Miscarriage: An Autobiography

Sorry for the depressing subject matter

I debated writing a blog post about this. Not only is miscarriage deemed a taboo topic in general, but it’s just an uncomfortable one, too. But I thought about what brings me comfort throughout these losses, and a lot of it is the knowing that I’m not alone–that many women have experienced this pain, and the shared experience can bring more relief than statistics and “self-care.” It is my hope that others may find comfort in reading a similar story. Also since everything carries trigger warnings now, just click that X on the right upper corner if you don’t want to read about miscarriage because if the title didn’t give it away, that’s what’s being discussed here today.

This past week I miscarried…again. It was my third loss, and it just…SUCKS so much. Every time. As usual, I made it to the cusp of the 1st trimester! I was almost there to the “safe zone.” In fact, I have not had a miscarriage sooner than 10 weeks, ever. My first loss was at 12 weeks, second at 10 weeks, this one at 11 weeks. “Missed abortions.” That’s what they call it when you don’t really have symptoms of miscarriage, and no I’m not going into gory symptoms about miscarriage. Google them if you want. The important part was the no heartbeat on the ultrasound when there had been a strong one 3 weeks prior. The important part is that my pregnancy “continued to progress,” meaning my body still thought I was pregnant even though the baby was dead.

Fortunately for me, or maybe unfortunately, I get weird senses about things and knew that this was going to happen. I wanted to remain hopeful, but I just knew Monday afternoon. The physician I work with was really great and helped me get an appointment with my OB first thing Tuesday morning. Like I said, I just had a feeling that history was repeating itself, so I made sure to avoid eating/drinking anything Tuesday morning. I went in, had the ultrasound—no heartbeat. When my really awesome OB offered to do the surgery the same day, I was able to say “Yup” because I had been NPO since midnight and could have anesthesia. So the Tuesday timeline= loss was confirmed around 8:30am, I had surgery at 12pm, and I was home by 1:30pm to begin the recovery process. That was a godsend.

One of my besties immediately sent me cookies. The following day, one of my other besties sent cupcakes. They know me well and they understand miscarriage all too well as they have both experienced its bitter taste for themselves. As a result, they *get* it. Family members sent chicken soup, flowers, and spa packages (yes, really). It was really so sweet of all of them and appreciated.

Miscarriage sucks. It hurts your heart. It hurts your body. You add up the months as “wasted” and mourn a due date that won’t be yours. You want to tell people, but don’t want anyone to know either because there’s a sense of misplaced shame. You go back and think of all the things you ate or didn’t eat enough of, the nights you forgot your prenatal vitamins, the extra cup of coffee you sneaked and wonder if it was your fault. It wasn’t. It wasn’t my fault, and it isn’t your fault either. People will tell you that and you’ll try to believe them. I’m here to tell you that you should believe them. I mean, crackheads with zero prenatal care have like 7 babies a piece. Your propensity for sugary carbs and/or aversion to exercise didn’t cause your baby to die. Your baby just died.

Since I’ve now had three miscarriages, I consider myself an unwilling expert veteran with some knowledge on how to navigate this particular issue.

