Fertility Baby Quotes

Whenever it rains, I remember him, not as a tear that hails down as a raindrop, but as a God of fertility. As, every time I remember him, his memories conceive a baby of emotions in me!

Adoption is grief in reverse.

Most women found that the few weeks after a miscarriage were extremely fertile, as if the body wanted to quickly rectify its mistake.

Kids, Roberts,” she said, just to be clear. “I have fertile eggs in me, and I’m talking about having babies.” She waited for the eye twitch. Or hell, even a tiny twinge. Instead, with a smile, he pulled her in for a kiss.

No one 'just adopts'.

As far as food is concerned, the great extravagance is not caviar or truffles, but beef, pork and poultry. Some 38 percent of the world's grain crop is now fed to animals, as well as large quantities of soybeans. There are three times as many domestic animals on this planet as there are human beings. The combined weight of the world's 1.28 billion cattle alone exceeds that of the human population. While we look darkly at the number of babies being born in poorer parts of the world, we ignore the over-population of farm animals, to which we ourselves contribute...[t]hat, however, is only part of the damage done by the animals we deliberately breed. The energy intensive factory farming methods of the industrialised nations are responsible for the consumption of huge amounts of fossil fuels. Chemical fertilizers, used to grow the feed crops for cattle in feedlots and pigs and chickens kept indoors in sheds, produce nitrous oxide, another greenhouse gas. Then there is the loss of forests. Everywhere, forest-dwellers, both human and non-human, can be pushed out. Since 1960, 25 percent of the forests of Central America have been cleared for cattle. Once cleared, the poor soils will support grazing for a few years; then the graziers must move on. Shrub takes over the abandoned pasture, but the forest does not return. When the forests are cleared so the cattle can graze, billions of tons of carbon dioxide are released into the atmosphere. Finally, the world's cattle are thought to produce about 20 percent of the methane released into the atmosphere, and methane traps twenty-five times as much heat from the sun as carbon dioxide. Factory farm manure also produces methane because, unlike manured dropped naturally in the fields, it dies not decompose in the presence of oxygen. All of this amounts to a compelling reason...for a plant based diet.

The human placenta is filled with nutritious benefits, one of which is creating a fertile environment. At my age, I'm going to need all the help I can to have a baby, and if having a placenta smoothie or two helps - I won't count it out." "That's like some pretty satanic shit." Ethan is quick to observe. "Like voodoo or something.

Now and again, one could detect in a childless woman of a certain age the various characteristics of all the children she had never issued. Her body was haunted by the ghost of souls who hadn't lived yet. Premature ghosts. Half-ghosts. X's without Y's. Y's without X's. They applied at her womb and were denied, but, meant for her and no one else, they wouldn't go away. Like tiny ectoplasmic gophers, they hunkered in her tear ducts. They shone through her sighs. Often to her chagrin, they would soften the voice she used in the marketplace. When she spilled wine, it was their playful antics that jostled the glass. They called out her name in the bath or when she passed real children in the street. The spirit babies were everywhere her companions, and everywhere they left her lonesome - yet they no more bore her resentment than a seed resents uneaten fruit. Like pet gnats, like phosphorescence, like sighs on a string, they would follow her into eternity.

What kind of woman tells all her secrets?” my mother continued, flabbergasted and disappointed in me. “Especially anything that has to do with your body making babies! I know a woman who had no ovaries when she got married. Her husband found out only years later that they couldn’t have children. The two of them are happy together still; they live in a big house, and have a cute dog.

Well, I divide the father question into three separate categories. First, there's the sire. He makes a baby, that's it. Doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the lamb once it's' planted, though he might. Anyone with a set of gonads can be a sire. Then there's the father. He also does the fertilization, but he sticks around provides support, both financial and emotional. Then in our little corner of the world we have daddies. A daddy is the more mature man in a sexual relationship, one who provides direction, discipline...and love for his brat.

The innocuous-sounding term “fertility treatment” enables the wealthy to breed their own kind, buying sperm and eggs at “baby centers” around the country. Abortion and birth control, meanwhile, are for evangelical conservatives a violation of God’s will that all people should be fruitful and multiply, and yet this same fear of unnatural methods of reproduction does not engender opposition to fertility clinics. Antiabortion activists, like eugenicists, think that the state has the right to intervene in the breeding habits of poor single women. Poor

Songs do not change the world,’ declares Jasper. ‘People do. People pass laws, riot, hear God and act accordingly. People invent, kill, make babies, start wars.’ Jasper lights a Marlboro. ‘Which begs a question. “Who or what influences the minds of the people who change the world?” My answer is “Ideas and feelings.” Which begs a question. “Where do ideas and feelings originate?” My answer is, “Others. One’s heart and mind. The press. The arts. Stories. Last, but not least, songs.” Songs. Songs, like dandelion seeds, billowing across space and time. Who knows where they’ll land? Or what they’ll bring?’ Jasper leans into the mic and, without a wisp of self-consciousness, sings a miscellany of single lines from nine or ten songs. Dean recognises, ‘It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)’, ‘Strange Fruit’ and ‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine’. Others, Dean can’t identify, but the hardboiled press pack look on. Nobody laughs, nobody scoffs. Cameras click. ‘Where will these song-seeds land? It’s the Parable of the Sower. Often, usually, they land on barren soil and don’t take root. But sometimes, they land in a mind that is ready. Is fertile. What happens then? Feelings and ideas happen. Joy, solace, sympathy. Assurance. Cathartic sorrow. The idea that life could be, should be, better than this. An invitation to slip into somebody else’s skin for a little while. If a song plants an idea or a feeling in a mind, it has already changed the world.

The geometry of beauty is the visible signal of adaptively valuable objects: safe, food-rich, explorable, learnable habitats, and fertile, healthy dates, mates, and babies.

To Bury A Star" "I pulled a star from the darkest corner of night and hid it within my bosom. When the Earth beneath my feet gave way, moist and fertile, I knelt to the ground and cupped the radiant treasure in my hands. In a shallow hole I buried it—layer upon layer of black dirt tossed upon the spot until it no longer glowed. This I did for you, my love. Now, come with me and see what has been born from a single wishing star. Hand in hand we walk to the same spot of dirt to find the black and fertile soil sucked dry, the color blanched as pale as desert sands. Look how a ring of white fire jumps and dances around the buried starling! We catch our breath, beholding what has sprouted from this magical seed. The illusion of twisted branches glowing in the darkness like tails of comets soaring skyward—tails of baby stars that shoot like fireworks from that ring of fire. Up, up, up they fly to light a neglected corner of the night. From a single wishing star a thousand more have been born. They are for you, my love—a thousand dreams destined to come true.

mothers suffered from major nausea and vomiting during pregnancy. When the children reached school age, 21 percent scored 130 or more points on a standard IQ test, a level considered gifted. If their mothers had no morning sickness, only 7 percent of kids did that well. The researchers have a theory—still to be proven—about why. Two hormones that stimulate a woman to vomit may also act like neural fertilizer for the developing brain.

Thyme and oregano may help naturally increase progesterone. Both of these oils are in the GI cleansing formula I recommend as a cleanse when there is a fertility issue. Thyme is also included in the basic vitality supplements.

It is undignified to inject yourself with hormones designed to slow or enhance ovarian production. It is undignified to have your ovaries monitored by transvaginal ultrasound; to be sedated so that your eggs can be aspirated into a needle; to have your husband emerge sheepishly from a locked room with the “sample” that will be combined with your eggs under supervision of an embryologist. The grainy photo they hand you on transfer day, of your eight-celled embryo (which does not look remotely like a baby), is undignified, and so is all the waiting and despairing that follows.

