Back.

I’m back. Sort of. I still have way, way too much to do to be sitting here so of course, here I sit. :-) You have all been so busy! I’ve got tons of reading to catch up on.

We unpacked the truck here on Sunday and naturally Master had to fly out at 6am Monday morning. I’ve worked my way through about 80% of the boxes, plus got the kids registered and started in school. There’s been a few hold ups. I blew a fuse right away (of course). The one that runs the microwave and the dishwasher, wouldn’t you know. It’s not like we use those things very often, right? I can’t find the one that’s blown, Master can’t remember which fuse runs that outlet. Every time I go in the basement I stare at the fuse box, expecting some brightly lit arrow to magically appear, “it’s this one, dumbass!” yet nothing does, they all look the same and Master’s forbidden me now from messing anymore with the fuse box.

I hooked up the washer though I wasn’t strong enough to actually pull it out and get behind it so I sat on it, leaning over the back and hooked up the hoses, correctly and without leaks, plugged it in, all while upside down. I like thinking that I can have most of this stuff done so Master isn’t spending His weekend fixing everything. I was feeling right proud of myself, and went to plug in the dryer, thinking the dryer would be the easy part. Plug it in, hook up the vent hose and go, right? Wrong. There is no dryer outlet. I asked Master and He said the dryer needs to be wired directly and no, I can’t do that either. So the mountain of laundry grows.

I figured out how to get the cable modem and the vonage phone system hooked up to the comp but can’t figure out how to get the wireless to work. I’ve ethernet-ed it every which way, the most I can do is get the wireless one connected (the kids comp) and the phone, or my comp and the phone but not all three. The kids can use this comp but not for all the stuff they do online. Quite simply, my computer runs well and their’s runs like shit. I want to keep mine running well.

I can’t move some of the heavier stuff and not having those things where I want them prohibits me from finishing some of the other stuff and I hate being held back by being a helpless female.

Well that’s not entirely true. I like being a helpless female when there is a man around to rescue me. I hate being alone and being a helpless female.

I’ll post again later, I’ve got lots of things running wild in my brain. I’ll try and sort them out as I untangle xbox wires.

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Moving

My left nipple is a scabbed-over, stingy mass.

I’ve a bit of rope burn on my wrist so deep it’s bleeding.

I have bruises ranging from quarter size to softball side on various parts of my body.

Every muscle I have aches.

And we’re not even done loading the truck. Moving *sucks*.

;)

I’ll be away for awhile, a week or so. I know you’ll miss my high-maintenance ass, don’t even try and deny it. I’ve been getting some comments like that, pointing out how high-maintenance I am. I actually have a response for that but I don’t have time right now and I’ll probably forget in a week.

I’ve never denied that though. I’m self-diagnosed high-maintenance. Funny thing is, Master says I’m not.

Anyway, take care everyone. I’ll miss you loads and I’ll be back soonest. :)

kaya

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Facial.

He stood in front of me and motioned to the floor. I slid from the chair and sank to my knees.

“Lower.”

I settled my butt on the floor between my heels, lowering myself another few inches, as low as I could get and still be kneeling as He wanted.

“Look at me.”

I turned my face up, searching first over His face, His eyes. That hard glint was there, it was back, *we* were back and I smiled. Almost giggled in happiness. Then I dropped my eyes to His cock, stiff and proud and free from His pants, I watched with jealous longing as He stroked Himself.

“I’m going to cum on your face.”

My eyes remained glued to His cock as He stroked, I watching His movements, His style, learning, always learning. I know every rigid bump and curve and vein on that cock, I know the sweet spot, I know what makes Him twitch, what makes Him moan, where to swirl, where to press, when to suck, when to stroke but every time I watch Him, I learn something new.

“Touch my balls.”

The sudden rasp in His voice clued me that He was close and I stoked my fingernails over His sack with tickling gentleness. I saw the muscles in His thighs begin to quiver, the quickening of His breathing. I closed my eyes then, leaned my upturned face closer to Him.

The first warm jet hit my cheek and I twitched, having to clench my jaws together, sealing my lips tight, the urge to open my mouth and seek for His erupting cock has become a strong instinct. The scent of Him came to me in a sudden strong wave and I breathed it in deep.. and still He spurted over my face, covering me in His cum. It dripped and ran, down my nose, over my eyelids, tickled along my lips and I darted my tongue out to catch a taste.

