// abortion that late should 🚫❌//

dontpokethevalkyrie:

beautytruthandstrangeness:

appropriately-inappropriate:

rad-research:

evilterf:

rasen-shuriken:

I did not know that in 7 states in America, you can carry out an abortion the day before you give birth (allows abortion at any time). That’s so fucking disgusting. And other states allow abortion up to 28 weeks. That’s not a ball of cells no more, that’s a damn baby. It’s good that abortion is legal but not the fucking late into the pregnancy 😷😷 nasty

You do know the reason abortion is carried out that late in a pregnancy is because of fetal abnormalities, right? There’s no woman that stays pregnant for 8 months and then decides “Meh, I’m just gonna have an abortion instead.”

These women are not nasty, they are not evil, they are women who were so excited to welcome their little one into this world. They are women who had a nursery set up and baby clothes bought. They are women who excitedly waited for their due date, took belly photos and updated the world on how their pregnancy was coming along. They are the women who woke up one day and felt that their baby wasn’t moving anymore. They are the women that felt in their gut that something was terribly wrong, just to have their worst fears confirmed.

They are the women who went to a regular checkup to find out that their baby is severely deformed and won’t live outside the womb, or will but only for a few days and suffer terribly the whole time. They are the women who have to make a decision to not let their baby suffer.

Women having abortions that late are not women who just decided to get an abortion 8 months into pregnancy. While that is there right to do so, know that isn’t what happens. Know that that isn’t the reality.

This is really upsetting to read but it is the truth, more people need to know this.

Something like 90% of abortions are first trimester, which is so early that the medical terminology vacillates between “zygote” and “fetus”, and whatever the name, the thing’s the size of a pencil eraser and has 0% ability to survive outside of the womb.

The remainder are performed in the 2nd trimester, generally as a result of fetal abnormality or a severe congenital defect.

The vanishingly rare 3rd trimester abortions are generally for one of two reasons:

1) the life of the mother is in serious danger
2) the fetus is either dead or dying

So no. Women aren’t just bouncing on coat-hangers at 37 weeks for a giggle, they’re undertaking a serious medical procedure for a heartbreaking reason.

But nice try, jerk.

And even first trimester abortions are unpleasant enough that nobody just thinks, “Ehhh, you know what? I’ll just get pregnant and abort it.” 

They have to dilate your cervix. While they numb you, because otherwise the next part would be awful, dilating your cervix affects your vagus nerve. It’s an EXTRAORDINARILY UNPLEASANT SENSATION. It makes a lot of people fainty for half an hour or an hour afterwards. 

And then you have the cramps to deal with too. So even the most minor of early abortions is something that people avoid when they can. 

They make mistakes, like not noticing that their Nuvaring fell out, or such. Or they’re raped (and yes, I consider pressuring a woman not to use birth control, or saying you’ll use birth control and then not using it to be a form of rape, because it’s an attack on her bodily autonomy through her sexuality, so what else would you call it??) Or they have birth control failures. 

Big stack of all kinds of truth here.

(via ladyshinga)

false-dawn:

redroomballerinas:

slurfucker:

commie-saskia:

languageoclock:

you-had-me-at-e-flat-major:

watercolorsheep:

catchingjinns:

spirited-simmer:

my-name-is-long:

renaissavce:

roumanian:

english: coconut oil

french: :)

english: oh boy

french: oil of the nut of the coco

IM CRYINGNFN

english: ninety-nine

french: :)

english: oh no

french: four-twenty-ten-nine

english: potato

french: :)

english: oh geez

french: apple of the earth

french: papillon

english: :)

french: don’t

english: beurremouche

French: pamplemousse
English: :)
French: pls no
English: raisinfruit

english: squirrel

german: :)

english: oh dear

german: oak croissant

english: helicopter

german: :)

english: uh oh

german: lifting screwdriver

english: toes

spanish: :)

english: no don’t

spanish : fingers of the feet

english: bowl

spanish: :)

english: oh lordy

spanish: deep plate

english: car

polish: :)

english: i changed my mind

polish:  that which walks by itself

french: coccinelle

UK english: ladybird!

american english: ladybug

french: weird

dutch: :)

french: …what

dutch: the good lord’s little animal

french: …ok

irish, polish and russian: *giggling*

french: …just tell me

irish, polish and russian: GOD’S SMALL COW

(Source: oldblogarchived, via kestrel-tree)

cynthiadiamond:

lacqueluster:

jaggedhorseteeth:

skeletalroses:

So this is a totally useless rant, but as a skinny girl, I’m getting extra, extra tired of fat-shaming.

I work for a corsetier at a Renaissance Faire. We sell corsets. Not flimsy bullshit costume corsets; like real, durable, waist-training corsets. Today a woman came in with her boyfriend, so I helped her pick out a corset and try it on. While her boyfriend—who was decidedly enthused about the whole corset thing—sat watching me lace her in, he told me, grinning, “Of all the good jobs at the Renaissance Faire, I think you have the best.”