  1. It’s truly up to you if you decide to share about your situation.
    1. Here are the pros to sharing:
      1. People will generally be nice to you.
      1. They won’t ask you if you’re planning on having children because clearly you were.
      1. You might get cookies.
    1. Here are the cons to sharing:
      1. People act awkward AF
      1. They may (definitely will) make super insensitive and unhelpful “at least” comments including “At least you have other children,” “At least you know you can get pregnant,” “At least it was early” ad nauseum. Feel free to ignore them altogether. They probably aren’t *trying* to be insensitive assholes.  
  2. You get to be sad. You get to grieve. Feel your feelings, but don’t drown in them. In fact, I’m even going to put a time limit on it. Get help if your dark place is too scary or lasts longer than a month. Yes, you totally get to be sad for longer than that. But if your sadness is impacting your ability to do daily activities, including but not limited to, your job, being a mom, being a wife, or even just existing then you need a hand up out of that ditch, sister. There is nothing wrong with that. Get the help.
  3. Don’t go down the bitter road. It actually is a conscious choice, so don’t do it. Don’t get mad at your coworker for having the audacity to be pregnant. Don’t get angry when the family member who wasn’t even trying gets pregnant. Your journey isn’t hers. And you need to be okay with that for your sake and for others. There’s only so much sympathy for a bitter b*tch, so don’t be one. That probably sounded harsh, but I mean it. It is possible to be happy for others whilst being sad for yourself, and if you don’t know how to do that, you should probably learn.
  4. Be gentle with yourself. Know that you don’t have to throw baby showers for friends if it hurts you too much. You don’t have to do all the things. You can let your house sit instead of vacuuming, dusting, cleaning, etc. This is easy for me because I’m a mediocre housewife on a good day. Anyway, you don’t have to be around a bunch of people, volunteer at the church/synagogue, and/or participate in any activity that requires you to make small talk. Good lord, NO. Let the little stuff go for a minute and just be. I give you permission, and clearly I’m an authority here. You don’t have to be super woman right now.
  5. Do the things that fill you up and make you feel better, even if it’s not long-lasting. For me, I like to bake. I’ve made homemade scones, cinnamon rolls, cookies, and cookie bars in the last two days because I freaking wanted to. I also watched the entire Emily in Paris season in one sitting whilst high on pain pills (prescribed from the surgery, yall. I’m not *that*fun) accompanied by a heating pad. Do what you do, yo.

I’m going to close out this rambling blog post by saying that I am Christian, and I 100% believe my babies are with Jesus in heaven. They never suffered a day on this planet. They never had neurosurgery like my 2 earth-side babies. They weren’t picked last at recess or dumped by the love of their lives. They didn’t break their leg before the big game, and they didn’t miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. They are in heaven in the arms of my Savior. That knowledge brings me immeasurable peace and provides a soothing balm to my still stinging heart. If you’ve experienced miscarriage, I want to encourage you to get to know our Lord if for no other reason (there are plenty) than the hope to meet your baby(ies) one day when this life fades away. I’m so sorry if you’ve experienced losses of your own. It’s unfair AF and miserable doesn’t begin to describe it. You aren’t alone, and there is always room for hope. Maybe you’ll have a healthy baby next time, maybe you won’t. But God will always find a way to tell you He’s sorry for your loss, too. You just have to have your eyes open to see it. Love to all ❤

The story of how I almost died

The following post is a true story. It’s personal, sad, scary, gross, and very much TMI. I know that. And I’m letting you know that now in case you want to click that little ‘X’ at the top of the screen. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Also, it’s long because I am wordy as hell. It also drops an F bomb. I think that covers all necessary disclaimers.

  I don’t know how to tell you what happened to me last Saturday. I still haven’t really processed it. I think I’d have to go back and tell you that I was pregnant with a corona-baby this Spring. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. All that social distancing clearly didn’t work for me and Ben. Ha. Ha. Ha. But I’d also have to tell you that I lost that baby the week my brother and three nephews were nearly killed in a catastrophic car accident. I didn’t grieve this miscarriage like I had my previous loss. Probably because I felt so grateful that all four of my beloved family members made it through that awful accident alive. Kind of like, maybe you only get so many miracles, and if the one I got was that my brother didn’t die, then “Okay, God. I understand.” I didn’t tell a lot of people about it and probably wouldn’t now, but we think something started with that loss. Something wrong and sinister that could have killed me Saturday night.

    Saturday, I was working at the busy urgent care I have been lucky enough to call “home” these last few months. I had worked my 12-hour shift. It was steady, and I had felt sluggish all day. Not terrible, just foggy and like I was moving too slow. It was frustrating to me. I had seen the last couple of patients, charted on them and was getting ready to leave. I stood up, and instantly felt a rush of urine down my leg. Look- I’m a mom of two. I’m no stranger to snissing (when you sneeze and pee a little) but this was not that. It was like a full-on pee, and I couldn’t stop it. I raced awkwardly to the bathroom, and quickly sat on the toilet. My underwear was shiny with blood. I looked past my legs into the now blackened-with-blood toilet bowl.