He finally stopped, I could hear the change in His breathing though my eyes remained glued shut with cum. He stroked a finger down my cheek, leaving a trail through the wetness. Another finger joined the first, and He began smearing it into my skin. He emitted a low moan and with a quick flash of ownership, His entire hand – palm and fingers – worked to cover all of my face in His seed.

“You’ll leave that on tonight.”

I blinked back tears, quick to dry them lest they wash away a tiny bit of Him. Curling up in bed, I couldn’t hide the satisfied grin that hovered on my face, something He noticed and commented on, holding me tight to Him.

It’s the little things, you know? Just the little things.

I’m still wearing it, He’s not told me to wash it. I’m in no hurry for it either.

Facial

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Fine lines.

I’ve been staring at this screen for awhile now, trying to put into words the events, or rather the emotions behind the events, that went on today. It was a day unlike any that have transpired between Master and myself.

To put it bluntly, I went ballistic. And as much as I can be ashamed of it now, I am also relieved that it happened. I learned a very valuable bit of information about myself.

I am not, and cannot, be vanilla.

I can’t function, I can’t think, I can’t perform, I can’t LIVE in a vanilla setting. I found myself, today, questioning the point of living at all in the miserable vanilla state we’d settled in. I have a man whom I love dearly and who loves me back just as fiercely. And of course I have my children who had been my reason for trudging through day after day for years. Yet with each passing moment I was sinking into depths of hopelessness like nothing I’d ever felt before.

My value and worth have become wrapped up in being His slave. I don’t know who or what I am without that. I only know that envisioning the future had suddenly become bleak and dreary.

I was hysterical, frantic, manic. And sad. So very sad. Such a failure, as a mother, a wife, a slave. I think when anyone begins to feel so utterly despondent, thoughts of suicide surface, even if for a fleeting moment. And they did to me today. But having been through the aftermath of suicide, I discarded them quickly, holding on tight to thoughts of my kids.

I mostly contemplated just walking away. Walking and walking and walking until *something* became clear. I knew that I could not be of any value to my children as miserable as I was becoming. I could not be of any value to Master. I could not be of any value to myself.

Master and I fought. Argued, screamed, cried. He repeated over and over that I’m His slave forever, that I can’t leave, that I don’t have that option. He held me down as I flailed and sobbed and begged to be released.

I didn’t want to leave Him. I can’t imagine my life without Him. The thought fills me with panic and despair. The war was in full swing, seeing misery everywhere I turned and wanting only to stop it, stop feeling like I was coating everyone around me with the unhappiness that I carried like a second skin. I wasn’t just asking to be released *from* Him, but I was asking to release Him from the obligation of ME.

He promised me a long time ago that He would never leave me. Never abandon me. That’s a comforting promise, sure, but it’s also a heavy burden.. to think that He’d be better off, could find someone better, if He wasn’t trapped with that promise.

I was doing Him a favor, you see. Absolving Him of that responsibility.

He tried several times to just hold me, stroking me and I wanted so badly to take that comfort, to sink into His arms and let His voice soothe me, but each time I started to, the future reared up again. Ugly and dark and filled with moments of tenderness just like this. And I lashed out again, pushing away from Him. Pushing away the tenderness, the niceties, the caresses.

I just can’t live like that. I can’t.

I’d rather be alone. Lonely and unhappy and missing Him than to have to be confronted day in and day out with that… that… romance.

I’ve said before that I’m at my happiest when for all appearances I should be miserable. I don’t know what part of my wiring is fucked up, I’ve given up trying to figure it out. Hurt me, beat me, use me, lock me in a box for a day… do all of that and more, worse, awful things.. but don’t.. do NOT romance me. Don’t be lenient.

Leniency, to me, sends a message of hate, indifference. Nobody can live and thrive in a world of hate.

Treating me like an object, ignoring me… using me at will. I like those things, I really do. But if it doesn’t have an element of pain, or deviance, or purpose…. then it means nothing. I’m not sure if I can explain this clearly.

It’s really a very fine line to walk.

I can be ignored for a few days with the underlying message that I’m being objectified. I’m used as He needs me and then discarded. And then I can be ignored with the underlying message being that He’s lost interest in this.

Both involve being ignored and treated as an object and both are within His rights as Master… but only one scenario fills me as I need to be.