I shrugged in agreement. “I touch butts and reach down cleavage all day; I mean…” Because we like to be a bit rakish at the Faire, and, y’know, it’s true. Tying people into corsets pretty much invariably requires getting handsy.

The couple laughed at that, and the boyfriend said, “That’s the job I would want!” But then he chuckled again and said, offhand, “Or maybe not; while we were looking at the racks, there were some pretty big sizes on there!”

Our sizes are all done in inches, and the biggest we make is a 46. And you’d better believe our large sizes sell. For a second I wasn’t sure what to say to the guy’s comment, but I answered him casually. “We get a lot of beautiful big ladies in here.” Because we do. “We make corsets for real women, not Barbie dolls,” I added. Wasn’t trying to be smart, just kind of tossed it out there because that’s the line we like to use when people ask about larger sizes, and because, again, we do.

The boyfriend went quiet at that; I didn’t think anything of it, I just kept on lacing. A moment later, he said, a little awkwardly (but sincerely enough), “Didn’t mean to be offensive.”

I quickly smiled and brushed it off, said he wasn’t, said I was just saying. (Don’t want to make the customers uncomfortable, you know?) And that was the end of it. His comment had rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn’t a big deal. Now, I wear a 20-inch corset. I’m a few cup sizes short of being one of the Barbie dolls. Like his girlfriend, I’m one of the “hot chicks”; he doesn’t have to worry about offending me by implying that I wouldn’t be fun to poke and pull at.

Honestly though, of all the people I fit sexy technically-undergarments to in a day, fat girls are maybe my favorite people to lace up. Because they are just so damn happy that we have stuff that fits them. They are so damn happy that the corsets we make in their sizes are all the same pretty, shiny colors and cool flower/dragon/skull/etc. prints that the smaller corsets are, not ugly beige and boring “granny” colors. They are so goddamn happy that at least one (of several on the grounds) corset shop carries things that they can wear, that they actually want to wear, and that they look fucking awesome in. This is only my second season working, and we’ve fit 60+ inch waists and double-K busts. The only people we’ve ever had to tell sorry, we don’t have anything that fits them, are twelve-year-old kids.

It’s half-wonderful, half-heartbreaking how excited those women get. Women who say with sad smiles, when we ask if they want to get fitted, “Oh, no, you don’t have anything that fits me,” and then are stunned when we’re 300% confident that yes we do, and we have options. Women who can’t stop smiling and looking at themselves in the mirror after we’ve got them laced in.

I had a lady last week whose waist I measured (cinching the tape tight, as per procedure) at 41 inches—honestly not all that big. So she picked out a 41-inch corset to try on. I could tell halfway through getting her laced that it was going to be a bit big for her, so I mentioned it and said she might do better to try a smaller size. She started crying on the spot. She was so overwhelmed; she couldn’t believe someone had just told her that a 41 was too big. She told me about how hard clothes shopping was for her, how her mother would tell her she needed an XXXL instead of an XXL, how she had recently lost weight but still couldn’t wear certain colors because they didn’t fit or she wasn’t confident enough.

She did end up getting her corset, and after I checked her out she asked if she could give me a hug, so we ended up standing there hugging each other for a minute. While we did, I told her, “Do not ever let anyone tell you any bullshit. You are gorgeous.” She said, “I have a new boyfriend and he keeps telling me that.” I told her he was right, and to just keep telling herself she’s gorgeous; it was okay if she didn’t always believe it, but to keep telling herself anyway. (That’s how I talked myself through shit when I had bad anxiety.)

We all know fat-shaming is bad. The stupidity, fatphobia, and misogyny of it has pissed me off since I first became aware of it. But working with clothing, especially as figure-hugging and precise as corsets, has given me a new perspective on it—how much it affects people and just how shitty it is. Like, what does it say that I had a grown, only average-big woman crying into my shoulder because she was so overjoyed not to be the uppermost extremity of what a manufacturer can clothe?

My job rocks and it’s really rewarding, but sometimes it highlights some of the ugliest shit about society. I’m so glad I work at a shop that’s not bullshit about body types and operates with more people in mind than just scrawny white chicks like me. The fat women I work with are a ton of fun to lace up, and they’re so much more than their size—they’re cool, they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re sweet, they’re great to talk to, and yes, they’re hot. I’m so damn done with them getting short-changed and shamed by petty fucks who refuse to make them nice clothes, who refuse to even try to work for them, who refuse to consider them pretty. This whole rant was useless and won’t get read, but I had to vent because it’s been driving me nuts.

So actually, screw you, random dude. Fat girls are the highlight of my job.

Going to add this bit: I’m overweight. I’m not really big, but I’ve always had issues with my weight and the shit I get from people. I was actually getting fitted for a corset and was told I needed to go down a size. So I understand how that girl felt. I know that it’s “just a number” and it shouldn’t bother me, but that made me feel awesome.

I read every word of this and it made me want to cry and buy a corset.

*hits the reblog button IMMEDIATELY*

(via ladyshinga)