I’m so sick of that argument. I’ve been hearing it for centuries. Playing God. Wolfgang, we played God when people believed they could dictate their baby’s gender by having sex in a certain position. We played God when we invented birth control, amniocentesis, cesarean sections, when we developed modern medicine and surgery. Flight is playing God. Fighting cancer is playing God. Contact lenses and glasses are playing God. Anything we do to modify our lives in a way that we were not born into is playing God. In vitro fertilization. Hormone replacement therapy. Gender reassignment surgery. Antibiotics.

Being a man is the weeding and the watering and the fertilizing. Doing it not just once but ten thousand times. Not just when the mood strikes but precisely when it doesn't. When there's nothing you'd rather less than change another diaper, warm another bottle. Nothing you'd rather than sleep cause you ain't since the baby arrived shrieking like a banshee—

When I was in college, the board game RISK was popular for a while. We’d get stoned and I’d stare at the little plastic pieces moving across the territories and get utterly confused about allies and enemies, arguing that nothing could be that black and white, complicating the whole notion of the game. But I understand that estrogen is my enemy now, the very thing that made me big-busted and fertile and a terrific nurser, has turned on me, inside my milk ducts where my body incubated nourishment that made my babies pink cheeked and roly-poly thighed. It’s all so twisted and ironic and confusing. Tamoxifen, a hero and a hazard, my breasts, a giver and taker of life, and I, the protagonist and the antagonist in this story

The brutal campaign of mass sterilisation, forced abortion and infanticide was exacerbated by the voluntary murder of baby girls on a genocidal scale as parents tried to ensure that their one legal child was a boy. Fertility fell, but not much faster than it would have done if a policy of economic development, public health and education had been adopted instead. What

I’m very fertile,” Hollis informs me, flipping her hair back. “You should stay as far away from these ovaries as you can unless you want me showing up on your doorstep in nine months.” She rubs her belly in slow circles and I feel myself hardening. I’ll fucking put a baby in that sexy stomach. “Is that supposed to be a turn-off? Because I just came in my pants twice.” Pause. “Congratulations, you’re having twins.

And then, as the religions fall into disuse, or the stories cease to be seen as the literal truth, they become myths. And the myths compost down to dirt, and become a fertile ground for other stories and tales which blossom like wildflowers. Cupid and Psyche is retold and half-forgotten and remembered again and becomes Beauty and the Beast. Anansi the African Spider God becomes Br’er Rabbit, whaling away at the tar baby.

As a teenager I thought I would rather die than have babies, and then in my twenties I vaguely assumed it was something that would just happen to me eventually, and now that I'm about to turn thirty, I'm starting to think: well? There isn't anyone queuing up to help me fulfil this biological function, needless to say. And I also have a weird and completely unexplained suspicion that I might not be fertile. There is no medical reason for me to think this.

Okay, okay . . . where do you hear it coming from?” “Around here somewhere.” “Always in this spot?” “No. Not always. You are going to think I am even more insane, but I swear it is following me around.” “Maybe it is my new powers. The power to drive you mad.” She wriggled her fingers at him theatrically as if she were casting a curse on him. “You already drive me mad,” he teased, dragging her up against him and nibbling her neck with a playful growling. “Ah hell,” he broke off. “I really am going mad. I cannot believe you cannot hear that. It is like a metronome set to some ridiculously fast speed.” He turned and walked into the living room, looking around at every shelf. “The last person to own this place probably had a thing for music and left it running. Listen. Can you hear that?” “No,” she said thoughtfully, “but I can hear you hearing it if I concentrate on your thoughts. What in the world . . . ?” Gideon turned, then turned again, concentrating on the rapid sound, following it until it led him right up to his wife. “It is you!” he said. “No wonder it is following me around. Are you wearing a watch?” He grabbed her wrist and she rolled her eyes. “A Demon wearing a watch? Now I have heard everything.” Suddenly Gideon went very, very still, the cold wash of chills that flooded through him so strong that she shivered with the overflow of sensation. He abruptly dropped to his knees and framed her hips with his hands. “Oh, Legna,” he whispered, “I am such an idiot. It is a baby. It is our baby. I am hearing it’s heartbeat!” “What?” she asked, her shock so powerful she could barely speak. “I am with child?” “Yes. Yes, sweet, you most certainly are. A little over a month. Legna, you conceived, probably the first time we made love. My beautiful, fertile, gorgeous wife.” Gideon kissed her belly through her dress, stood up, and caught her up against him until she squeaked with the force of his hug. Legna went past shock and entered unbelievable joy. She laughed, not caring how tight he held her, feeling his joy on a thousand different levels. “I never thought I would know this feeling,” he said hoarsely. “Even when we were getting married, I never thought . . . It did not even enter my mind!” Gideon set her down on her feet, putting her at arm’s length as he scanned her thoroughly from head to toe. “I cannot understand why I did not become aware of this sooner. The chemical changes, the hormone levels alone . . .” “Never mind. We know now,” she said, throwing herself back up against him and hugging him tightly. “Come, we have to tell Noah . . . and Hannah! Oh, and Bella! And Jacob, of course. And Elijah. And we should inform Siena—” She was still rattling off names as she teleported them to the King’s castle.

An alternative way of expressing births is by what’s called the total fertility rate: i.e., the total number of babies born to an average woman over her lifetime. For the whole world that number averages 2.5 babies; for the First World countries with the biggest economies, it varies between 1.3 and 2.0 babies (e.g., 1.9 for the U.S.). The number for Japan is only 1.27 babies, at the low end of the spectrum; South Korea and Poland are among the few countries with lower values.

Our own shadows disappear as the feet of thousands by the tens of thousands pound the fallow land into new dust that rising like a marvelous pollen will be fertile even as the first woman whispering imagination to the trees around her made for righteous fruit from such deliberate defense of life as no other still will claim inferior to any other safety in the world The whispers too they intimate to the inmost ear of every spirit now aroused they carousing in ferocious affirmation of all peaceable and loving amplitude sound a certainly unbounded heat from a baptismal smoke where yes there will be fire And the babies cease alarm as mothers raising arms and heart high as the stars so far unseen nevertheless hurl into the universe a moving force irreversible as light years traveling to the open eye And who will join this standing up and the ones who stood without sweet company will sing and sing back into the mountains and if necessary even under the sea we are the ones we have been waiting for

In 1801, the visiting French naturalist, François Péron, noted that “after residing a year or two at Port Jackson, most of the English prostitutes became remarkably fruitful”. Rather than attributing this to changes in climate and diet, he believed the fertility of the “disgusting prostitutes” was linked to “the sudden revolution in their moral conduct”, paradoxically arguing that a reduction in sexual activity resulted in more babies, as “an excess of sexual intercourse destroys the sensibility of the female organs”.

Hey kitten. We talked about meeting up more than once during your fertile window—would tonight work? There. Businesslike, friendly, all about the baby. But I can’t help but add, I still haven’t forgotten that you owe me ;) and I press send before I can think too much about whether it’s a dick thing to say or not. But hey, she seemed into it last night, and I am still very into the idea of sliding into her sweet, wet mouth. My phone buzzes a second later. Yes. We should meet again tonight...and maybe it will be more efficient if we meet at my place? I’ve decided you probably aren’t a serial killer. I smile to myself as I walk out of the station, typing to her as I walk. Maybe we can move past the wall she threw up between us last night after all. Definitely not a serial killer. Promise. Sounds like something a serial killer would say. How can I convince you? Other than being a police officer, related to one of your closest friends, and the potential father to your child, I mean. Bring delivery food with you. I’ll be just getting off work, and the food you choose will tell me whether you’re a killer or not. 10-4, kitten. I’m full-on grinning as I walk out to my car now. 