I can be beaten when He wants to, I can be beaten when I’ve been good or I can be beaten only because I’ve tripped His temper and He’s punishing me.

Again, both within the realm of how we live, but only one fills me.

I can be treasured and loved and held and cuddled and valued but not without the absolute truth that I’m expected… required.. to follow my rules, to complete my tasks, to continue on each day as His cunt.

The romance has to be balanced out with the sadism. The leniency has got to stop. Or I’m going to shrivel up and die. I can make it through this difficult path we have in front of us right now. The distance, the job, I can handle the fact that He’s busy and stressed and distracted. I can sit tight and be patient and suffer through it until better days come along. I can do that but damn, He’s got to feed me once in awhile. He’s got to give me something to hope for. Something to keep my sights on.

And that’s where we ended up. He fed me. He fed me very, very well.

Once the hysterics and the panic subsided, once I circled back for the one thousandth time that I need Him, once I finally fell into His arms and cried for the last time.. He fed me.

I needed it so bad. So so desperately. I needed to hurt. I needed to see it in His eyes. I needed to feel His cock stir and lift as He hurt me. More than anything I needed to answer the questions that He whispers against my cheek as I moan in agonizing ecstasy.

“I am Yours. I am Your cunt, Your slave, Your object, Your it.”
“I’m not nothing, not anymore.. I’m whatever You make me”

Whatever You make me.. quickly qualified now with except vanilla!

That’s all I need, nothing more nothing less. Feed me the pain, the words.

I’m no longer limitless.

I am NOT vanilla.

cunt

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General whining.

Thank you all for the comments on the last post. I’m coping with it (like I have a choice, right?) as well as I can. I cry now and then, tears coming out of nowhere and then I bury it. Suck it up, buttercup. She is a gorgeous girl though, isn’t it?

It’s been a strange few days here. Master’s been home with me. Partly to hold me over this deal with my daughter, but mostly to get things ready for the move this weekend. Speaking of which, I may be offline for awhile. I’ll miss it but that’s life I guess. I’ll be back soon, I promise.

My other daughter has been home sick.. cold, fever, cough. So even though Master’s been around there’s nothing of kink-value to report. And actually, I’m glad for it.

I seem to have lost my kink-mojo. It feels like forever since anything heavy has happened and when I think about it, I shy away from it. I’m taking a lot of comfort in just following rules, in serving, in simply being submissive.

I just want to be quiet.

Yesterday, Master and I went up to the other house to clean and air it out, get it ready for this weekend. On the way there we stopped at an adult toy shop to replace my broken pocket rocket. (I haven’t lost my masturbation-mojo.) I had a nibbling desire to play as we looked over the measly selection of bondage equipment, a very small return of “me”. Master picked out a toy, looks like a crop but about twice as long and very *very* whippy and I perked in that old familiar way at the whistle through the air as He tried it out. He bought it, of course and I was given a few test swats with it throughout the day. It’s certainly got potential to cause great pain but… I just couldn’t get into it. And Master didn’t press it, satisfied with those few swings, the toy ended up in the closet and I was glad to see it there.

The pocket rocket that He bought me has two bullets on it. I’ve never had one like this before but I sure like it. We weren’t even out of the parking lot and I was ripping it open, inserting batteries and fumbling with the snap on my jeans. Master chuckled, watching me as He drove. Instructing me to insert one of the bullets, and to hold the other on my clit… in broad daylight on an extremely busy highway… I became very intimately acquainted with my new toy.

And I didn’t even blush until it was over.. and I realized how obvious it was, with one hand stuffed in my pants, my shirt hiked up to allow Him access to torture one nipple, and the controller clutched in my other hand… that every trucker driving by and glancing over knew exactly what I was doing. I take some comfort in the fact that Master’s truck is high enough that only semi-drivers could see in. I think. I hope. If not.. well… oops. ~blush~

At one point yesterday, out of the blue I said to Master that if The Sickly Child made it to school I hoped to be allowed some closet time. And as soon as I said it.. as soon as the words were out.. I wanted to draw them back in, erase them. Un-hear them. Because as soon as I said it, I became fully aware of how fiercely I miss it. The quiet serenity of being nothing beyond His desires… of wanting only what He gives me, existing for one purpose, one goal. I realized I wanted it to escape this chaos, the uncertainty of things now, how I’m feeling decidedly uncontrolled and abandoned. I’m not used to drifting, I’m not used to options and choices and decisions and I hate it. I hate it with every fiber of my submissive being and there is nothing I can do about it. Suck it up, buttercup.

