Parents who aren’t cishet are so strong.
People who give birth or carry a child and aren’t women are unbelievably brave and capable.
Nonbinary parents are incredible and just as capable of raising a child of any gender.
Mothers whose partner carried their child are so beautiful and amazing.
Same/similar gender parents are fantastic and loving and able to be just as awesome as different gender parents.
Fathers who carried their baby are unbelievably awesome dads.
Parents who have a surrogate baby for any reason are just as much their child’s parent as they would be if they had/had been able to have the child just between them.
Parents who adopt are so beautiful and kind and are the parent that the child needed, and are just as worthy as parents who don’t adopt.
LGBTQ+ parents are the best and nothing will ever convince me otherwise.
Critics of surrogacy are called conservative, moralist and anti-gay. As a feminist, I think surrogacy should be discussed not on the basis of who the intended parents might be, but on the basis of what surrogacy itself is. My questions are: Is surrogacy reproductive prostitution? And: Is surrogacy baby trade?
The first question startles many. At first surrogacy looks like the reverse of prostitution: it is reproduction without sex, not sex without reproduction. We see images of cute babies and happy families, not of seedy brothels. The ‘holy uterus’, not the vagina, is put on the market. The archetype of the benevolent Madonna, not the whore, is projected. Yet in spite of these differences, they are both about selling a part of the female body. They both perpetuate the ideology that women’s bodies exist for the purpose and purchase of others. We are told that women need to offer sex to men who are single, disabled or have special needs — as if sex were a human right. We are told that gay couples, single men and infertile women need children — as if having children were a human right. In both cases, women are obliged to surrender: to have sex without wanting it, to give birth to babies without getting to know them. Women are turned into factories: have sex for the purpose of others, have children for the purpose of others. In both industries, women are used as tools, not as human beings with feelings of their own.
Keith: (slowly and a little too loud) Hey, It’s me Keith. I am your fa-ther. We are bonding? Yes?
Lance: Keith, no. Just no. You know, she can’t talk, right? Try again. Just talk to her, like a normal person and not, I don’t know, like you are a robot who works with the elderly, maybe?
Keith: Hi, I’m your dad.
Keith: Well, one of your dads. You have two dads. Your other dad, Lance, he is going to be a great dad. You’re a lucky little girl. Honestly, I have no idea what I am doing, but I’ll love you. I love you now, more than I thought I could ever love someone I just met. And I promise I will always protect you. In fact, I’d slaughter-
Lance: Uh, I’m gonna stop you there, Keith. Up until the slaughtering, you were doing great. Can I have our baby back, now?
(Lance looks like a man who regrets his life choices and it cracks me up. He doesn’t. Just the fact that Keith really has no clue about babies is dawning on him.)
This is domestic right? For @scruffysterek hope you like it.
Story time…again. Stiles wins the bread and butter with his FBI job and Derek has gotten a little older, scruffier and a heck of a lot happier. He doesn’t even care about shopping in his PJs. I like them with two boys–not sure why. And how they have them is entirely up to you. Mpreg, or adoption or surrogacy or whatever…but if it’s Mpreg you know who the ‘mother is’ lol.
The women who give birth to the children are called surrogate mothers, in an attempt to distance them from the “real” or commissioning mothers. Yet the surrogate mothers are the persons who have carried the infants in their wombs. They created them out of their flesh and blood for nine months.
They suffer not just the exploitation of having their bodies controlled by others – the buyers, agents and doctors – but then must suffer the psychological effects of having their babies removed. The pain of poor and often desperate women in other countries who are sometimes repeatedly pimped out to baby farms by male partners or families for profit is not considered relevant. They are expected to treat their bodies as factories and their babies as products that are unrelated to their humanness.
Drabble Challenge - Prompt 20 - “I don’t want to hear your excuse. You can’t just give me wet willies.” Filled for @novemberhush
Thank You for the prompt, it’s a little crazy, but I hope you like it nonetheless.
“Mike,” Harvey murmured, giving him a gentle squeeze of the shoulder.
Mike was lying face down on their couch, snoring loudly and reeking of alcohol. He’d gone out last night for Harold’s bucks party (Yes, Harvey had joked aloud, who on earth would marry Harold?).
Just after 9 am, Harvey had received a very exciting text message. He’d spent half an hour making as much noise as possible, banging the kitchen cupboards, and blasting the ‘Rocky’ soundtrack through the television but Mike still hadn’t moved, and if anything he just snored louder.
“Mike,” he insisted, picking up his arm and dropping it, so it thudded against the leather.
“Go away,” Mike grumbled into the leather, “s'too early.”
Right, Harvey thought to himself, he couldn’t wait to share this news, so Mike needed to join him in the land of the living immediately, he could sleep later. Sticking his index finger into his mouth and working as much saliva on it as possible, he grinned down at his sleeping husband mischievously. It was Mike’s pet peeve, and he knew this would get him up.
He stuck the wet finger in Mike’s ear and wiggled it around. It took about two seconds for Mike to respond by grabbing the pillow from under his head, rising and giving Harvey a good whack with it, “That’s disgusting Harvey, what are you five?” Harvey was cackling, one arm shielding his face and the other covering his man parts in case of a subsequent strike but instead was taken off guard when Mike rugby tackled him onto the mirroring couch.