It’s not the most eloquent of words, but that’s all I could manage. It was blood, not urine rushing out of me. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, and I wasn’t on my period. I didn’t recall feeling a stabbing pain that might signify a ruptured cyst or something. All these thoughts flooded my mind as I stuffed toilet paper in my underwear and bolted out of the door to my car. I called my sister (an MD), but I didn’t get through to her. I called my mom who is also a nurse, “Mom, something bad is happening, I’m bleeding like crazy out of nowhere.” “Go to the ER!” I’m not stupid and I knew I didn’t have a ton of time, but I figured I had some time before I blacked out from blood loss, so I started driving home ASAP. I called Ben and he told me to meet him at the nearest ER. I did. But when I got to the parking lot, I didn’t want to go in. I knew it wasn’t the best ER for me to go to since this was a female/uterine issue, even if it was the closest. I also noticed the bleeding had pretty much stopped. I got out of my car, into the car with Ben and told him to take me home to clean up. I didn’t know if I would start feeling woozy, and I didn’t want to be behind the wheel any longer. Ben was resistant to leaving, but I assured him I was okay. And I was. I got home and I cleaned up in the shower. I wasn’t bleeding much at all, but I knew that this was not normal, so I called the nurse line for my OBGYN. The NP told me that since I wasn’t pregnant, to put my feet up and relax. If I was pregnant, I would need to report the Assessment Center and be seen. I knew I wasn’t pregnant. Like obviously, it wasn’t impossible, but it was *biologically improbable*. Anyway, I was on the work schedule for the next day, and I told Ben I needed to go get my car from the ED. I told him to grab a towel (a dark one, please. I hadn’t lost my mind completely) for me to put on the car seat where it looked like Sweeney Todd had taken up business. We get close to the emergency room parking lot when suddenly it happened again. Except I could tell it was much worse this time. To be completely honest will require me to be very graphic, and I will be. So you should just exit now if you can’t handle that …..


I’m giving you space to exit stage left right now….


I’m going to tell you what I was wearing. I was wearing a post-partum sized pad because that’s all I had at the house from my miscarriage, black leggings, and a t shirt. Have you even seen a child with a blow out diaper? Where the poop comes up the back of the diaper and the front and spills over onto their clothes while seeping out of the legs? No? Lucky bastard. Because that’s exactly what happened instantly except it was blood. It was over and through the pad, over the top of my leggings, down my back, filling up the seat, and splashing onto the floorboards.

Ben: “Oh shit, Beka.”

Me: “Yeah, it’s bad. Take me to Woman’s now.”

