Cyberbullying and Racism: A Simple Request to My Fellow Filipinos

I'm still brooding over the cyberbullying that happened to me several days ago. I have been going back and forth over what I did right, what went wrong, and what I would do all over again even with the trauma I experienced with my fellow Filipinos.

I'll make this simple and spare you yet another detailing of what occurred to me: With a focus on racism, I will not stop campaigning for a better internet etiquette among all Filipinos. And yes, that includes me.

While I know the typical bashers/haters/trolls won't go away and that people are always entitled to their own opinion, I suppose it's not so hard to remember that:

Let's not be racists! We are among the first to cry foul if the word "Filipino" is given a negative stereotype and is given a racially offensive definition. Why are we then throwing back equally offensive racial slurs to those who offend us? Stinky armpit? Bad grammar? Incapability to speak in English? Dog-eater? Drug addict? Take a shower? Indognesian? Vietcong? Colomdogs? I mean, come on! Seriously!

Just because non-Filipinos start the provoking by cursing you or our entire race and insulting your celebrity idol doesn't mean you have no choice but to do the same. You always are given different choices on how to respond. We were taught that Golden Rule on not doing to others what we don't want them to do to us and that Bible verse about casting the first stone if we're without sin. How about applying those in our behaviors online?

Our freedom of speech and our free will DO NOT entitle us to an absolute freedom to say whatever it is we want to say without consequences. At this day and age, if we don't get sued, karma has a way of coming back to us and yes, that includes in the digital form.

I also couldn't help but add: No one deserves to be collectively made fun of or insulted, Filipino or not, for having an opinion that's different from the majority's.

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*Modified image taken from the blog "Analytical Reading Response - Cyber Racism"

To Sebastian, On Your First Birthday

Dear Sebastian,

As of this writing, it's 15 minutes past 4 in the morning on the 24th of February in the Philippines. It's already your birthday! But by this time, a year ago, in the US, it was just a Monday, on the 23rd of February and I had just entered my second hour at work.

It was an astoundingly pleasant day. I was very amused at how the usual people who slightly annoyed me with a combination of asking how far along I was with my pregnancy and then making a comment at how much further I still had to wait (don't they know that a regular pregnancy is 40 long weeks?!) were now telling me that it wouldn't be too long anymore. Add to that an unusual number of passengers exchanging pleasantries with me and in that brief chat, the same remarks about how I would not have to wait much longer.

How was I supposed to know, anak, that on that very night, you'd present signals of being ready to greet this big, bright world? I was just 34 weeks and four days pregnant with you. I still had a work shift exchange to fulfill (thanks, Edward Tapel!), and more or less a month 'til my carefully and strategically planned maternity leave. I was so confident that I'd carry you to term that if my memory serves me right, I probably left only a full week before my due date to commence my maternity leave and attend all three of my prenatal classes (between your daddy's business trip and the lack of available class schedules the moment I reached my 28 weeks of pregnancy - the recommended time to start attending classes  -  there really was no way I could wrestle these into our schedules).

How was I supposed to know that my initial effort at packing my hospital bag was actually timely considering that a few minutes after, my water would break and that the notes on my phone on what to add to my bag in the days leading to your due date would have to be hurriedly consulted several minutes after typing and saving them? Heck, I had even barely finished completing my birth plan, the filling out of which I just thought of doing a few hours earlier while waiting for your dad to pick me up at work.

Baby boy, we had been waiting patiently for you. It took about almost half a decade and a heartbreak in the form of a miscarriage for us to become "mommy" and "daddy". But looking back at the abruptness of it all, not excluding the trips and other plans that had to be shelved prior to carrying you in my tummy, that rollercoaster ride to mommyhood threw me off guard. There was no amount of planning that could have prepared me for the way you came. In fact, for more than five minutes, while talking on the phone to a hospital nurse to describe my condition, I was trying to control and calm my literally shivering body.

But little one, please don't think of this as being less than ideal for your dad and me. After all, you are the perfect little soul God has entrusted to us. During that very moment, in my head, there was not much time left to think of the wet carpet, bed sheet and mattress. Even if personal experiences of famous mommy bloggers told of still being able to take a shower after their water broke, I didn't want to leave anything to chance. I pushed to the back of my head that I was leaking and put on my best coat. YOU WERE COMING!

