People who think you can’t possibly love more than one or two children have no idea what love really is, or what it’s supposed to be. 1/

Back before my first wedding, I was part of a wedding planning message board. One day, the topic of large families came up because the Duggars had baby number 14 or 15.

These women were...awful. 2/

Back then (c. 2004), I was still, to my present shame, pro-choice. But I ardently believed a woman had the right to choose to have large families.

And I defended Mrs. Duggar accordingly. 3/

No only did those awful women wax poetic about the US implementing a one-child policy a la China, they made the same asinine arguments as we see on Twitter today:

“You can’t love that many children! You can’t take care of them! They’re abused and neglected!” 4/

For defending Mrs. Duggar (including from arguments she should be forcibly “spayed like a dog”), I was told I too should be spayed and prohibited from “breeding” even thought I made it clear I didn’t want 15 children. Even the four I did want were “too many” to love. 5/

Now, I want these people to tell me which of my boys I don’t love. Which one(s) I neglect because apparently my love is limited to only one of them. 6/

I had no experience with babies growing up. My brother was 2.5 years younger than me, so I don’t remember much of his infancy. All I know is the second I held my eldest for the first time, my maternal instinct kicked in. And I’d loved him from the moment I knew I was pregnant. 7/

And that love only grew with my second and third. 8/

The thing they don’t get, because they see human beings as a blight and burden and replaceable cogs, is that — despite having the same biological parents — my boys are wholly unique. Each one is different from his brother. They are individuals, which collectivists can’t grasp. 8/

And as such, they each require a different approach to love. I love them all equally, deeply, fiercely. But I can’t love them exactly the same because they are not the same. Why would my love be one-size fits all?

This means my love only grew, evolved, with each of them. 9/

My eldest is an old soul. My middle son is on the spectrum. My youngest is spunky and curious.

What works for my eldest, what *he* needs, does not work for his brothers. And vice versa.

This isn’t hard. 10/

Are family dynamics different with 3 boys versus 7, 10, 15 children? Yes. And the older children in larger families often help.

But my eldest helps too. Even with one sibling, I helped. 11/

The people who think large families are bad never note that only children will sometimes go on to have large families because they were missing something as kids. It’s only the people from big families who have small families who prove a point. 12/

They are also incredibly selfish, and think they can mask that selfishness as virtue and use Orwellian language to make mothers of large families out to be the selfish ones. 13/

In the end, they are vile, miserable people. Selfish to the core.

(And no, this isn’t a commentary on people who simply can’t/don’t have children. Just the judgmental asshole people who think having more than one makes your vagina a “clown car” or you “selfish”). 14/

It’ll never not infuriate me that they can tell me — without ever living my life — that I can’t possibly love our boys or any other children who come into our lives.

I’m not like them. And neither are the vast majority of mothers, or just sane people in general. 15/

They are the lunatic fringes of society and should be treated as such; especially when they get on Twitter and lament the large families that *gave them life* so they could spout their nonsense on social media. 16/16