Ben was amazing. He handed me the dark towel, and I tried to staunch the blood flow, but it was pretty damn useless. He tried to keep me occupied on the drive and keep me calm. When we got to Woman’s Hospital, he grabbed a wheelchair and I hobbled into it where I was quickly wheeled back into triage. I told them everything that happened, but like any healthcare professional, they’d seen stuff. They listened to my story but were calm and unfrazzled. That is, until they saw blood gushing in mass volumes. Things moved freaking quick then. I got moved into a room filled with people. A doctor, a NP, multiple nurses, and aids. They were asking me if I was pregnant or on my cycle or had a history of heavy bleeding. No, no, no. “Look, I’m really a boring person” which is a complete lie considering the weird shit that happens to me, but I felt like it *could* be true and wanted to reiterate that this was nowhere near normal for me. I then endured the most painful pelvic exam of my life while simultaneously getting an IV and blood drawn. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault; it was just painful because she could not find the source of the bleeding–just a lot of clots and a lot of blood. She estimated 300mL of blood loss during the exam alone. This doctor is a black woman who talks to you like she’s your mama or auntie. She chastised, comforted, and took care of me in 3 sentences. “You are coming in here disrupting the peace, bleeding like crazy. I’m gonna figure this out. You are in the right place.” Bless her. They let Ben in and told him it was serious. My blood test came back negative for pregnancy somewhere around here. This let them know that they needed to take the other pathway for possible diagnosis. They took me for an ultrasound across the hall. Toward the end of the ultrasound the tech asked me, “Have you had surgery recently? Have you had any bowel, bladder changes?” No and no. And I knew then that she had seen something. Because you don’t ask those questions without reason. I was brought back into the room with my *angel* of a nurse Kim. A new doctor came in. She said, “I hear you are a nurse practitioner. I can’t really describe what I’m seeing but I’m going to draw it for you, okay? This is your uterus…and here is an ill-defined, highly vascular mass. It’s very large, and is taking up most of the room in your uterus. You’re not pregnant and I don’t think it’s a molar cancer type thing because-“ “My hcg would have been elevated and it isn’t,” I interrupted. I continued, “So it’s a tumor?” “Well…we cannot rule that out at this time. The fact that it was not seen on ultrasounds you had in June has me concerned for how large it is now. That signifies rapid, rapid growth. I cannot take you for a D & C because I think you would hemorrhage again and end up with an emergent hysterectomy. Otherwise I would, so we could biopsy the mass. I think we need more imaging, and we need to admit you.” She said other things, but I don’t really remember. And she left. I remember the nurse looking at me because she knew that I knew this was really bad. She said, “I know you are religious,” as she touched my crucifix/miraculous medal combo necklace, “I will keep you close in my prayers. You did everything right in coming here. We are going to do everything we can to save your life, first, and to preserve your fertility, second.” I just cried. How the hell did I go from suturing a leg laceration on a little boy 1.5 hours ago to a probable cancer diagnosis? Ben just kept saying, “It’s going to be okay.” Like if he said it enough times it would actually be okay. As I left, the first doctor, the one like my mama, said, “Well, they are admitting you and you get a new doctor, but I’m gonna get that radiology report FIRST.” She made me feel safe. Like nothing could get to me if she was there. I got admitted to a new room with an incredibly sweet nurse named Carley who was really just the best. She was kind and gentle and gave me space to cry while completing all her tasks. We went through all the admission questions, and she asked me if I needed anything. I straight up asked for a Xanax, and she brought me one. Ben crawled into that hospital bed with me and just held me while I told him I did not want to die and made him promise that his next wife would be fatter and uglier than I am because I am obviously a very mature person who has her priorities in line. I then passed TFO because benzodiazepines are good for that. The next morning, it was Sunday. I talked to another doc who said that the radiologist read the ultrasound and did not feel it was *too* vascular for D&C, but that she wanted a CT scan first to get a better look. So, I was not allowed to eat and sent for CT. CT scans are quick and the contrast they shoot in your veins for a better picture is weird and warm and makes you feel like you’re peeing yourself, a sensation I will be super sensitive about for the rest of my life considering these recent events. I was taken back to my room. Anyway, after a while, that doc came back and said, “Well we know what it is, and it’s not cancer. It’s an arterio-venous malformation (AVM) in your uterus. It may have occurred from your recent miscarriage. We think we can fix it with a procedure they do in interventional radiology (IR) where they basically seal off each end of the artery. The bad news is you need to be transferred out of our hospital because we don’t have interventional radiology, yet.” She told me I could eat. Then, the IR doctor called and said we could do the procedure right away, as I was inhaling a chicken quesadilla. So, I told him I was eating, and he said we could NOT do it right away after all due to the quesadilla. We would do it the following day. Basically, they would catheterize me through my femoral artery like cardiac catheterization, except they would go into my uterus. They would locate the problematic artery and inject “particles” that would seal it up. I would feel shitty the next few days because of something called “post-embolization syndrome.” Whatever. I wasn’t worried about that. I was honestly just relieved at the news, and still in shock from everything that had happened.

