of a better or more apt way to reflect the passion and resurrection, the giving up of oneself to usher in new life, than childbirth, but this is my Gethsemane moment. I am admittedly absolutely terrified.

Though not scared of death, I am scared of the moment of judgement. I have been to confession, I need to go again after getting rather angry and upset by the on-going on-line hate campaign, I am experiencing severe self-doubt in writing this, given some of the email I have received, particularly by the rather interestingly named commentator known as “Theresa’s mother” telling me that I am a “vile and hateful person, sick and twisted, being God’s friend won’t help you now, may he strike you down”. I am anticipating similar, the moment I hit the post button.  Actually I know the people who feel motivated to write these things are actually eaten away by their own hurt and anger and though I feel desperately sorry for them, it is still difficult to read, being designed to cause maximum hurt and being motivated by nothing other than spite. What I need to do is simply rise above it. There was an incredibly moving article written by Francis Philips in today’s Catholic Herald,reviewing the play that is shortly to open in Oxford, about the death of John Paul 2, coinciding with Divine Mercy Sunday. Since being introduced to Sr Faustina by the inspirational Sr Joseph Andrew, vocations director of the Dominican Sisters of Mary Mother of the Eucharist, in Ann Arbour, Michigan, who was an incredible source of comfort to me during a very difficult stage in my life, (please support these sisters in your prayers), St Faustina has had a particular significance. Sr Joseph Andrew was once kind enough to send me a special Divine Mercy Rosary containing a second degree relic of this incredible saint. Francis’ Philips words are very healing in that she suggests how wonderful it would be if we could all look upon our opponents with the eyes of Divine Mercy.

So spare a thought, not only for me on Thursday, but actually for all of those who are unable to fully participate in the Eucharist this Easter for many diverse reasons. Whilst we have so much to celebrate, including the reception into the church of the members of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, there is so much new life and resurrection, firstly we need to die with Christ and I know of a few people for whom Easter will be very poignant, either because they will be unable to be received for reasons of paperwork, or others I know who are still grappling with momentous decisions of conscience as to whether or not to join the the Ordinariate. May all of us who cannot participate in the Easter Eucharist still be able to make a meaningful spiritual communion.

I hope that death will not be a reality for me, but I am still scarred by memories of lying helplessly on the operating table, surgeons covered in blood, stating that they were finding it difficult to stop the bleed, my husband obliviously cuddling a purple screeching bundle, who I was desperate to hold and feed, whilst I lapsed in and out of consciousness, until they managed to sort out the problem. This  time, I know better than to bring in a CD containing what I thought to be very soothing music, namely Faure’s requiem. The procedure went on so long, that it moved onto Mozart’s requiem which was also on the disc, which whilst sublime, a crashing chorus of “Dies Irae” is not what one needs whilst in that situation.

No doubt in a week’s  time, with a new baby in my arms, I will feel very silly, but for now, I am scared, restless and of course excited. And in the meantime here is a prayer  to St Gerard for all expectant mothers:

I was alerted that the same poster who had called my daughter illegitimate, had copied my blog post about Kate Middleton’s confirmation, quoted it verbatim and used it to spark a discussion thread on the commercial parenting website Babyworld.

Though I am no longer engaging, it seems rather futile, I pointed out my displeasure. The problem with quoting me out of context or not providing a link was that it seemed to confuse some posters, who thought that perhaps Kate was being confirmed into the Catholic Church. The thread was titled, ” Is it fair to make Kate Middleton public property?” and copied my post word for word to justify the rhetorical question.

I am rather sore that my response has been removed. To recap, I left said forum because I was very upset that a thread regarding homosexuality degenerated into an attack on me, my Catholic faith and indeed my personal circumstances. I have yet to receive any sort of apology that this comment was misconceived or acknowledgement that certain comments could be considered offensive and perhaps deliberately provocative. I don’t expect one. The people who made these remarks have been very clear that they feel they were justified. In condemning divorce, my Church obviously makes it clear my daughter is illegitimate, it is not them who are saying it, but the Catechism allegedly…

I deserve the right of reply. So here is my response, which the moderators saw fit to remove. 

“Firstly, I have not made Kate Middleton public property, she was a public figure already. So quite why the OP needed to quote my blog word for word is unclear. Was she trying to have a sly dig? Why not be upfront about it. I am intrigued as to why someone, who seems to have personal difficulty with me, feels the need to read my blog, if her mind is made up as to the type of person she believes I am.
Secondly, the thread where my daughter was called illegitimate has been viewed by my local priest and a few others because I was genuinely very distressed and needed some pastoral advice. My conduct or motives have not been called into question, indeed it was felt that I was being deliberately baited or taunted, as again this thread has been viewed as a deliberate attempt at provocation. I have had someone keeping an eye on DDD for me for a while and I was advised not to look on here, because apparently, in the aftermath there was some deliberate provocation.