I remember leaving our South San Francisco house sometime past 8:30 in the evening. We were headed to the Kaiser Permanente Hospital in downtown San Francisco. Imagine, anak, San Francisco! The original plan was, if I carried you to term, we'd welcome you in the relatively closer Redwood City branch of Kaiser. It was a brand new hospital, so it was not so bad. However, if labor symptoms presented before I was 37 weeks with you, we'd have to go to the San Francisco branch where there is a neonatal intensive-care unit (NICU). Your dad and I were even joking that you probably liked it better if your birth certificate indicated that you were born in San Francisco. :)

Here's one of the cherries on top, little boy. Everyone in the Bay Area knows to expect a moderate to heavy traffic driving on a weeknight to the city, even if it was slightly past the usual rush hour. But no. That wasn't the case at all when your dad drove past one green light after another going into the downtown area! God's designated welcoming committee led by your guardian angel must have been on hand that night!

Sure, we missed the hospital by a full block (it was our first time to go to the area at night, and while I was in labor, no less!), your dad got ticketed the following day for parking at a no-parking zone, and the labor contractions before the epidural were hell, but everything else was smooth sailing. Unlike your grandmother, your Lola Rory, who also went through premature labor with me, my blood pressure was normal. Plus, no offense to other moms, I even thought that all that fear about the epidural was overrated.

Sure, I would later find out that I would not be able to breastfeed you as originally planned (by this time, it should be known that nothing ever came to plan) and partially because you were so tiny, but it was not so bad because at exactly 3:20 the following morning, you came out healthy and surprised us by breathing on your own (most babies born before 36 weeks of gestation typically need breathing support).

Sure, you did spend a few days at the NICU, from the 24th of February on a Tuesday to the 2nd of March on a Monday, due to jaundice and weight issues, but you were in good hands with a great team of equally baby-friendly and parent-friendly doctors and nurses who generously and patiently gave mommy and daddy a crash course on Parenthood 101.

Sure, you only spent a total of two months sleeping on your own in your bassinet, but I wouldn't exchange ten months (and counting!) of sleeping and waking to snuggles (and little feet on my face!).

Sure, I bid adieu the possibility of learning anew via training sessions at work and post-graduate courses and certificates, but mommy wouldn't trade the time she spends learning mommy-baby stuff and teaching you how to walk and master your ABCs.

Sure, tomorrow, on your first birthday, because of how far we are from relatives and friends, there will be no clowns, party favors, photo shoots, piles of gifts, and well-wishers, and for such my heart partially breaks, but I promise you, anak, there's nothing mommy and daddy wouldn't do to make sure that for the rest of your life, you are loved.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy

P.S.

Mommy will bake a special gluten-fee chocolate cake for you later so we have at least your birthday cake covered. :)

The Wheels of Justice

The way I see it, the wheels of justice rolls in all ways possible:

It rolls for the accuser.

It rolls for the accused.

It reverses and waits for the victim.

It makes a u-turn in consideration of the civil liberties of the perpetrator.

It opens its doors to everyone.

It rolls down its windows to those who wish to seek relief.

It knows no religious or political belief or affiliation.

It doesn't recognize color or sexuality.

It is blind to wealth and privilege.

It has seat cushions for the individual's civil liberties.

It has wipers to clarify any provision confusion.

It has seatbelts to provide protection and secure trust.

It has filters to avoid persecution based solely on character.

So why prevent the wheels of justice from rolling?

Why avoid the opportunity to get names cleared?

Due Process

Jennifer Lopez is a contestant in a beauty pageant that disqualifies anyone who has had certain cosmetic surgeries like liposuction, butt implants, and breast augmentation.

Fellow contestant Kim Kardashian files a complaint claiming that Ms. Lopez had one of those surgeries in the past.

Lopez protests and says Kardashian has no evidence, claiming that they were together on the day the alleged surgery happened; that a Starbucks receipt and an Instagram photo of that day will disprove the accusation.

Did the surgery really happen? How will Kardashian prove this?

Are the receipt and the Instagram photo claimed to have been gotten on the alleged day of the surgery enough to disprove Kardashian's claims?

What is the proper venue and process to clear Lopez's name?

Should Lopez's fans solely rely on her statement or should they take the investigation as a systematized opportunity to legally clear her name?