The next day, Monday, I was transferred to the other hospital (yay for expensive ambulance rides…not). I was there by 9:30am after being NPO all night. They then told me I was scheduled for 3pm which just pissed me off. Really it did. I think all my anger at the situation was gathered up in a ball, and it basically burst into white-hot rage. I did not scream, I did not yell, remember I’m very mature—an adult. Instead, I did what annoys nurses more than anything. I rang the call bell every 20 minutes until the IR doctor came to speak with me. Then after he left, I did it in 30-minute intervals until they came to get me an hour earlier than scheduled. Probably to shut me up. I have exactly zero regrets. I was hella pissed and their scheduling was absolute bullshit. I was also starving, so there’s a chance I was just really hangry. I was not friendly or bubbly or anything similar to that when they finally did come to get me, but again, I’ve dealt with so many pissy patients over the years and I’d been through hell, so I really just didn’t care. Anyway, this part is boring. I got back to the fancy IR suite where they prepped me, drugged me, and then the doc did his thing. I was sedated, but I was also conscious, and I could absolutely tell when the artery was embolized because even though I was sedated, I immediately felt strong uterine cramps. I was like “The versed/fentanyl combo y’all gave me makes me care a teensy bit less, BUT that hurts like hell.” He said that the AVM was “very large” and that he had to  embolize “both arteries” so I would probably hurt for a “bit”. I was like yeah, I’m hurting. So, he gave me dilaudid, and I went back on the ambulance and was returned to Woman’s Hospital for observation. I got to go home a few hours later, and that was good because my family had gathered. My mom, my sister Anna, and nieces and nephew were home and ready for me. I slept like utter shit that first night. Yes, they gave me pain medicine. No, it did not help one iota. Seriously. I’m sensitive to medications. Like if I take a Benadryl I am out for days, dude. But this pain really didn’t respond to the narcotics they gave me. I’ve only felt this type of pain once before and it was while I was in labor with Darcy. It sucked and was unrelenting cramping for hours. Remember earlier when I mentioned that thing called “post-embolization syndrome?”  It’s characterized by nausea/vomiting, pain, and fever. It sucks a big one, I’ll tell ya. I’m now 3 days out and I’m finally having longer stretches where I feel okay, but still have periods of time where I cramp like a mother and feel sweaty/chilled. Hopefully that subsides soon. My mom and sister stayed for 2 days, unpacked my house (we just moved, by the way) and minded my children. I can’t say thank you enough to them. My mother in law brought food and transported children. My family members loved and checked in on me daily. They sent uber-eats cards, love, prayers, and I am so thankful to each of them. For my friends who are reading this like WTF? Why didn’t you tell me? Know that about 10 people know about this. It *just* happened, and it’s been hard for me to talk about. It’s obviously incredibly graphic and jarring and terrifying, and I have felt SO many emotions the last couple of days. So, why am I sharing this with the internet?

    I want to share this in case you or a loved one are a weird, rare case like me. I also don’t want to have this same conversation with multiple people because it’s a lot, and it’s brought out a lot of big feelings. I cannot find a single written experience about uterine AVM that isn’t a medical journal. Maybe the stories are out there, and I just haven’t found it, but there isn’t enough information to appease me. I want to provide someone out there with this template of what happened to me. I want to be here and say that I survived it, and I understand how absolutely crazy the experience is. And no, I really don’t need sympathy. I don’t need attention—believe me there has been enough attention to ALL my private bits lately. FOR REAL. But I do hope that I can provide comfort to someone who may go through what I just did. That I can validate the experience as terrifying and painful, but offer them hope and healing, too.  

I know everything is in turmoil. I mean, in this year alone, my brother and nephews were in an awful car accident, I had a miscarriage, my BIL had a heart attack, my uterus exploded and in the background of this personal stuff is a pandemic and disgusting election season. Y’all. I’m tired. I know you are, too. I know so many of you have your own burdens and pains. I just want to be a gentle reminder that things can happen in a millisecond. You can lose your life, your health, your family at any moment. You can lose it all. I’m thankful that I didn’t, and that I am okay, but if your priorities aren’t in order, you should work on it. It’s cliché, I know, but what you build in your day-to-day life is what you have when the world turns pear-shaped. I have my faith which provided immeasurable comfort during a terrifying time. I had no words for prayers, but I can say a rosary that I already memorized. I have a beautiful marriage with the love of my life. He was there every minute. Steadfast, patient, loving, and just. Just everything. Because we build that love in our marriage day in and day out.  I have family that dropped everything and showed TF up. Because we have a group message that we talk in ALL THE TIME and throw stupid parties and take loud family vacations and all of the things. Y’all. Build. That. Shit. I absolutely loathe clichés and hearing about how awful 2020 is, but at this point I’m just gonna agree that it has really sucked a big one. And I hate to be all gloom and doom, but all the rare, life-altering crap can’t only happen to me.  It might be your turn next. Your terrible situation may unfurl at any moment, so maybe instead of getting into pointless political debates, you just could call your mama. Or your brother, or your friend. Say you’re sorry if you should be. Maybe you send flowers to that person you’ve been thinking about. Maybe you stop and thank God above for the oxygen you breathe. Whatever it is, make it count for something. We are fragile, fragile creatures only here for a moment. Make it count ❤