Saying those words gave voice to those feelings. Feelings I’ve been trying to sit on and control and hide. Be brave, make the best of what you have, gotta do what you gotta do and whining will get you nowhere. I wanted to pull those words back immediately. I don’t even know what Master’s response to those words was. As if I could see it hanging in the air… “closet”… and I was filled with fear. Fear that I’ll never have it again. That things are going to change too much, too hard, I’ll drift too far and won’t be able to find my way back.

Blink back a quick tear or two, gaze out the window at the passing scenery.. and change the subject. That’s all I can do.

I was reviewed by Jane’s Guide and I have to say, I completely regret submitting it. The review itself wasn’t bad necessarily, “The power exchange is extreme and rough, so it may be a bit much for some folks to read easily”. It just feels… false. Untrue. I don’t feel extreme or rough… not even a little tiny bit. I’m drowning in vanilla pudding.. I’m shying away from mentions of spankings.. I haven’t worn my collar for weeks. Extreme? No. Everything feels like a lie.

I have a need for tangible truths. Clear evidence. Identifiable facts. Words are… easy. Too easy. Promises made and broken. Too many people tell you what you want to hear, appease you with empty words. I’ve gone through it, relationships built on nothing but a foundation of lies. Over and over again I listened, believed, trusted in words that meant nothing. I’ve watched my kids go through it, promises made by their father, watched them be let down over and over again, watched them harden to empty words. I’ve spent my adult life dismissing words and looking for proof. Don’t tell me what you are going to do or what you want to do… Do it. Actions speak louder than words. I don’t put any stock in words.

Actions. Proof. Facts. Physical evidence. I need them. And I don’t have them. I have nothing but words… promises and theories and ideas. All the things I’ve rejected for years and that’s all I have left. It’s like holding on to smoke.

Master’s completely let me go, or so it feels. His job, sick kids, my daughter leaving, the move, this and that and on and on… all of this *stuff* interferring… and the more He copes with the stress by closing me out, the farther away I get, the more convinced I become that everything was/is false, built on lies and faked interest, the more disillusioned I get about even trying anymore.

People who want it make it work. People who only have a passing interest in it, let it go. And I know, God, I know this is all fear of the unknown. I know I’m panicky and emotional and pms’ing to boot. I know that tomorrow I’ll probably feel a completely different way, or at least a little more positive…. but none of that changes the despair.. the hopeless pond I’m drowning in today.

I’m going to try and wrap up the whine-fest here. It’ll pass. Always does.

Master’s developed this habit lately of calling me either “b” (for bitch) or “c” (for cunt). Initially I paid little attention to it as most of the time one or more kids are within hearing range and I blew it off as just another hiding technique. I know what b and c stand for but they don’t. But yesterday in the truck, with no worries of anyone hearing, the initials continued. Filled with sudden offense at this, I haughtily protested. I pointed out that saying bitch or cunt required no more syllabical effort than saying b or c, that no little ears were listening, and that being reduced to an initial was so demeaning. My identity as even just His cunt was threatened under this new initial game.

Not even worthy of the whole word… just “c”.

He only laughed, in that maddening dismissive way, gave me that look that says “I see your jaws flapping” and said He’d call me whatever He wanted to.

So I responded maturely and submissively and respectfully by rolling my eyes and saying “Whatever, Big M.”

Being reduced to just an initial would be hot (see the story of O) if things were progressing along the same path as before. But they aren’t. Big M and little c have hit a brick wall.

Gah. Some days I should be banned from posting here.

kaya

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I had a post typed up about my daughter but I deleted it.

She left yesterday.

I miss her.

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Home is where the sex is.

Master is home.

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Not fair!

The T-shirt Master bought me last weekend. I have no idea what message He’s trying to send me. :P

Whenever Master does something that I consider unfair, I react. Now, I’ve been all over the board with the “fair and unfair” stuff and here’s what my position is.