Whether in the US or in the Philippines, or at just about any developed country, there is an existing legal process to determine the truth. By law, anyone filing a criminal complaint before an appropriate venue (see Dismissed minister files illegal detention raps vs. Iglesia execs at DOJ) is merely exercising his civil right, a right that is inalienable and of which is one of the reasons why there is a Separation of the Church and State in the Constitution. If you raped me, stole from our organization, even if you are a Catholic bishop or the President of the Philippines, the fact that a criminal charge is brought against you is enough for the proper authority to start setting the wheels of justice in motion. No one wants the influence of power, spiritual belief, or wealth to blur the road to finding what the truth is especially where laws governing all the people of the land are concerned. An investigation is launched. A gathering and presentation of evidence happens. Hearings to determine the sides of both parties are held. A ruling is made.

This is how it is done. This is due process. Preventing this from happening results to injustice for both parties, especially for the accused who has an equally inalienable right to a fair and proper trial in the goal to clear his name.

EDSA Carmageddon as a direct result of a massive unannounced Iglesia Ni Cristo rally.
Photo from Top Gear Philippines.

To My Little Boy On His 6th Month Birthday

Dear Little Boo,

As I write this at 12:20 am, I recall that six months and a day ago, I asked the nurse assigned to me to call the doctor. A couple of hours earlier, she had told me to have her paged should I feel any pressing pains.

When she came, she saw that the opening where you'd soon be going out was already halfway to its intended size. It wasn't though until three hours later that I heard you crying your first bright outside world cry.

And today you've been crying in the big outside world for six months and a day. You've also been cooing, smiling, babbling, making funny faces, and laughing.

Lately, as part of your milestones, you've also been reaching out for and grabbing your bottle and just a few hours earlier, your spoon, whenever these are placed within your reach.

This just means, baby, that even if you were a month and a half premature when you were born, you're now really ready for solid food!

I know I have been intermittently giving you solid food since last month but I promise, mommy will be more consistent. :)

I'm looking forward to decades of preparing and cooking your food and that of your dad's, little one! Your daddy and I hope that you'll grow up to be a healthy but adventurous foodie.

We love you.

Mommy

Nourished: A Feeding Story

I thought my previous blog post about formula feeding was going to be my first and last. It wasn't.

Two nights ago, the high school schoolmate of whose Facebook post became the trigger to me finally blogging about my thoughts on infant feeding wars said she wondered why I was even justifying myself to her.

This addition to our already lengthy exchange about the merits of breastfeeding took me aback. It was her Facebook post, her Facebook wall, after all.  She is definitely entitled to her beliefs and has just about every right to to shush anyone whose opinions go against hers. I mean, I've felt the same, myself, in the many times in the past that someone in my Facebook circle felt the need to bravely go beyond an unwritten social media etiquette of contradicting me, even discrediting or making fun of me for a post for which I feel strongly.

Going back to her question, after giving myself a few minutes to compose myself, I simply told her I felt the need to present the side of formula feeding mothers.

While I am neither a medical nor a statistics expert and that the only credit to my name is currently sleeping in front of me after his 7 am feeding, peeing/pooping and entertaining session that's been on repeat for the past almost six months, I know this much is true: Formula feeding moms are not against breastfeeding and a majority would have wanted to breastfeed had things been in their favor.

Now for the loaded question:

If it is a fact that the female species are biologically designed to feed their offspring, why is there an existing inability to unlock that level of motherhood for some women?

Again, I'm not an expert and even I have devoured God-knows-how-much-literature on why women formula feed, I don't want to fall into the danger of overgeneralizing. I will answer instead, on my behalf:

MY SPECIAL BABY

My mom and my dad got married in April of 1971. With several miscarriages before and after I was born in July of 1984, I ended up becoming their only child. Because my mom's blood pressure shot up during a routine OBGYN visit at more than seven months pregnant, I had to be delivered immediately via C-section. The verdict in that Manila hospital? I had to be formula fed because of my mom's hypertension medication.

Well, with a university degree that I got after four years in college, an admission post-university to one of the top Philippine law schools, 10 fingers and 10 toes, and 31 years later, I suppose I turned out physically, emotionally, and mentally well.

Unfortunately, things didn't turn out so well for me in the pregnancy department. Some medical literature say that infertility issues can possibly be passed on. I was, therefore, afraid that after a miscarriage in year two of my marriage and after a series of unsuccessful infertility treatments, I was going to either not get pregnant or end up waiting as much (or more) like my parents and suffer heartbreaking consequences. In year three, my dad, who was afraid history might repeat itself with me, died waiting for a grandchild.