Even if America brings in five hundred thousand new migrants per year, in 2030 its GDP will still be $1 trillion smaller than it was in 2020.2 And right now, even half a million migrants would be a big stretch. After five consecutive years of gaining more than 1 million new migrants annually, net migration plummeted in 2019 to just over two hundred thousand. America isn’t even taking in enough migrants to replace its existing workforce: More than 1 million baby boomers (out of 80 million) are retiring each year, hence almost all counties are suffering a decline in the number of workers.3 Given America’s low fertility and rapid aging, immigration is the only reason the population is growing at all.

Page 548: We can imagine no recommendation for using the government to manipulate fertility that does not have dangers. But this highlights the problem: The United States already has policies that inadvertently social-engineer who has babies, and it is encouraging the wrong women. If the United States did as much to encourage high-IQ women to have babies as it now does to encourage low-IQ women, it would rightly be described as engaging in aggressive manipulation of fertility. The technically precise description of America's fertility policy is that it subsidizes births among poor women, who are also disproportionately at the low end of the intelligence distribution. We urge generally that these policies, represented by the extensive network of cash and services for low-income women who have babies, be ended.

The civil servant looks back at the file and says flatly, as if reading, “No children?” and then, looking directly up at Somer, “No babies?” Her cheeks flush with familiar shame in this country where fertility is so celebrated, where every woman has a child on each hip. She shakes her head. After a couple more exchanges with Krishnan, the civil servant tells them to come back in the morning for an update on their case. K rishnan takes her arm and leads her out of the building. “What was that about?” she says once they are outside. “Nothing,” he says. “Indian bureaucracy. Everything is like this here.” He flags a taxi “What do you mean ‘like this’? What happened back there? They kept us waiting an hour, that guy clearly hadn’t even read our file, and then he barely even talks to me!” “That’s because you’re—” “I’m what?” she snaps at him. “Look, things work differently here. I know how to handle this, just trust me. You can’t come here with your American ideas—” “I didn’t come here with anything.” She slams the taxicab door and feels the whole car reverberate.

If farming was “the biggest mistake in human history,” which triggered lots of evolutionary mismatch diseases, then why did it spread so rapidly and thoroughly? The biggest reason is that farmers pump out babies much faster than hunter-gatherers. In today’s economy, a higher reproductive rate often entails ominous connotations of expense: more mouths to feed, more college tuition bills to pay. Too many children can be a source of poverty. But to farmers, more offspring yield more wealth because children are a useful, fantastic labor force. After a few years of care, a farmer’s children can work in the fields and in the home, helping to take care of crops, herd animals, mind younger children, and process food. In fact, a large part of the success of farming is that farmers breed their own labor force more effectively than hunter-gatherers, which pumps energy back into the system, driving up fertility rates.20 Farming therefore leads to exponential population growth, causing farming to spread. Another factor that encouraged the spread of agriculture is the way farmers alter the ecology around their farms in ways that hinder if not prevent any more hunting and gathering. Occasionally

Daily Fertility Protocol GI cleanse formula on days 1–10: Take 1 to 3 a day to cleanse the candida. Probiotic defense formula on days 11–15: Take 1 capsule, three times a day to feed your body the good bacteria and support your immune system. Detoxification complex: 2 a day to help nourish and detox body filters, liver, kidney, spleen. Detoxification gel caps: 2 a day to help open up the liver ducts so it doesn’t become clogged with the cleansing you are about to do. Lemon essential oil in all your water to assist liver in its work. Basic vitality supplements: Take as directed to nourish your body with the perfect amount of vitamins, minerals, antioxidants, and omega 3s it needs. Women’s estrogen complex: 1 a day to help eliminate bad estrogens in your body. Bone complex: 4 a day for bone and hormone support. Grapefruit essential oil: 10 to 15 drops under tongue or in veggie capsule once a day to help balance progesterone. You can split this up into a dose in the morning and another in the evening. Women’s monthly blend: Apply to low abdomen, wrists, and back of neck to help balance hormones and mood swings. Avoid sugar, grains, dairy, fruit juice, and caffeine. Follow this protocol until pregnant, then discontinue GI cleansing complex and continue everything else.

The mundus: a sacred or accursed place in the middle of the italiot township. A pit, originally-a dust hole, a public rubbish dump. Into it were cast trash and filth of every kind, along with those condemned to death, and any newborn baby whose father declined to "raise" it (that is, an infant which he did not lift from the ground and hold up above his head so that he might be born a second time, born as a social as well as biological sense). A pit, then, 'deep' above all in meaning. It connected the city, the space above ground, land-as-soil and land-as-territory, to the hidden, clandestine, subterranean spaces which were those of fertility and death, of the beginning and the end, of birth and burial. (Later, in Christian times, the cemetery would have a comparable function). The pit was also a passageway through which dead souls would return to the bosom of the earth and then reemerge reborn. As locus of time, of births and tombs, vagina of the nurturing earth-as-mother, dark corridor emerging from the depths, cavern opening to the light, estuary of hidden forces and mouth of the realm of shadows, the mundus terrified as it glorified. In its ambiguity it encompassed the greatest foulness and the greatest purity, life and death, fertility and destruction, horror and fascination. 'Mundus es immundus'. -

Songs do not change the world,” declares Jasper. “People do. People pass laws, riot, hear God, and act accordingly. People invent, kill, make babies, start wars.” Jasper lights a Marlboro. “Which raises a question. ‘Who or what influences the minds of the people who change the world?’ My answer is ‘Ideas and feelings.’ Which begs a question. ‘Where do ideas and feelings originate?’ My answer is, ‘Others. One’s heart and mind. The press. The arts. Stories. Last, but not least, songs.’ Songs. Songs, like dandelion seeds, billowing across space and time. Who knows where they’ll land? Or what they’ll bring?” Jasper leans into the mic and, without a wisp of self-consciousness, sings a miscellany of single lines from nine or ten songs. Dean recognizes “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding),” “Strange Fruit,” and “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.” Others, Dean can’t identify, but the hardboiled press pack look on. Nobody laughs, nobody scoffs. Cameras click. “Where will these song-seeds land? It’s the Parable of the Sower. Often, usually, they land on barren soil and don’t take root. But sometimes, they land in a mind that is ready. Is fertile. What happens then? Feelings and ideas happen. Joy, solace, sympathy. Assurance. Cathartic sorrow. The idea that life could be, should be, better than this. An invitation to slip into somebody else’s skin for a little while. If a song plants an idea or a feeling in a mind, it has already changed the world.

