A Window To The Womb

As human beings, we are often incapable of accepting the horror of events that unfold around us without visually experiencing those horrors. So it goes with beauty. If it is unseen, can it be appreciated? Few would argue that the development of a human being is not beautiful, a complex process resulting in a babbling child full of promise and potential. A process that each of us experienced and depended upon in order to now live, to draw each new breath, to know love and empathy.

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What if there was a window to the womb? If we could actually see the beauty and miracle of human development? If a mother could gaze upon her prenatal child each day of her pregnancy? Would she be as quick to kill her child just because the circumstances behind his or her conception were not ideal? Or would we realize that the ease of which we destroy our own children is based in large part on the fact that we cannot see them. That the veil of the mother’s body that hides their child’s beauty also hides the fact that they are us and we are them. It is this opacity that allows claims that a prenatal child is just a clump of cells, that they are not human, and that they are not alive.

The fetal hand of 21 week old Samuel Armas protruding through his mother’s womb during his surgery for spina bifida. He was later born healthy.

Clearly, we were alive while awaiting our birth and would not be here today if we had been aborted. Because someone else that held the decision whether we lived or died happened to feel they were ready for us, that we were not an inconvenience. With nearly 3,000 lives ended each day by abortion in the United States — over one million human beings destroyed each year — we are lucky to be here.

Our society provides little to no protection for us while we are growing in our mother’s womb, even though the Constitution of the United States of America clearly states that we have the right to LIFE. If only there were a window to allow those that have secured their place in this world to behold the beauty of who they once were.

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