So after all those stated above that compelled additional lifestyle changes for me (a 60-lb weight loss, among others), in year four, a day after my birthday and two days after my husband's, I found out I was pregnant again. It was, suffice to say, the best birthday gift. Ever.

Just like the first pregnancy, I had scary episodes with this one. But my baby boy was a fighter. And an eager one at that. Sebastian Gabriel Prieto was born on February 24, 2015 at 34 weeks and five days, 10 days after Valentine's Day and an entire month after our fifth wedding anniversary.

MY SPECIAL CHOICE

I was never clinically diagnosed with Hypoplasia or Insufficient Glandular Tissue (IGT). In the craziness that accompanied our son's early birth and wanting to catch up with everything else, getting a diagnosis for such was the last thing in our minds.

At the most, on a very good day when my son was already three and a half months old, I managed to express close to a total of nine ounces of breast milk. But of course I would be lying if I had said it's the reward I got from breastfeeding and pumping every three hours from the time I gave birth. Heck, no. In fact, my average total output for the entire day for both breasts was a measly five ounces.

But before I get ahead of myself, let me just state the following:

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1. I wanted to breastfeed. In fact, I never really paid that much attention to that aisle in Target dedicated to breast pumps. Hubby and I just discussed in passing that we'd buy a cheap one. 

2. Because my husband and I were between business trips, work commitments, and house renovations, and because I gave birth at my 34th week of pregnancy, I didn't get to attend any of my prenatal classes including my breastfeeding class, that were all scheduled on my 37th up to my 39th week of pregnancy. Whatever I know about breastfeeding, I learned from Dr. Google and from the actual medical experts, themselves, who graciously assisted me when I gave birth.

3. At the Kaiser Permanente Hospital in San Francisco, I must have been helped by and interacted with no less than FIVE lactation consultants, not excluding the NICU nurses who assisted in latching and pumping, and that one OBGYN who taught me how to really massage, no, squeeze, my breasts.

4. Either I read somewhere or I was told by one of the nurses or the lactation consultants that the reason why I was not at the expected milk flow curve during my newborn's crucial first 72 hours was because my body still had not caught up with the fact that I had already given birth. As such, I needed to pump and practice getting Sebastian to latch "whenever I could".

5. I gave birth at 3:20 am on a Tuesday. I was discharged, without my son, on Thursday. In between daily six-hour visits to the NICU from our house that was 30 minutes away by car on a good heavy-traffic-less day in San Francisco (click ME), we were trying to tidy up our abode and scrambling to buy the remaining baby essentials that we still had not bought/received. At this point, I was ready to stab my eyeballs out every time I heard well-meaning people telling me to get a lot of rest since I just gave birth. So "whenever I could" meant leaving my equally exhausted husband to fill the gaps while I squeezed the life out of my breasts in order to be able to take a whopping day's worth of an ounce of liquid gold to the hospital.

6. Though Sebastian was born with a healthy pair of lungs, his weight was on the low end. He was not underweight but he was tiny. He also had jaundice. The NICU doctors and my husband and I were certainly not going to wait for my milk flow curve to stabilize AND risk the condition of our otherwise healthy first baby. Yes. There was an IV line. And formula. I remember staring for the first time, filled with motherhood bliss, at my voracious baby while he sucked Similac Neosure formula from a hospital-provided feeding bottle.

7. Eventually, I did end up using a hospital-grade Medela rental and owning a manual Ameda that was part of the hospital newborn welcome kit, a Medela Pump in Style Advanced when we eventually needed to return the rental motor but was left with the pumping kit, two manual Medela pumps (no judgment, please), and a swanky Spectra S1.

8. Oh! I gobbled oatmeal cookies, avoided caffeine, drank lots of water, and hoarded Fenugreek capsules and lactation tea boxes.

9. And oh! I also eventually just used our once a day breastfeeding sessions to stimulate my milk glands as getting him to latch and stay latched almost always made my head want to explode. I pumped. Whenever I could. As much as I could. Which was six times a day at the most.