It was as if we had made something very simple incredibly complicated. Here were these bodies, ready to reproduce, controlled against reproduction, then stimulated for an eventual reproduction that was put on ice. My friends who wanted to prolong their fertility did so, now that they were in their thirties and professionally successful, because circumstances in their lives had not lined up as planned. They had excelled at their jobs. They had nice apartments and enough money to comfortably start a family, but they lacked a domestic companion who would provide the necessary genetic material, lifelong support, and love. They wanted to be the parents they had grown up under, but love couldn't be engineered, and ovaries could. Hanging over all of this was an idea of choice, an arbitrary linking of goals and outcomes, which reduced structural, economic and technological change to individual decision. "The right to choose"―the right to birth control and abortion services―is different from the idea of choice I mean here. I mean that the baby question justified a fiction that one had to conform one's life to a uniform box by a certain deadline. If the choice were only to have a baby or not, then anybody who wanted a baby and was physically able would simply have one (as many people did), but what I saw with my friends was that it wasn’t actually about the choice of having a baby but of setting up a nuclear family, which unfortunately could not, unlike making a baby, happen more or less by fiat.

Why the Leaves Change Colour The first girl who was ever born with amber skin was Mother Nature’s own child. Her birth was from a seed Mother Nature planted in the darkest, purest, most fertile soil, and soon there was a flower, and the flower opened up to show the most beautiful little girl imaginable. One day when the little girl was playing, the Sky, who was her brother, jealous of how lovely she was and how happy and distracted their mother had been since she was born, stole her and placed her upon a star so far away from the earth, Mother Nature could not get to her. In her grief, Mother Nature took every leaf that existed on Earth and turned them amber. The baby girl raised herself on this star—after all, she was her mother’s child, fortitude became her. She became majestic, and independent, and knew how to cope with anything alone because she had always only known alone. When the girl was finally old enough to explore the universe by itself, she travelled across the stars, finding beauty in thousands of planets, but none where she really felt at home. Until, that is, she came upon a beautiful blue planet with amber leaves. Walking through golden leaves, she remembered who she was, and who her mother was, for this is the magic of the bond children have with their mothers. They will remember them even if they are millions of miles away; why do you think good mothers can say things like ‘I love you all the way around the universe’ and you just know they mean it and know not to question it? When Mother Nature felt in her bones that her child had returned, she took her into her arms and turned all the leaves to green again. But because the leaves of amber gold were how her girl found her again, it happens every single year in commemoration. We call it a season. We named it after Mother Nature’s only daughter. We called it Autumn.

Wear loose clothing, trim your fingernails, and make sure your bladder is empty before you begin. • Lie on your back with a pillow under your knees. • Place your hands on your pelvis and breathe deeply for

A plant bred in a laboratory is no more or less "real" than a baby born through in vitro fertilization. The traits matter, not the process.

You always know what to do,” she said. “Not always,” he said, holding her close. “Right now, for example. I’m not sure what to do.” “Why?” she asked, her eyes still closed, her face buried in his chest. “When are you going to tell me?” She lifted her head. “Tell you?” “About the baby.” “But Jack, you know the baby and mother are—” “The baby inside of you,” he said, placing a large hand over her flat tummy. A startled look crossed her features. She pushed him away a little bit. “Did someone say something to you?” she asked. “No one had to say anything. Please tell me I’m not the last to know.” “I just saw John yesterday—and how in the world would you know?” “Mel,” he said, running the back of one knuckle along her cheek, “your body’s changing. You haven’t had a period. For a while, I thought maybe you’d had a hysterectomy or something because I haven’t noticed a period since the first time we made love, but there’s a blue box under the bathroom sink. You don’t drink your beer, and you get nauseous from time to time. Not to mention being more tired than usual.” “Lord,” she said. “You never think a man will notice. Not things like that.” “Well?” She sighed. “I went to see John yesterday to confirm what I already suspected. I’m pregnant. Three months.” “You’re a midwife. How could you not know at three weeks?” “Because I assumed I was sterile. Infertile. Mark and I did everything to try to get a baby—even in vitro fertilization. To no avail. This was the last thing I ever expected.” “Ah,” he said, finally clear on why she might keep it from him. “So, here we are,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jack. You must think I’m an idiot.” He kissed her. “Of course not. Mel, I’m in love with you.” She was frozen for a second. “Oh, God,” she finally said, plummeted into tears. “Oh, God, Jack!” She buried her face in his chest and wept. “Hey, no reason to cry, baby. You a little surprised? No more than me,” he laughed. “I never thought this could happen to me. It hit me so hard, I damn near fell down. But I love you.” She continued to softly cry. “It’s okay, honey. It’ll be okay.” He stroked her hair. “You want to have a baby, obviously.” She lifted her head. “I wanted a baby so badly, I ached. But do you?” she asked. “I mean, you’re forty.” “I want everything with you. Everything. Besides, I like babies. And I’m wild about pregnant women.” “When did you decide you knew for sure?” she asked him. “At least a month ago.” He put a hand over her breast. “Sore? Haven’t you noticed the changes? Your nipples have darkened.” “I was in denial,” she said, wiping at her tears.

When we first come into the world, we are small, fragile, and defenseless. We are totally dependent on the love and care of our parents, especially our mothers. In our modern society, we have learned very well how to take care of the physical, biological, and even the developmental needs of our babies, even though parents at various socio-economic levels still face vastly different challenges as they meet their infants’ needs. But we have let a vital need, the one whose fulfillment will determine our ability to have a feeling of self-worth and security, slip through the cracks of modern life. If our emotional needs are not met at the right time, we will face a daunting task later in life as we try to heal the structural wounds of our personalities. Like a plant that doesn’t get enough water or sun early on, we will have trouble growing to our full height, no matter how much fertilizer we get later. Fortunately, unlike plants, we can direct our consciousness and self-awareness toward healing, which can give us new foundations for fulfilling our lives.

Imagine that you have a big juicy golden yellow mango. You’re just about to bite into it when a thought of its origin crosses your mind. Some wonderful farmer, many years ago planted a seed. Like rearing a tiny baby, the farmer tended to his mango saplings with love and care. He used the right kind of soil, a large quantity of water, the best of fertilizers and perfect sunlight. His joy knew no bounds as he watched the seed transform first into a tender green sapling and then into a tree. He protected it like his own baby. A few years later, the tree started flowering and bore small raw mangoes. With the passage of time, the mangoes turned ripe and golden. Then, with gentle wrinkled hands the farmer plucked the mangoes, laid them softly over the basket and carried them to town. From the village to the town, from the farmer to the shopkeeper, traversing through unknown destinations over thousands of miles the mango finally reached your super-store. The love and the labour of so many individuals along with total support from the eco-system have all come together to give birth to this lovely mango. You spotted it the next day, paid for it and now it rests in your hands. As you sink your teeth and bite the mango, you realize that you are lucky to taste the loveliest and juiciest of mangoes. Just like the mango, everything in life is a culmination of the efforts, love and contribution of many people. Can you ever put a price on the many elements which have gone into the divine creation of the mango? You have taken it so much for granted that you don’t realize how expensive it will be to produce even a single mango. And you got it so cheap. How much will you cherish when you bite a mango and know that its worth is hundreds of thousand rupees. And this is the same with everything that we buy or use. Next time when you get dressed, wear your watch, grab your mobile phone or travel by car, realize that their essential value is worth a million dollars. Not only will you be able to enjoy all those to the fullest, but also you will stop complaining about the high cost.

If one of these baby stick insects is removed as soon as it is born, and kept in a tank on its own, then it too will lay eggs which will hatch into little stick insects in their turn. This is despite the fact that it has never mated. Stick insects frequently reproduce this way. They are using a mechanism known as parthenogenesis, from the Greek for ‘virgin birth’. Females lay fertile eggs without ever mating with a male, and perfectly healthy little stick insects emerge from these eggs. These insects have evolved with special mechanisms to ensure that the offspring have the correct number of chromosomes. But these chromosomes all came from the mother.

