I had a wee bit of a twitter spat with Steven Baxter of the New Statesman last night. He had attracted quite a bit of opprobrium after suggesting that “Seven-year-old children should be taught to put a condom over Nadine Dorries’ face”.

That was plainly an attempt at humour, clearly in poor taste and several tweeters pulled up Mr Baxter on the violent and sexist undertones of his “joke”. Whilst checking out the resulting brouhaha (@stebax on Twitter), I noted that he had called Dorries’ views on sex education “dangerous”.

I therefore enquired what he meant by dangerous. It seems to me that if, as the writer for a national publication (although the New Statesman is hemorrhaging readers) you are going to call a certain viewpoint dangerous, then a certain amount of elaboration and explanation is necessary. Otherwise we can all go around smearing those who hold viewpoints as contrary to ours as “dangerous” in an attempt to discredit what are legitimately held views and close down any meaningful debate. If something is dangerous, then there’s a possibility that it could cause real, definite and lasting harm. I fail to see how not having sex until adulthood falls into this category.

I can’t quite work out how to reproduce screenshots from Twitter onto a Mac as other bloggers do (any technical help would be much appreciated) however here’s the conversation in full, I’m in blue:

 I’m trying to understand @Stebax ‘s notion that teaching teens not to have underage sex is somehow dangerous…

 It’s not ‘teens’ though, is it? It’s just girls.

so teaching girls that they can resist pressure (from many different sources) is “dangerous”? I agree boys should be included too. 

It is to focus on them in the way Dorries is.

but given girls bear the brunt of pregnancy, abortion, STDs, cervical cancer, then it’s hardly dangerous to focus upon them.

Everyone can resist pressure. That is not what is being advocated, and you know it.

what do you think is being advocated? Serious question.

OK, the reason why I said what I said was because I was implying that was your tactic.

No, I’ll start by asking you, then I can pick holes in your tweet. Off you go.

what we are talking about is SRE. Not just plain mechanics, or here’s how to do it “safely”. Abstinence *plus* approach. Google it.

Why abstinence though? Google ‘patronising’.

because there is no such thing as 100% safe sex. Because condoms do fail. 15% typical use failure rate. Hormonal contraception also.

so the only way to truly prevent pregnancy is not to have sex. Society with high rate of teen sex has high rate of teen pregnancies

There’s no such thing as safe life. All we can do is make it as safe as possible. People stuffed with hormones will fuck.

so we stuff teen girls still going through puberty full of synthetic hormones designed to simulate pregnancy? I know what is safer. 

The only way to stop people dying is to make sure they don’t cross the road. Which kills more kids than sex.

But as in my analogy, it’s safer for no-one to leave the house. But we will leave the house. We have needs.

sex is not a “need”, particularly for teens. If sex is a “need” does that act as a defence for rape, if a man isn’t getting any?

Oh, don’t do the ‘you just justified rape’ thing. That cheapens you completely. Disappointed in you.

I didn’t say that, don’t twist my words, I am asking how you quantify sex as a “need”. Let’s not do ad homs, it’s a logical stance.

You asked if I thought it justified rape. No, it doesn’t. Not at all. Is that clear? But sex is a need. And a lovely thing.

I agree on the latter. But what happens if a teen doesn’t have sex? What harm comes to them by waiting a bit? What are the risks?

 Nothing apart from seeing something natural as something wrong & forbidden.

so you agree now that abstinence as part of SRE not dangerous? Besides it doesn’t teach sex is wrong or forbidden, but appropriate.

think I love appropriate sex more than any other kind. And no, I don’t agree with you.

 but why is abstinence, i.e. not having sex, or teaching that kids shouldn’t be having sex, “dangerous”? Where is the “danger”?

so teaching kids sex best left til they can handle consequences is dangerous as it makes them think sex is wrong & forbidden?

No.

all I’m trying to do here is unpack your notion that abstinence as part of SRE is dangerous. You need to define what you meant.

All I am trying to do is say that we should agree to disagree. I think it is, you don’t. OK, fine.

Fine. I’ve explained why abstinence is not dangerous, you don’t want to substantiate your assertion to the contrary. Understood 🙂

That’s a spectacularly passive-aggressive tweet. So well done for that. I think our discussion might be over.

Subsequent to this conversation, Steven Baxter was the recipient of several tweets stating that I was clearly a “loon” and “moron” and poor man, he had a difficult night and been misunderstood and I should really leave him alone. Perhaps I am a moron because I still don’t understand why he insists on calling abstinence inclusive SRE “dangerous”? Other tweeters picked up his cause and laid into Nadine Dorries. They may well have had a point, however, just because an individual may lack personal credibility it doesn’t automatically follow that her views are lacking. We should certainly engage and evaluate before writing them off and if they are going to be called “harmful” the harm should be quantified.

I am more than a little amused to have been rebuked for being mean and unkind to him, when it is clear that the aggression was not coming from my side. I asked him a reasonable question and was met with personal aggression for not conforming to his viewpoint.

Steven Baxter runs a website called the enemies of reason. How very ironic.

Talking of Stacey in the Daily Mail, here’s a lovely photo of Stacey Cooke at Manchester United’s Player of the Year awards. Minded to think of that famous quote of Paul Newman: why go out for a hamburger when you have steak at home?  Incidentally I have a daughter named Imogen, it means “maiden” and  ironically was Shakespeare’s first misprint.

Thought of an excellent piece of cockney rhyming slang.

Flyin’ Pigs

Apt on so many levels.

I am Spartacus.

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.