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Going back to that glorious nine-ounce-day, how was I able to reach that? When Sebastian was born, we were in the very early stages of transforming another house, our former rental property, into a primary residence. Every few weeks or so, we'd have to go on an hour-long drive, sans heavy traffic (it was more or less far), pack the essentials we needed for a brief stay, on top of packing our household items that we wanted transferred to the other house. Such routine took a huge toll on my pumping sessions. Getting the baby ready alone took an hour. Washing the dishes, his bottles,  and my pumping kit, and packing my own clothes took two hours. That one nine-ounce-day happened after I had to sacrifice a multitude of pumping sessions the previous day. Ouch.

The day I stopped pumping happened during one of those back-and-forth drives between houses. We had visitors. My mother-in-law and her sister traveled to the US from the Philippines to briefly stay with us for vacation and to help prepare for Sebastian's July baptism. To make things cost-effective, we decided to combine his christening reception and our birthday celebrations (refer to my pregnancy story). Doing all these while catering to our visitors, taking care of the baby (even if they were doing their share of helping with him) and pumping? Not going to happen. And my body was already starting to feel the stress. My milk output went downhill as the days passed.

So, okay. I fully know that at this point, I'm starting to sound like I'm making a lot of excuses for my decision to feed my son with formula. But like what I told my high school schoolmate and a number of friends who are either kind or intrusive, while it's a universally accepted fact that us women are hardwired to feed our babies, our similarities in body parts end where the differences in our situations begin.

See, living in the US did not provide me with the luxury of being able to hire either a house help or a nanny for less than $100 per month. Nannies here have higher hourly pays than the measly $13.27/hour that I received as a ground crew for Air France. When I gave birth? It was just my husband and me. We did not have the luxury of having trusted friends or relatives living within a few miles come over to give us the breather that we desperately needed. In fact, we were not able to see a relative until Sebastian was two months old. And that was a birthday party of that relative's son.

In short, I was stressed out.

Sure, first-time motherhood IS stressful. I entered it fully knowing that it does not get any better with time. But being already spread out too thinly due to everything that I mentioned above, I was almost pushed to the brink of postnatal depression by people who found it worthy to emphasize why I was making a huge mistake introducing formula to my preemie.

I did not, and still do not, have the luxury of locking my baby and me in a room for two straight days, as suggested by another high school schoolmate, to "bond", let alone enjoy our practice breastfeeding moments "stress-free". It is a matter of personal choice that I certainly am not going to lose myself to breastfeeding or pumping while my husband, my partner, the father of my child, is struggling to provide for us and do all the household chores (on top of washing the pumping kit and the bottles) at the same time.

For a former grade school classmate to say that our doctors did not know anything and then to suggest that we insist that the formula be ditched while our firstborn was at the NICU? Unacceptable. Looking back at my parents' and our own experiences at infertility and miscarriages, we knew we were going to play it safe and exhaust all our immediately available resources to get our little man to thrive. I mean, we already got this far. Getting my husband and me from infertility treatments to pregnancy scares (I had subchorionic bleeding during my first trimester with Sebastian) was no mean feat. We certainly were not going to wait for our baby boy to get used to a gradual increase in my supply especially while he was a fragile preemie barely half a week old.

But after his first 72 hours, his second week, first month, and second month well-baby check-ups, what else is left that's preventing me from returning to practicing breastfeeding (I know it's not too late, I've read the journals and the blogs) and pumping?

Well, we still have not fully transferred to the house I mentioned. So there's that. But over and beyond that is my decision to be an emotionally and mentally present mom to Sebastian. I am not saying breastfeeding and pumping moms are not emotionally and mentally present to their babies. All I'm saying is that it's just the way I've managed to cope and stay sane.

I want to continue holding my son with his eyes locked on mine as he feeds with contentment. I don't want to do this with the thought of when my next pumping session is going to be or when I could wash the dishes, the bottles and the pumping kit looming in my head. I don't want, anymore, to freak out, if my just-washed pumping and nursing bras fall on the floor while I'm folding them. I don't want to end up being diagnosed as clinically depressed and physically unhealthy all in the name of getting me to exclusively breastfeed or get my supply up when I have a loving and supportive husband and an otherwise healthy and happy baby who need, want and love all of me.

All I truly want, as is with any formula feeding, mixed feeding, even pumping moms, is to be supported and to not be looked down and harshly, and not to be met with any "you're on your own", "I told you so", and "you're an inferior, selfish mother" safely tucked in "I understand" or "I respect your decision".