Americans sometimes hint that it's not worth saving people's lives in poor countries because then they'll just have more kids....We disagree. That Malthusian argument is a canard. In fact, it's increasingly clear that one reason some people have large families is because they expect some children to die. Give them hope that their children will live, and they'll have fewer kids. The history of demography is that after child mortality rates drop, birth rates tumble as well, after about a twenty-year lag. Indeed, we're already seeing fertility rates dropping sharply in poor countries. Indian women, for example, now average just 2.6 babies-down from almost 6 in 1950. Bangladeshi women average just 2.3 babies, and Mexican women 2.2 babies. The United Nations Population Fund calculates that the number of children under the age of fifteen will end the century no higher than it is now....The way to deal with population pressures is to reduce child mortality and support family planning and education, while planting hope.

I joined Claudio on an expedition in search of one of the country’s most fabulous freaks, the incredibly rare Southern Darwin’s frog, which was discovered by the big beard himself in 1834 on his epic five year Beagle voyage. What makes this frog so extraordinary is that it has eschewed conventional pond-based metamorphosis for something more sci-fi: after mating the male guards the fertilized eggs until they are close to hatching, then gobbles them up. Six weeks later, like a scene out of Alien, he barfs up baby frogs. He is the only male animal other than the seahorse to give birth, albeit through his mouth.

The Environmental Movement’s Retreat from Advocating U.S. Population Stabilization (1970–1998): A First Draft of History by Roy Beck and Leon Kolankiewicz The overwhelmingly non-Hispanic, white leadership of the environmental movement may have felt it was defensible to address population growth as long as the great bulk of this growth came from non-Hispanic whites, which it did during the Baby Boom. But the situation changed dramatically after1972. From that year forward, the fertility of non-Hispanic whites was below the replacement rate, while that of black Americans and Latinos remained well above the replacement rate. To talk of fertility reductions after 1972 was to draw disproportionate attention to nonwhites. Certain minorities and their spokespersons—with long memories of disgraceful treatment by the white majority and acutely aware of their comparative powerlessness in American society—were deeply suspicious of possible hidden agendas in the population stabilization movement. As the Reverend Jesse Jackson told the Rockefeller Commission, “our community is suspect of any programs that would have the effect of either reducing or levelling off our population growth. Virtually all the security we have is in the number of children we produce.” And Manuel Aragon, speaking in Spanish, declared to the Commission: “what we must do is to encourage large Mexican American families so that we will eventually be so numerous that the system will either respond or it will be overwhelmed.” During the twenty-six years after 1972, the non-Hispanic white share of population growth declined significantly from the 1970 era. Thus, by the 1990s, a majority of the nation’s growth stemmed from sources other than non-Hispanic whites (especially Latin American and Asian immigrants and their offspring). Environmentalist leaders—proud and protective of their claim to the moral high ground—may have been reluctant to jeopardize this by venturing into the political minefield of the nation’s volatile racial/ethnic relations through appearing to point fingers at “outsiders,” “others,” or “people of color” as responsible for America’s ongoing problem with population growth.

Still no baby?” she whispered in my ear, and I whispered the same back, and we hugged yet more tightly and laughed into each other’s necks. It was very surprising to me that Hawa and I should have found a bond in this, across continents and cultures, but that’s how it was. For just as, in London and New York, Aimee’s world — and therefore mine — had erupted into babies, her own and the babies of her friends, dealing with them and talking about them, so that nothing seemed to exist except birth, and not just in the private realm, but also all newspapers, the television, stray songs on the radio seemed, to me, obsessed with the subject of fertility in general and of the fertility of women like me in particular, just so Hawa was coming under pressure in the village, as the time passed and people cottoned on to the fact that the policeman in Banjul was only a decoy, and Hawa herself a new kind of girl, perhaps uncircumcised, certainly unmarried, with no children, and no immediate plans for having any. “Still no baby?” had become our shorthand and catchphrase for all this, our mutual situation, and it seemed the funniest thing in the world whenever we exchanged the phrase with each other, we giggled and groaned over it, and only occasionally did it occur to me — and only when I was back in my own world — that I was thirty-two and Hawa ten years younger.

When you have children or grandchildren it seems kind of waste if they cannot play on the lawn because there is fertilizer all over it.-Author, ORGANIC LANDSCAPING TECHNIQUES BARNES AND NOBLE NOOK BOOKS

I’m very fertile,” Hollis informs me, flipping her hair back. “You should stay as far away from these ovaries as you can unless you want me showing up on your doorstep in nine months.” She rubs her belly in slow circles and I feel myself hardening. I’ll fucking put a baby in that sexy stomach. “Is that supposed to be a turn-off? Because I just came in my pants twice.” Pause. “Congratulations, you’re having twins.” Her nose and mouth contort. “You are so gross.

Here’s a culture war strategy conservative Christians should get behind: have more children and disciple them like crazy. Strongly consider having more children than you think you can handle. You don’t have to be a fertility maximalist to recognize that children are always lauded as a blessing in the Bible… [I]n the not-too-distant future, the only couples replacing themselves in America will be religious couples. Although there are many good reasons to have a baby, at the end of the day, as Jonathan Last maintains, “there’s only one good reason to go through the trouble a second time: Because you believe, in some sense, that God wants you to.” The basic reason countries stop having children is because they’ve come to see offspring as a liability rather than a source of hope. As Christians, we know better. Do you want to rebel against the status quo? Do you want people to ask you for a reason for the hope that is in you (1 Peter 3:15)? Tote your brood of children through Target. There is almost nothing more counter-cultural than having more children. And once we have those children, there is almost nothing more important than catechizing them in the faith, developing their moral framework, and preparing them to be deeply compassionate lovers of God and lovers of people and relentlessly biblical lovers of truth... I understand that many couples will be unable to have all the children they want to have. We have to allow for God to work in mysterious ways that we would not have planned. And yet, in so far as we are able, let us welcome new life... Presidents and Supreme Court justices will come and go. A child’s soul will last forever. The future belongs to the fecund. It’s time for happy warriors who seek to “renew the city” and “win the culture war” by investing in their local church, focusing on the family, and bringing the kingdom to bear on the world, one baby at a time.

Praise the miracle body The odd and undeniable mechanics of hand Hundred boned foot, perfect stretch of tendon Praise the veins that river these wrists Praise the prolapsed valve in a heart Praise the scars marking a gallbladder absent Praise the rasp and rattle of functioning lungs Praise the pre-arthritic ache of elbows and ankles Praise the lifeline sectioning a palm Praise the photographic pads of fingertips Praise the vulnerable dip at the base of a throat Praise the muscles surfacing on an abdomen Praise these arms that carry babies, and anthologies Praise the leg hairs that sprout and are shaved Praise the ass that refuses to shrink or be hidden Praise the cunt that bleeds and accepts, bleeds and accepts Praise the prominent ridge of nose Praise the strange convexity of rib cage Praise the single hair that insists on growing from a right areola Praise the dent where the mole was clipped from the back of a neck Praise these inner thighs brushing Praise these eyelashes that sometimes turn inward Praise these hips preparing to spread into a grandmother’s skirt Praise the beauty of the freckle on the first knuckle of a left little finger We’re gone in a blizzard of seconds Love the body human while we’re here A gift of minutes on an evolving planet A country in flux, give thanks For bone, and dirt, and the million things that will kill us someday Motion and the pursuit of happiness, no garauntees, give thanks For chaos theory, ecology, common sense that says we are web A planet in balance or out That butterfly in Tokyo setting off thunder storms in Iowa Tell me you don’t matter to a universe that conspired to give you such a tongue Such rhythm or rhythmless hips Such opposable thumbs Give thanks, or go home a waste of spark Speak, or let the maker take back your throat March, or let the creator rescind your feet Dream, or let your god destroy your good and fertile mind This is your warning This your birthright Do not let this universe regret you

To most Americans—including me these days—it is gut-check self-evident that a fertilized egg is not a person, because personhood is a lot more than a collection of chromosomes in a Petri dish or in the womb. To most Americans—including me these days—it is also gut-check self-evident that an unborn baby is mighty like one of us, and that a lot of fast talking about reproductive rights and choice or a woman’s mental well-being doesn’t answer the horror of a three-pound child with her head deliberately caved in lying in a medical waste receptacle.