I accept that Master can do what He wants, or make me do whatever He wants. He can decide I’m going to sleep on the floor at will. Or not feed me for a day. Or lock me in the closet for a day. Or beat me because He’s in a bad mood. Or ignore me or whip me to tears or on and on etc.etc. It’s not dependent on my mood or behavior or reactions. I’m not calling “unfair” on that.

But, occasionally, since He’s human, He gets in foul moods. It’s not often that this happens but once in awhile. And out of blue, He’ll find some error that I’ve made and decide I should be punished for it. I can’t say that I’ve not made the error because I *have* obviously, but it’s usually something that if He wasn’t in a bad mood, I would not be getting punished for. And I know it.

THAT’S when I call unfair.

I do the punishment though because that’s how things work here. He says, I do. I may not even complain very much (to Him, the rest of you are a different story) but I carry it with me. I hold it, like a hot little stone in my brain.

And a day, or two days later, I’ll “react”. I’ll break a rule, on purpose and with little guilt. Almost as if I’m justifying the original unjustified (to me) punishment. It doesn’t even matter that I’m only racking up another punishment for the freshly broken rule. I’ve been vindicated. I’ve made it so *I* felt I deserved a punishment.

I made it “fair”.

And it’s so silly though. Why is it that I can see what I’m doing and not stop myself?

Okay.. I’ll write more later maybe. Master’s on His way home… yayyyyy!

Gonna go git me some.

cunt

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Well Master is in another state so I’m not getting beat properly, nor am I doing any serving, nor am I having any good sex.

I got nothing to talk about!

Yeah right.. like that ever happens.

So I had to do the 50 clothespins again. I tell you what, if I could go back in time and redo my hard limit list this would be number one:

1. I don’t have to say Sir or Master unless I feel like it.

Honestly, this is just driving me bonkers. Now sometimes I deliberately leave those words off because I’m irritated and I know it bugs Him. (I know I know, bad girl. :P) But really those times are rare. I do try to be good most of the time.

Sometimes though… I mean I’m just talking you know? Who can remember to add Master to the end of every flippin’ sentence. It’s insanity!

And yes I’m slapping the hell out of the little bitch in my head who’s saying “do it because He said so, doesn’t matter what you think about it.” Mouthy whore anyway.

Anyway, here are those pictures.

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abortion

I debated putting this here at all. But, this journal is made up of who I am. My thoughts and opinions and feelings. So, I did. I am sorry if I offend anyone but I don’t apologize for my beliefs.

I’ve been stewing on this topic since I read it over at pure-blue’s place yesterday. And of course it’s all over the news lately. I was going to respond just in her comments section but I have a feeling this might get long.

I’m not a particularly religious person. I’m not opposed to birth control or safe sex or pregnancy prevention. I am against abortion. I think it’s murder.

I don’t think I, or anyone, has the right to tell a woman what to do with her body. Unless it’s murder you are talking about. It’s not okay for a woman to kill her child one second after birth. And it’s not okay for a woman to have the right to kill her baby one second after conception.

“There is no more pivotal moment in the subsequent growth and development of a human being than when 23 chromosomes of the father join with 23 chromosomes of the mother to form a unique, 46-chromosomed individual, with a gender, who had previously simply not existed.”
-Fritz Baumgartner, MD

People can argue and debate and disagree on when life begins but the fact is, left alone, that “lifeless cell” will become a human in nine short months. In my opinion, that’s when life starts. The very second the process begins. Interfering in that process, stopping that process is homicide. And everyone from mother to doctor to receptionist is an accomplice.

Abortion has become a matter of convenience. Read the statistics. About 6% are made up of women who will suffer serious health risks of their own or to the fetus. Less than 1% are victims of rape or incest.

Over 90% of all fetal deaths are nothing more than a matter of convenience. That’s absolutely appalling. 90% of around 1.3 MILLION abortions in the US alone *annually* are because a baby would be too “inconvenient”.

That fact makes me ill.

I’m slightly less forgiving to the 6% who would suffer health risks. But only slightly. If your health is that fragile, you have an obligation to NOT become pregnant under any circumstances so you can avoid killing a baby. If it’s the fetus’s health at risk, then you get into discussions of quality of life and such. While I’ll mostly leave that for another debate, I’ve worked with handicapped kids and I can say without a doubt that *most* of them are insanely happy in the context of what they understand and would most likely choose to live the life they have, rather than die.