To call my daughter illegitimate and me a hypocrite for having an annulled marriage has been viewed as unkind, ignorant and irrelevant particularly in the context of the debate. Some of the accusations made about the Christian faith and Jesus as a whole have been seen as deliberately inflammatory and provocative. I defended my faith and indeed my knowledge of it vigorously as I am called to do.

There was much wilful misunderstanding and deliberate distortion and misinterpretation. A lot of fellow Christians were equally upset and offended on my behalf, at all times I remained polite and civil and yet I had a lot of absolute bile thrown my way.

I needed to vent frustration and I did just that. If you and BW would like I shall link to the entire thread, to put it all in context. I have been advised to do that by several people, however I consider the matter closed. Several people did not conduct themselves well, in the heat of the moment, perhaps I should not have blogged, but actually I felt the need to vent amongst those who have experienced similar and would understand. The level of abuse I received afterwards was unprecedented and uncalled for.

It is particularly telling that a moderator publicly told me I was insane, I should be ashamed and was unwelcome. I did nothing wrong, I quoted some highly offensive and publicly visible insults against me and my faith to explain why I was upset. They weren’t out of context either. Quite what my daughter has to do with the Catholic position on homosexuality is beyond me.

Westboro Baptist Church have been under immense scrutiny this month for some of their hateful actions which must be condemned. The burning of the Koran is seen as deliberately provocative, offensive and hate-filled. I think members who post what seem to be deliberately inflammatory statements such as calling me a hypocrite on the basis of a doctrine they don’t understand or even want to understand (by all means disagree but if you understood you wouldn’t call me a hypocrite nor tell me I had damaged my child in some way), members who use emotive phraseology such as “who the hell are you to tell me xyz”, tell me I am not a ‘normal’ Catholic, tell me that they have a deep-rooted faith and I don’t, and who trawl through a text they haven’t studied, in an attempt to prove how hateful and awful it is and reinforce and spread prejudice about THEIR view of Catholicism, can expect some verbal criticism.

Though I would never wish to deny anyone their right of free speech, I am glad we live in a society where you can say these things and insult me all you like, it needs to be acknowledged that I have the same freedom to criticise those posters and their words. It’s a 2-way street. It’s funny, the burning of the Koran has been justly condemned for being provocative, I was provoked in an identical fashion, what was said to me was every bit as insulting and what did I do, vent a bit of verbal spleen at what I perceived was ignorant attitudes and all of a sudden I am the villain. For what? Saying these remarks have desperately upset me and I think those who made them rather silly? And yes, I think anyone who calls my daughter illegitimate or implies the Catholic Church does or attempts to imply that I have been hypocritical and not lived my faith by having an annulled marriage, despite my repeated attempts to explain, displays misunderstanding at the very least.

I suspect the main problem was that people did not like being called ignorant or my highlighting what had been said. I remind everyone that BW is a public site, you do not need to be a member to view threads. Had I linked to thread, there would have been a similar outcry.

I have no problem with Rosi linking to my blog or reading it if she chooses to. It just seems bizarre to have C&Ped my blogpost in this fashion. What was the point? To critique that I had talked about Kate Middleton? Well she’s a public figure and this issue IS of interest to Christians. Every year my husband led packed adult confirmation classes.

If the point was to talk about Kate being in the public eye, there are plenty more articles from far more prolific sources than me. Why not highlight one of the ubiquitous articles about her outfits, weight, appearance? If it was to talk about her confirmation then why not link to a news report?

If it was to link to a critique/discussion, in which I expressed surprise and disappointment re her apparent keeping of her faith a secret, then again there are other sources. It seems that she wanted to critique my attitude and attempt to get a thread going about those mean old Christians again. Or maybe she wanted to resurrect this whole debacle?

All I ask is that if you want to debate/discuss/critique/dissect my blog posts, you are honest about that. To many and certainly to the person who highlighted this to me, it just seemed like a piece of playground bullying and an attempt to drag me back.

I will shortly be posting a copyright notice on my blog, I am sure other bloggers or those who might write for a living (I don’t) would also share my concern at chunks of their blog being lifted and C&Ped verbatim, without a link/acknowledgement.

For those who might claim that I did just that to them, I would firstly apologise if they feel their privacy was breached, however BW is a public site. What I should have done is link to the entire thread. In terms of reaction, I would have had the same response, both from posters on here and from horrified Christians alike.

I apologise for the length of post and wish Christians a blessed Holy Week and everyone on Babyworld, regardless of faith, a Happy and Blessed Easter, whatever your plans might be.

Caroline “