Just how do you grow a smart baby? We’re thinking in terms of soil, so it makes sense to formulate a fertilizer. What you put in is as important as what you leave out. There are four nutrients you will want in your behavioral formula, adjusting them as your baby gets older: breast-feeding, talking to your baby, guided play, and praising effort rather than accomplishment. Brain research tells us there are also several toxins: pushing your child to perform tasks his brain is not developmentally ready to take on; stressing your child to the point of a psychological state termed “learned helplessness”; and, for the under-2 set, television.

Come on, Melinda. You can’t avoid it forever. We both know you’re pregnant.” “Ugh,” she said, accepting the cool, wet cloth. She pressed it to her face, her brow, her neck. She didn’t have any more to say. But Jack knew. There had been tears, exhaustion, nausea. She turned watering eyes up to him. He shrugged and said, “You eased up on the breast-feeding, popped an egg and I nailed it.” Her eyes narrowed as if to say she did not appreciate the explanation. He held out a hand to bring her to her feet. “You have to wean David,” he said. “Your body can’t completely nourish two children. You’ll get weak. You’re already exhausted.” “I don’t want to be pregnant right now,” she said. “I’m barely over being pregnant.” “I understand.” “No, you don’t. Because you haven’t ever been pregnant.” He thought this would probably be a bad time to tell her that he did so understand, since he had lived with a pregnant person and listened very attentively to every complaint. “We should go see John right away, so you can find out how pregnant.” “How long have you suspected?” she asked him. “I don’t know. A few weeks. It was a little tougher this time….” “Oh, yeah?” “Well, yeah. Since you haven’t had a period since the first time I laid a hand on you. God, for a supposedly sterile woman, you certainly are fertile.” Then he grinned, fully aware it would have got him smacked if he hadn’t been holding the baby. She whirled away from him and went to sit on their bed. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. Well, he’d been expecting exactly this. There’d been a lot of crying lately and he knew she was going to be mighty pissed off. He sat down beside her, put an arm around her and pulled her close. David patted her head. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I’m not delivering this one. I want that understood.” “Try not to be cute,” she said through her tears. “I think my back already hurts.” “Can I get you something? Soda? Crackers? Arsenic?” “Very funny.” She turned her head to look at him. “Are you upset?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry it happened so soon. Sorry for you. I know there are times you get damned uncomfortable and I wanted you to get a break.” “I should never have gone away with you.” “Nah. You were already pregnant. Wanna bet?” “You knew before that?” “I wondered why you were so emotional, and that was a possible reason. I never bought your whole sterile thing. But I don’t have a problem with it. I wanted more kids. I like the idea of a larger family than the three of us. I come from a big family.” “There will not be five, I can guarantee you that,” she said. Then she bored a hole through him with her eyes. “Snip, snip.” “You’re not going to blame this on me, Mel. I suggested birth control. A couple of times, as a matter of fact. You were the one said it could never happen twice. And then explained that whole business about not ovulating while you’re nursing. How’s that working for you so far? Hmm?” “Screw you,” she said, not sweetly. “Well, obviously…” “I’d like you to understand I wasn’t relying on that breast-feeding thing. I’m a midwife—I know that’s not foolproof. I really didn’t think it possible that… Shit,” she said. She sighed deeply. “I just barely got back into my jeans….” “Yeah, those jeans. Whoa, damn. Those jeans really do it to me. No one wears a pair of jeans like you do.” “Aren’t you getting a little sick of having a fat wife?” “You’re not fat. You’re perfect. I love your body, pregnant and unpregnant. I know you’re trying to get me all worked up, but I’m not going there. You can try to pick a fight with me all day and I just won’t play. It wouldn’t be a fair fight—you’re out to get me and we both know it. Do you have appointments this morning?” “Why?” “Because I want to go to Grace Valley for an ultrasound. I want to know when I have to have the house done.” *

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s wet and round and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—“God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” –Kurt Vonnegut

You have to take better care of yourself, Miss Darling.” The doctor calls for a nurse to change my bandages, and his eyes pinch as he works himself into a lecture. “With your history of injuries, you need to make health and nutrition a priority if you’re ever going to resolve your late awakening and hit fertility.” Right. Because my main concern after a gunshot wound should be opening the gates to my baby factory.

She is frantic. But if she did not, he would see her as flawed. Ill. Incapable of bearing a child. She has to deny her loss, because he won't be married to a woman who is not perfect. She has buried a dead baby in secret and she has to look as if she is endlessly beautiful, clever, and fertile.

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Good morning to Karen’s fertile and barren friends. I thought I’d send over the plan for the completely unnecessary, mawkish, and expensive non-tradition borrowed from America that is our friend Karen’s baby shower. Karen thinks it’s always good to demand money and time from people to celebrate her own personal life choices and we felt you haven’t given her quite enough in recent history, what, with the $1500 pound hen do in Ibiza, wedding in Majorca with a strict dress code, and gift registry at Selfridges. (NB: ladies-- if you get a new job or buy or flat on your own, you get a card and that’s it! We want to make sure there’s no prprecedent set. We’re not made of money!!) The good news is, after Karen gives birth she won’t see any of her childless friends unless all they want to do is talk about her baby and nothing else. So you can treat this as her farewell party as well as her baby shower. And save those pennies for a couple of years, that is of course until she comes back to you when she’s stopped breast feeding and is bored out of her mind, demands you all go out to drink, dance, and take loads of drugs, then sends you an offish text the following week saying she can’t really have a night out like that again because “I’M A MOTHER NOW.

Thus husbands and wives were together only once every eight or ten months and when they met they were so exhausted and depressed on both sides . . . they ceased to procreate. As for the newly born, they died early because their mothers, overworked and famished, had no milk to nurse them, and for this reason, while I was in Cuba, 7000 children died in three months. Some mothers even drowned their babies from sheer desperation. . . . In this way, husbands died in the mines, wives died at work, and children died from lack of milk . . . and in a short time this land which was so great, so powerful and fertile . . . was depopulated. . . . My eyes have seen these acts so foreign to human nature, and now I tremble as I write. . . .

You can maximize your child’s brain power in plenty of wonderful ways. After breast-feeding, focus on open-ended play, lots of verbal interaction, and praising effort—fertilizers statistically guaranteed to boost your child’s intellect from almost any starting point.

Order gives birth to constants, and constants yield expectations. When two people have unprotected sex and both are fertile, and the sperm reaches the egg, the woman gets pregnant and a baby is born. There is an order to things and thus, a reasonable expectation can be made. That’s what two decades of school teach you. Do things a certain way, and you’ll get the results you want.” She gulped her beer and sighed. “But life is different. It doesn’t work that way. And dating is the stupidest mechanism of life.” “Why is it the stupidest?” “Because the rules are all fucked up. You do one thing, supposedly the ‘right’ thing, and you get a different result, which is usually no result.