The rape and incest cases. I hear things about not wanting to traumatize the woman by forcing her to carry to term and then birth a baby that she never wanted. A baby brought forth under such tragic circumstances. I can sympathize with that. I was a victim of incest. I can only imagine the horrors of having gotten pregnant as a result. But we all agree that the victim is already traumatized? That abortion itself is traumatic? Isn’t abortion furthering the trauma as well?

Are you willing to add to the trauma of rape by letting the victim deal with the fact that she just murdered a baby? Especially a younger victim who hasn’t yet developed the moral standards or the intelligence to decide for herself what her stance on abortion is. Did you know that abortions performed on young girls are more likely to be problematic, to the point of requiring hospitalization, than those performed on older women. A rape made worse by pregnancy made worse by abortion can be no further traumatic than a rape resulting in a live birth. It *might* even be the one good thing a woman could get out of a trauma like that.

How many of you reading this right now (myself included) have looked at your own child and thought “you are best thing that came out of that bad relationship” and taken comfort from that? I’m not equating a failed relationship with the trauma of rape but I am saying that your own child is a comfort and a joy, no matter what the circumstances of conception are.

Rape, incest and health risks are the gray areas of abortion to me. While I still maintain that it’s murder no matter what, just as self-defense may be an acceptable reason for murder, so might those three reasons. I’m inclined though, to explore other options besides spouting abortion as the easiest solution.

And take into account PAS (Post Abortion Syndrome). Pro-choice people want to say it’s a made up syndrome to discredit abortion. Yet the women who are describing the trauma after abortion are women who HAD abortions. Women who had abortions encourage other women not to.

So some of you are thinking 1.3 million abortions means 1.3 million LESS people to care for in an overcrowded, overly polluted, tired and hungry world. Unwanted to start with, who’s going to feed them? Raise them? Pay for them? Love them? I don’t have all those answers. I have suggestions and ideas but I know without a doubt that killing them is not the answer.

Since when is population control by murder acceptable? Condoned even. Rallied for. It’s right on par with Hitler in my book. Hitler tried to control the population of “unwanted, less than human” people too. Lots of people supported Hitler, thought he was correct about his standards of life. To the tune of some 6 million deaths, wasn’t it?

We’re fast pushing some 40 to 50 million deaths by abortion. 8 times what Hitler accomplished. And it’s fucking celebrated. The power of a woman. It’s her body. It’s her choice. Positively shameful.

Make abortion illegal and tens of thousands of women will die from back alley abortions! Bullshit. Since abortion has been legalized more women have died as a result of getting a legal abortion than the number who died from illegal abortions. Before penicillin, women died from infections caused by back alley abortions. That simply does not happen these days.

And if a women thinks she has to choose between risking her own life with a back alley abortion, carrying a baby to term or not getting pregnant… maybe women can be a little more responsible about their bodies. Maybe if the adoption market was suddenly flooded with unwanted babies who’s mother’s were forced to carry it to term, the cost would go down, the strict standards would ease and childless couples, gay couples, couples who want more but can’t have, can provide a healthy, loving home for some of that 1.3 million.

People believe that unwanted children become the victims of child abuse. Statistics and studies prove that theory wrong.

I don’t fall for the belief that life hangs on the idea of someone wanting you. A mother doesn’t want her baby so she kills it. Does that apply to not wanting the burden of your aging parents? You don’t want the financial burden of your teenagers? Your husband decides he doesn’t want you any longer so can he kill you? It’s not even acceptable to shoot your dog in the head because you no longer want it, yet a child’s life is dependent on being wanted first.

And how many woman got pregnant when they wanted to in the first place? How many of you had a baby that wasn’t planned and *loved it anyway*.

I have three older sisters. All of them had an abortion at some point in their life. All three abortions were for convenience. When I found out I was expecting my third child, my sisters and my mother began the abortion campaign on me. And this was before I even identified myself as a pro-lifer. I was young, had two girls under the age of two, had just left my husband, was jobless, homeless, car-less. I considered it. He’s almost 11 now. He’s an absolutely amazing little boy. I get sick whenever I think too long on how close I came to killing him.

“By abortion the Mother does not learn to love, but kills her own child to solve her problems. And, by abortion, that father is told that he does not have to take any responsibilty at all for the child he has brought into the world. The father is likely to put other women to the same trouble. So abortion leads to more abortion.”
-Mother Teresa

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