“I woke you up bec-”
“I don’t want to hear your excuse. You can’t just give me wet willies.” Mike scolded, now astride Harvey with his hands on his hips, “Payback’s a bitch,” he explained running his hands over Harvey’s sleep soft tee-shirt lovingly. He grinned as he stopped at his oblique’s and starting a feather light tickle with his fingers. Harvey bucked and wiggled and tried to slap Mike’s hands away but from his position, Mike was too strong.
“STOP!” He tried to sound authoritative, but it spluttered out amidst a jolt of laughter as Mike started to scrape his stubble under his chin, yet another ticklish spot.
Everyone saw it, not just the PSL crew. Opposing counsels, judges, and politicians. Since he and Mike had started dating, Harvey had felt and acted ten years younger, his eyes sparkled, and he was up for any adventure.
Unfortunately for Harvey, he had given away all his ticklish spots very early in the relationship, and thanks to an eidetic memory, Mike knew where every last one resided if he ever decided to torture him like he was now.
Harvey sucked his finger into his mouth once again and wiggled his eyebrows at Mike.
“Don’t you dare,” Mike threatened.
“Oh, I dare,” Harvey replied, making quite a show of twirling his tongue around his finger. Mike usually would have enjoyed how sexual it looked, but not now that he knew what Harvey was going to do.
As swiftly as he could, Mike tried to spring up off Harvey, but Harvey caught him by the thigh, and they both went crashing to the floor, Harvey’s phone slipping from his pocket and skidding toward the kitchen.
Mike saw his opportunity when Harvey’s eyes followed the phone, commando rolling out of arms reach, and sprinting for the master bedroom.
“Chicken Shit,” Harvey yelled out after him, picking up the phone and watching as the sliding doors closed, only to see Mike pop his head in-between the doors, wink at him and call him a pussy back.
As the doors closed he heard Mike yell ‘And my aim is better than your cooking’, then after a beat he added the ‘Sweetheart’ sardonically, knowing Harvey hated the pet name. There was a thundering of feet outside the door.
“Well, now I’m going to give you the wettest willie you’ve ever had!” Harvey professed absurdly to the closed door.
Mike snorted from his position of ‘using the bed as a barrier for when Harvey charged’, “Promises, promises.”
No, I think I’ll definitely want to do that with you after you hear the news, Harvey thought to himself as he carefully slid open the door revealing Mike with a playful grin on his face, ready to run on the far side of the bed. Harvey didn’t tread on his expensive furniture, EVER, today being the exception.
He ran around the custom-made bed, and as predicted, Mike tried to scuttle across the bed, in an effort to evade him. Harvey pounced, jumping onto the bed and tackled Mike from behind. He dragged him back toward him, Mike clawing at the bed edge as Harvey playfully exposed and sank his teeth into the curve of his ass, eliciting a soft whine. The sound wound out of Mike’s lungs; it was half pleasure and half pain. He stilled, relaxing for a moment as Harvey ran his hand gently over the bitten flesh. Then quicker than the Flash himself, he managed to wiggle away and bolt for the kitchen, Harvey three steps behind him.
“Stop chasing me!” Mike laughed, putting the kitchen counter between them.
Without skipping a beat, Harvey replied, “I can’t stop, it’s my job.”
They did one lap of the kitchen before Harvey latched onto his arm and flattened him against the fridge, their bodies aligned from thigh to chest, as he kissed him deeply.
“I love you,” Harvey mumbled into the kiss. Mike groaned, the dizzying combination of Harvey’s words, and the taste of the coffee he so desperately needed making him glad that Harvey was holding him in place.
Harvey pulled away, Mike’s bottom lip still glistening from his last taste. He took his time just staring at him in wonderment before he spoke again.
“Truce?” He asked, smiling at the perfection that was Mike.
Mike had a goofy grin on his face, “Yeah, you’re forgiven.”
Harvey beamed, “Come sit down; I did wake you up for a reason!”
Mike followed him silently back to the couch they had wrestled on minutes earlier. He watched Harvey remove his phone and set it on the messages screen. When he handed it to Mike, their hands touched, and Harvey looked at him with such adoration and devotion that Mike simply couldn’t believe how lucky he was, he had the perfect husband, the job he’d always wanted. Everything was perfect. Harvey motioned toward the phone.
Picture message from Amanda: So happy to finally tell you both that you are going to be dads! The Doctor said everything looks good and is going perfectly. So you have 30 weeks to wait! Xx
Mike stared, open mouthed at the tiny little blob on the screen. He re-read the message, all the while his brain screaming 'I’m going to be a dad!’ 'Harvey is going to be a dad!’ 'I’m going to be part of a family of three!’ and with that thought, the tears threatened.
This time, Harvey pushed Mike onto his back and straddled him. Mike brought his hands up to Harvey’s face and cradled it, “I’m getting a family,” he whispered emotionally, “I can’t believe we get to have this,” he said, pulling Harvey’s face down to his, “I love you, Harvey.”
Authors Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the second last instalment (one more to go). You can find the rest here - Millie’s Mini Marvey Musing’s