Tyler was handsome in a chiseled sort of way. Like a model in a black-and-white cologne commercial. But Josh. Oh God—Josh. He melted me. He was a teddy bear. A warm, gorgeous, delicious piece of everything. I wished I could let him in. Let him be my boyfriend if he wanted to. He’d said the morning after we’d first hooked up that we could be exclusive. He would. He wanted to. He would lock the house up before bed and kiss me good night. He’d throw his shirts on my chair and I wouldn’t even complain about it. Stuntman could sleep with us because he likes Josh. And when he went to work, I could text him and tell him I miss him, and he would say it back, and if I got mouthy, he’d just laugh at me and handle me like he always did. He just let my moods roll off him, like nothing about me scared him, and it made me feel like I could be myself around him. Like the only time I really was myself was when I was around him. Maybe I should marry Tyler. I mean, why should everyone be miserable, right? If I married Tyler, he would be happy, Mom would be happy. Josh would move on to fertile pastures and have a million babies. And I’d be with someone that I cared about who could maybe distract me from the broken heart I was going to carry for the rest of my life. Tyler and I got along. It wouldn’t be bad. It wouldn’t be me and Josh, but there wasn’t going to be a me and Josh, so didn’t I have to consider my alternatives? And Tyler knew I was in love with Josh. He knew what he was asking when he proposed. My best friend would never talk to me again, and my dog would probably run away. With Josh.

Overnight, as soon as the clock chimed my twenty-seventh birthday in fact, I went from being a well-educated, empowered woman to one of those pathetic women who wanted a baby with such ferocity it drove my husband away. An ovulation-kit-wielding, sperm-testing, temperature-taking lunatic. In my previous life, I’d scorned this type of woman from up in my (what I presumed to be) fertile ivory tower. Then I’d become one.

Your mental attitude is your perception of your world, and this perception matters to your life and to the life of your baby. How you view your world determines your body’s reaction to the world. Negative attitudes create stress in the body, and stress reduces fertility.

I take the fertility suppressant.” Of course, we both do. The last thing anyone wants are little quadrant babies running around. But it’s better said than sorry.

We’ll only take our bottoms off, how’s that?” As far as compromises go, this one sounds pretty darn reasonable. “I’m very fertile,” Hollis informs me, flipping her hair back. “You should stay as far away from these ovaries as you can unless you want me showing up on your doorstep in nine months.” She rubs her belly in slow circles and I feel myself hardening. I’ll fucking put a baby in that sexy stomach. “Is that supposed to be a turn-off? Because I just came in my pants twice.” Pause. “Congratulations, you’re having twins.

Hunter-gatherer communities were very small and grew extremely slowly. One persuasive reason for this is diet. The wild harvest of roots, fruits, berries, meat and other items that needed mastication to be digestible were not suitable for infants and their soft baby teeth. It is persuasively conjectured that this depressed the birth rate because infants were breastfed for much longer by hunter-gatherer mothers whose milk was a prime source of protein. When women are nursing, they are generally unable to conceive and that meant a long birth interval, perhaps four or five years between new babies. Given that women died young in prehistory, usually before they reached the age of 30, and had a fertile life of only 15 or so years, they will have had only three children at most, not all of them surviving to adulthood.

Finally, what about the myth that women on welfare make a conscious decision to have more children in order to receive greater welfare payments? A substantial body of research has demonstrated that this is simply not the case. In fact, women on welfare have a slightly lower fertility rate than women in the general population.19 The difference is that many more of these births occur outside of marriage. This myth was debunked nearly 50 years by Johnnie Tillmon, a Black mother receiving welfare. Writing for the Liberation News Service, she observed, People still believe that old lie that AFDC mothers keep on having kids just to get a bigger welfare check. On the average, another baby means another $35 a month—barely enough for food and clothing. Having babies for profit is a lie that only men could make up, and only men could believe. Men, who never have to bear the babies or have to raise them and maybe send them to war.20

had never really thought about this last until I took a graduate level course in developmental biology, which forever changed my appreciation of the miracle of birth. In this course I learned what’s known about how a fertilized egg becomes a human baby at the molecular level. The more I learned about it, the more impossible it seemed. How does an organism convert food into the raw materials necessary to make more of itself? How could something as complex as a human being—as a human mind—be built up from a single magic cell? The answer, of course, is that it can’t be. Can. Not. Be. Of all the impossible things I can imagine, this is the most impossible of all. Trillions of cells, specializing and working in concert, all arising from a single cell. More than a hundred billion neurons all spawned from this same humble beginning, all in the right configuration to produce consciousness. It was utterly absurd.

We shield men from the reality of fertility, family, and female desire, because we have been conditioned to consider them uninteresting or unattractive. Throughout my twenties and into my thirties, I tried desperately to appear casual and carefree, believing that any hint at my true, complicated desires—in my case, for love, commitment, independence, a successful career, and ultimately a baby too—would render me single forever. I silenced myself, because I thought it made me more attractive. I tucked my weaknesses, my wants, and my womb out of sight.

If God doesn’t give babies to people who aren’t ready for them, He’s got a lot of explaining to do. Because some of the mothers He chose to be fertile are very questionable. My own mother being one of them.

They wondered about IUI and IVF. If fertilization happens in a lab, is the child still created out of love? . . . They came to see that assisted reproduction is still an act of love, albeit a less conventional one than 'making love' to have a baby.

In accepting the truth about my complicit role in aiding and abetting cruelty, I had to leave the cycle of denial... As a feminist, I couldn't hide from the fact that what we do to animals to fulfill our consumer demands is profoundly un-feminist. We impregnate the animals against their will, breeding them into captivity, we imprison them, we control and violate their reproductive sovereignty and organs so we can take what we want out of them, and, when they have given us most of what they have, we toss them out to make room for more fertile ones. This is what feminists approve of and directly cause when we consume animals' stolen milk and eggs. we take the babies we have forced into them so we can have the products we want. The mothers get nothing. They are denied the pleasure of raising their babies. They are denied the comforts of being suckled and feeling their wings around their chirping young. Even in rare cases where the babies and mothers aren't separated and are allowed something resembling a decent life, we still decide how they will live as well as when they will die. None of this challenges the status quo of ownership, of our "right" to their very physical bodies. From "How I Became a Vegan Feminist Agitator" in Circles of Compassion

—the sharply diminished growth and rapid aging of America's white population. Due to white low immigration, reduced fertility, and aging, the white population grew a tepid 1.2 percent in 2000–10. In roughly 10 years, the white population will begin a decline that will continue into the future. This decline will be most prominent among the younger populations. At the same time, the existing white population will age rapidly, as the large baby boom generation advances into seniorhood.

In my nutritional philosophy, tradition has weight. After all, we’ve survived anywhere from 7,000 to 77,000 generations on this planet (depending on whose science you believe). If we didn’t know how to adequately nourish our children all that time, how did we even get here? And guess what? Traditional cultures didn’t (and don’t) feed their young babies infant cereal. Among the few cultures that fed their babies a gruel of grains, their practice radically differed from what we do today. They would either pre-chew the gruel for their babies until they were at least a year old, or the gruel was mildly fermented by soaking the grains for 24 hours or more.

