Dear Mom – a letter from the womb

The post is dedicated to a Christian friend of mine who is carrying an unplanned child out-of-wedlock.  She is on the verge of making an irreversible, devastating, life-changing “choice.”  If her unborn child was given a glimpse of life outside the womb and had the vocabulary to articulate thoughts, this is what her baby may write… a desperate plea to stay alive. 

Dear Mom,

I know we haven’t officially met yet but I thought I would say hi from inside your womb.  I am not sure how I arrived, I just know that I am glad I am here.   Though the place I am in is very dark, it is also very warm and comforting.  There is not much to do here but I am constantly entertained by the sound of your voice.  Oh, how I love the sound of your voice!  Every time you talk, I feel safe.  Every time you speak, I feel loved.  I don’t understand everything you are saying yet – but I can’t wait to comprehend it.  The best is your laugh.  You don’t do it often and I have no idea what causes it but when it happens, it feels amazing.

From all the muffled commotion I hear, I have a feeling that life is pretty stressful outside this womb.   Listening to the tone of your conversations, I can tell you are scared.  Your voice sounds tired.  On the outside, everyone might think that you are doing ok but on the inside you are a wreck.  I know.  I live on the inside.  I can feel the tension.  Something tells me that I am the cause of it.

I keep hearing words like “abortion”, “choice”, and “procedure.”  Every time one of those words is said, a cold chilling wind hits my spine.  Yes, I have a spine.  And a heartbeat.  And ears.   I may not be able to see much right now, but I can hear it all.  From the sound of it, my days are numbered – I just don’t know why.  I didn’t ask to be here, your actions brought me.  Why don’t you want me now?   What did I do to deserve your rejection?

  • When you say the word “abortion”, I hear “death.”
  • When you say “choice”, I ask “Whose?”   My choice does not seem to matter right now.  Is it because my voice cannot be heard yet?
  • When you say “procedure”, I hear “pain.”  One of us will have anesthesia during this procedure and one of us won’t.  For you, this is a very simple out-patient surgery.  For me, it is an execution.  My only crime?   I exist.

Why don’t you want me?   Is it because of your reputation?   How does killing me help that?  Doesn’t that just make it worse?   Granted, sleeping with Dad may not have been your wisest decision but ending my life only complicates matters.  Your friends and family may never know about me.  But you know about me.  Dad knows about me.  Obviously, God knows about me.  He sent me here.  Just understand this: Ending my life does not end your memory of me.

Is this a financial decision?  Am I not going to see my first birthday because you want to save money?  Does my little mouth make it one too many for you to feed?  Rumor has it that a lot of people pay big money for someone like me.  Why not give me to one of those families?  I know someone out there wants me.  Why can’t I be with them?

Maybe this is about lifestyle?  Is my presence going to keep you from having fun?   Am I going to “cramp your style?”  Would you prefer dating over diapers right now?  Did my grandparents have this same discussion when you were in the womb?   They obviously did not choose lifestyle over life.  Why can’t I have that same freedom?

Does this have to do with my Dad?   Do you not like him now?   Was he abusive to you?   Is my existence a constant reminder of someone you want to forget?  I’m sorry for that, I really am.  But right now, for the next nine months, I don’t need a Dad.  I need you.

Maybe you don’t think I am really a person yet?  By week six, my ears began to form and my heart began to beat.  A beating heart is a sign of life, ask any Doctor!  By week eight, my lungs were formed and my hands and feet appeared.  By week eleven, my beautiful face was fully formed and you can tell my gender.  What more proof do you need?  I’m a person just like you – I just don’t have my voice yet.

I don’t know why you are considering removing me from the family portrait.  But my time is running out and the cards seem stacked against me.  The current legal system might allow you to “get away with murder.”  The government might even support it.  Unbelievably, your friends or our family might be encouraging it.  You might be able to afford it and even find some Doctor greedy enough to do it but make no mistake, your conscience will never forget it.  I might not make it out of here alive but one thing I do know, you will never forget me or the experience of losing me.

All I am asking for is the very opportunity you had – life.   If you can’t hear my cries for help, then let my constitutional rights speak for me.  Weren’t they established for people like me?   “We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”   I want justice, domestic tranquility and to be defended!

I have to go – there is more work to be done before my arrival.  If this is last time you hear my voice, I just want you to know I forgive you.  The challenge will be to forgive yourself.

I hope to see you soon.  I want to laugh together, outside of this womb.

Love, your unborn child.


“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.” – Psalm 139:13-16

DISCLAIMER: This post is not trying to intentionally or formally declare where I stand concerning the pro-life/pro-choice debate.  Nor is it my desire to bring up a controversial and divisive subject for the sake of controversy.  Regardless of my particular belief, the baby is always pro-life and this “letter”was written from the baby’s perspective.  Also, I am painfully aware that there may be women reading this who have already chosen to abort a baby in their past.  This is not written in subtle judgment of that decision.  Any guilt they still feel is a direct result of their decision and not because of this particular post.  We all must learn to deal with the poor decisions we have made and the consequences we face and move forward, trying our best to learn what we can from those painful experiences.  Some readers may find the following blog helpful in regards to the regrets they have experienced in the past.

Update: Wednesday, September 5th, 2012.   My friend texted me today and told me she had the abortion.  I am very sad on a number of levels.  Sad that Satan got another victory.  Sad that a “choice” trumped a life.  Sad that some doctor made money for his disservice to our land.  Sad that some loving couple can’t experience the joy of an adoption.  Sad for my friend’s children who won’t be having a little baby sibling to love on.  Sad that I never to got to meet this little one I have prayed for.  Really sad for my friend.  When I asked how she felt, her only response was, “I just feel dirty.”  

Interestingly, her initial text to me was simply, “It is done.”   I knew instantly what she meant.  I also could not miss the connection between her three words and the last three words of Christ as He hung on the cross.  He cried out, “It is finished” and died.

  • One death occurred to save a reputation.  The other death occurred to save mankind.
  • One death was to make life easier.  The other was to make life holy.
  • One death only brought death.  The other death brought Life, now and later.
  • One death made one man richer.  The other death made all men richer.
  • One death brings regret.  The other death brings forgiveness, even extended to her – even now.  Especially now.

Continue to pray for my friend.