Again, as it is with any baby, my son is special. We do the things that we do because he holds that extra special meaning to us that no other parent, other than us, that can understand. It is in the same way that I can't hold any judgment for any parent who chooses to nourish their offspring in their chosen way.

Bottled Up Release: Mom, I Support You

Image by Cary Davis taken from Fearless Formula Feeder

In 11 days, my son will be six months old. Born premature at 34 weeks and five days, however, his adjusted age pegs him on August 24 at just four months, three weeks and a day old. You can say that over the last five months and a half of being a first time mommy, I've done prepping, planning, sorting, googling, assessing, window shopping, canvassing, and deciding on both material and non-material choices for the little man.

It was also in those last five months and 21 days that I struggled to get support and acceptance over my decision to mix feed, bottle-feed pumped milk and eventually exclusively formula feed my baby boy. I was oblivious to the fact that there is such a big, big divide between moms who breastfeed and moms who formula feed. I didn't even know that this divide is made even more complicated by those who do a hybrid of the two methods of infant feeding.

I suppose my final emotionally charged Facebook comment over a former schoolmate's post on breastfeeding sums up how I've been feeling:

The point here is even if we cite numbers and experts to defend our advocacies, both the mother and the baby should be in a fit condition, their options be made aware in order to not come to a point when it is either too late or close to being too late to taking the appropriate action be it through formula feeding, bottle feeding, milk banks (if they can afford it especially since 1 oz of milk is $4), pumping, or wet nurses. Recognition of the urgency and of the necessity of stop-gap measures and of both short-term and long-term solutions should also be considered to avoid sacrificing the overall well-being of the mother and of the child;

It is hurtful that people don't see that even if we do believe as well that breast milk and breastfeeding are truly the best, we get ostracized for our actions no matter what our own reality dictates us to do. For those who criticize us negatively, there is no legitimate or excusable reason, medically or otherwise, for choosing to bottle-feed, pump, mix feed or formula feed. The effect sometimes, unfortunately, pushes some moms to postnatal depression due to overwhelming feelings that because they failed at breastfeeding, they failed at bonding with their child and giving the baby the best of themselves;

In the end I think I can speak on behalf of women like me that like exclusively breastfeeding moms, we do believe that breast milk is the best form of infant nutrition but that we just don't want to feel as though we are selfish, that we are moms inferior to those who breastfeed, that we love our babies any less, and that they are less likely to thrive physically because we chose, for however we came to our reasons, to not or stop breastfeeding or pumping;

What's beautiful for me are the slogans "I support you" and "Fed is best". You see, I'd personally defend you and other women who get sneered at for pulling out a boob to breastfeed or pump whether in public or in private, with the baby or not, their own baby or someone else's, covered or not, in the middle of a meeting or during their free time. I'm hoping that the case is the same for moms like me.

This division is not necessary. In this fight over who does best or whose method should be the be-all and end-all, we lose sight of what's important: nourishing our babies not just with food but with all the love and attention that we could possibly realistically give.

All moms who love their babies shouldn't be met with judgment because their methods are completely different from ours. Suggest, give advice. But in the end? Support. What truly, truly matters after all that's been said and done is a healthy and happy baby well-loved by a healthy and happy mom.

Moms, I support you.

Should you choose to stay at home, quit your flourishing career and take care of your baby, I support you.

Should you choose to keep your high-paying job because you know that it'll help you and your husband build a financially stable future for your baby, I support you.

Should you wish to hire a nanny or send your six-week old baby to a daycare fully knowing all the risks and all the benefits, I support you.

Should you decide, even before giving birth, to not breastfeed, I support you.

Should you set your heart on doing everything possible and exhausting all means so you can breastfeed, I support you.

Should you take out that expensive breast pump and bottle-feed your baby, I support you.

Should you hoard coupons not just for your husband's cereal but for also for your baby's formula, I support you.

Whether you choose to believe your doctor's advice to formula feed or hire a lactation consultant for her services so you can breastfeed, I support you.

(While I still have strong feelings over not vaccinating your child), I support you. <--- I'm relying on your sense of judgment in keeping your child healthy.

Should you baptize him, circumcize him, send her to an exclusive school, or opt for home schooling, I support you.

No judgments.

Fed is best. Loved is best.

I support you.