The reason, one suspects, for the gender-blurring was the increasing popularity of the birth control pill, which had been approved for sale in 1960. Once women had the option of turning off their fertility, they could behave as rakishly as men. In the age of the pill, sex did not automatically lead to marriage and babies; it generally led to more sex. So in 1966, the Barbie team made a decision. The times they were a-changin'. And Barbie, to some degree, would have to change with them.

A fertile, open mind is like a sponge. Every individual, event and episode in one’s life is a learning experience. It’s up to you what you want to emulate; the good or the bad, as your personality is constantly evolving. The innocence of a baby, the selfless love of a pet dog, or a stray comment from a stranger - all these can have an everlasting effect and help to mould your character. It’s these incidents and experiences, episodes and the people you meet along the way, that weave the tapestry of your life.

A baby sapling of intention started to grow in her mind as the tree of discontent in her thoughts shed seeds from its branches and the soils of her imagination nurtured and fertilized them.

We’re going to get you in and settled before the baby. I’m going to do everything I can to make this easy for you.” He shrugged. “If I could carry the baby for you, I would.” He grinned. “Thank God I can’t. But after this little one is born, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to be sure you have time to enjoy your kids. We’ll try my method of birth control instead of yours next time. I miss your joy. Your smile.” “I smile,” she protested. “You’ve been pretty cranky.” “Jack, I’m sorry, darling. It’s not you…. It’s me. I feel like an idiot. I feel like one of those teenage girls who come to me already five months pregnant without a clue because they didn’t want it to be so. It’s pretty embarrassing, given my profession. I really, really thought David was a miracle, and the only miracle I’d have. People like me shouldn’t have that kind of denial. I don’t know what possessed me….” “Do you have any idea how much I love you? Mel, I’d never do anything to hurt you, make you uncomfortable.” He smiled. “I just can’t keep my hands off you.” “I know, Jack,” she said. “The hell of it is, I can’t resist you.” “So—the only problem we have is that you’re way more fertile than you thought. We can work with that. Kiss me.” She

In new and sanitized suburban towns, a young generation thus dreamed of cures—of a death-free, disease-free existence. Lulled by the idea of the durability of life, they threw themselves into consuming durables: boat-size Studebakers, rayon leisure suits, televisions, radios, vacation homes, golf clubs, barbecue grills, washing machines. In Levittown, a sprawling suburban settlement built in a potato field on Long Island—a symbolic utopia—“illness” now ranked third in a list of “worries,” falling behind “finances” and “child-rearing.” In fact, rearing children was becoming a national preoccupation at an unprecedented level. Fertility rose steadily—by 1957, a baby was being born every seven seconds in America. The “affluent society,” as the economist John Galbraith described it, also imagined itself as eternally young, with an accompanying guarantee of eternal health—the invincible society.

I know you sometimes feel bad because you think you’re taking away my opportunity to be a father. But I don’t care about that. If you tell me today that you want to stop trying for a baby, I’ll be relieved, because that would mean you might stop being sad. I’m only going through this fertility process with you because I know you want to be a mother more than anything. I would walk through fire to see you happy. I’d give up everything I have to see a genuine smile on your face. If we had to forego sex forever, I would. Hell, I’d even give up cheese to see you finally get your dream of becoming a mother. And you know how much I love cheese.

Belgium is hardly an outlier. In fact, its fertility rate is higher than the European Union average of 1.6. While the United Kingdom also has a fertility rate of 1.8, many countries are below that average, such as Greece (1.3), Italy (1.4), Romania (1.3), and Slovakia (1.4).100 Those countries are already losing population. Greece’s population started to decline in 2011.101 Fewer babies were born in Italy in 2015 than in any year since the state was formed in 1861.102 That same year, two hundred schools closed across Poland for lack of children.

Among millennials, especially, the fertility rate is very low. Between 2007 and 2012, the birth rate among Americans who came of age after 2000 dropped by 15 percent, to the lowest birth rate ever recorded in the United States: 0.95, less than one baby for every mother.

27 Nakshatra and their Lords in Astrology As per Vedic astrology and Indian mythology, the planets, earth, and stars all affect human life. The same goes for the nakshatras, as they can tell everything from a person’s present life to their future. That’s why astrologers use the word nakshatra to predict someone’s life. Actually, the nakshatras help in dealing with life issues and also help you know about the life of an individual. Nakshatra and their lords Ashwini - Ketu - Aswini is the first among the nakshatras and their lords. It is under the rule of Ketu. You might have heard of the Ashwani twins, who are also part of the Aswini Nakshatra. Well, the people born in this nakshatra and their lords are adventurous and full of life. They always try to bring new changes and also use words carefully that can heal others. Bharani – Venus. These kinds of people are usually born under the Bharani Nakshatra. Bharani is ruled by Venus. This nakshatra tells about the cycle of birth, fertility, and many other related things. Babies born under Bharani are usually responsible in the future and love to care for others. Krittika – Sun. Krittika, is ruled by God Sun. Yes, the sun is known for its fiery determination to burn and shine. People born under this nakshatra are full of determination and willpower. Rohini -Moon Such people who love peace and want harmony everywhere are usually born under Rohini Nakshatra. It is under Shree Krishna (Vishnu Ji). People born under this Nakshatra are emotional, have artistic abilities, and have a lovely nature too. Mrigasira – Mars This deer-shaped Mrigashira is ruled by Sri Chandra Sudeshwar (Lord Shiva) and Mars. People born under this have intelligence, good nature, and love exploring knowledge. Ardra – Rahu Adra is ruled by Rahu. An Ardra Nakshtra-born individual can break their limitations and adapt to changes. Punarvasu –Jupiter Yes if you see leadership qualities in people around you then it’s sure that the person is born in Punarvasu and ruled by Jupiter. Jyestha – Mercury Jyestha locals frequently demonstrate superior intellectual abilities, a perceptive disposition, and a knack for solving problems. Moola – Ketu Those who are from Moola frequently have an air of mystery, a strong sense of purpose, and a desire to solve life’s riddles. Revati – Mercury Revati babies have a kind and compassionate disposition, a great desire to help others, and a creative spirit. Natives of Revati frequently succeed in careers that let them use their creativity to express themselves and help others, such as counseling, writing, performing arts, or any other line of work involving the arts. For more details about this articles: Click Here

Squishy, stretchy babies adapted big brains but also soft, mobile heads to fit through their mothers' birth canals. Mom's hormones encourage pliability in the ligaments that hold her bones together—pelvises widen during the fertile years and, of course, during pregnancy and birth. [...] These adaptations seem to disprove the argument that birthing pelvises are the wrong size and shape to birth, that they lack compatibility with their babies. Labor is like two bodies dancing, not fighting.

The US TV network Fox News recently reported on a German couple who attended a fertility clinic because they had failed to have children, only to be told that in order to have a baby, they had to actually have sex first. They thought the stork was enough.

The womb is where babies are created, and grown, and from where they are birthed. It is the home of our creativity, the wellspring of our vital feminine energies. The womb is the matrix from which our life force rises and to which it returns. It is the hub of our energetic and physical bodies. The womb is also where we experience death. Our moon blood, our menstruation, is a sign that an ovum (...) has died without being fertilized by the sperm (...); it passes out of our bodies with the now unneeded uterine lining that the womb created for the possibility of growing a baby. Without fertilization, this living-nourishing matrix dies and leaves our bodies in our monthly flow (which by the way is one of the most concentrated forms of śakti in our bodies).