Tony seizes on the rape-and-incest exception, noting that the trauma of rape will necessitate a little more lovin' kindness to women forced into gestation and childbirth against their will. He neatly summarizes his contribution to the discussion in this paragraph:
Offer counseling. Provide lavish pre- and post-natal care. Take time to grant them as much support as the state can provide. And prosecute ruthlessly the creeps who violated them. That alone could do as much as anything else to help such mothers get a decent night's sleep.
I'm so glad to hear that the problem can be boiled down to the need for a decent night's sleep, and that simply putting the rapist in jail is all that will be needed to erase the violation and its attendant physical and emotional wounds from the woman's (or girl's) life. Again: this argument is on the same level of "why, if your children are starving, just go to the market and buy them some food!"
I don't wish violence on anyone. I would be very interested, though, to observe Tony Snow after he's been anally raped, to see if the flashbacks and nausea and self-loathing subside the moment the cell doors slam shut behind his rapist. No? They don't? Imagine, on top of that, having an unwanted fetus showing up inside you, growing ever larger, providing unavoidable evidence to everyone you know that you've been raped? Seeing it every morning when you look in the mirror (after you've finished your morning vomit, first from the hormonal changes in your body, and second from the prenatal vitamins you're being compelled to take to ensure the health and vitality of your rapist's child). Having your mobility, physical strength, and general ability to do everyday tasks compromised a little more every day in the last few months of your pregnancy, reminding you of your vulnerability. But hey, baby, we put the creep in jail, so I don't understand why you can't just move on with your life.
In other news, the sky made up for the last 140-odd days of sunshine and very occasional spittle with a 12-hour deluge on Saturday (at least in Phoenix, where I was visiting the grandparents). Going so long without the sound of rain on the roof made it an almost edgy experience as the roar went on hour after hour. I had forgotten the simple pleasure of sitting inside, toasty warm with a mug of hot chocolate, while the cats and dogs do their cold-tailed thing outside. How strange on Sunday to drive back to Tucson and see all the mountains on the eastern horizon covered in white. The Superstitions are much more attractive with a snow shroud, I must say.