This is weird

Life in the face of a global catastrophe

Hey y’all! Life is weird right now, isn’t it? Louisiana has been under a shelter-in-place order for a couple of weeks now because our state is basically a giant dumpster fire. I’ll talk about the corona mess later, but for now, life has gotten pretty interesting.

  1. Probably three of you will see this post because I am not posting it to my Facebook as I am currently off social media. I gave it up for Lent, and I am trying to observe Lent as a good Catholic would because…
  2. I am becoming Catholic. It’s been a big journey for me. I certainly don’t mind talking to you about it if you wish, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll just tell you that it’s been a long time coming, and I’ve never been more sure about something. I’ve been going to Mass off and on for years, and I officially started RCIA classes back in September. Unfortunately ole corona has thrown a huge monkey wrench into my official entry–all masses and classes have been cancelled (sorry, Jesus), but that’s okay. I’m content to wait, pray, and study. Also…
  3. I got a job! I accepted a job in the ER at a big hospital as a nurse practitioner. I accepted this job the first week of March. Within a week, the U.S. went cray which is actually pretty par for the course for my life (i.e. chaos reigns). Despite all the uncertainties in our world and the risks involved with the job, I am SO EXCITED! I feel like this is an incredible opportunity for me, and I cannot wait to get started which is May 1st.
  4. Ben and I went to Italy. Not now (calm down), back in November. We left our kids stateside, spent the money, and just went. It was amazing, and we had the best time ever. We would go back now if it weren’t for Covid-19.
  5. I can’t help but say “Covid-19” to the tune of “Come on, Eileen,” and I’m annoying myself.
  6.  Teachers don’t get paid enough. I feel like nurses/doctors/healthcare people are getting a lot of attention, but y’all. You are the real MVPs. Case in point, I was reviewing numbers with Darcy yesterday. She wanted to practice them, and I have these makeshift flashcards. Darcy generally recognizes numbers 0-9. The following exchange is exact and has been unchanged for posterity’s sake:

Me (holding up a 9): “What’s this number?

Darcy (confidently): “Six.”

Me: “No.”

Darcy: “Seven.”

Me: “No.”

Darcy: “EIGHT!”

Me: “Ugh, no! It’s a nine, Darcy.”


Me: “Well, then you should get the numbers right, and I won’t have to tell you the answer.”

Darcy then gives me a sarcastic “WuT” type shrug that made me want to throw the flashcards. Y’all. I can resuscitate people. I can jab the needles and give the medicines and witness all the grody and horrific things, but I absolutely cannot do this flashcard, letter-tracing, teaching thing. More power to you, teachers. I love ya.

Corona. Initially, I really thought it was nothing more serious than the flu. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It’s a big, freaking deal. My nurses are struggling with weight of being on the frontlines. My physicians are struggling. My amazing respiratory therapists. They are all struggling, and they need your help. We are fighting a war and as healthcare providers, we are fighting on the frontlines. Sadly we are fighting an invisible, microscopic agent, and we are fighting it with insufficient supplies and incomplete information. As sweet as it’s been to see the accolades and thank-you’s, I think most nurses and healthcare providers want your understanding, compassion, help, and prayers. Understanding for the absolute hell they are going through on a daily basis. For when they come home at 9 a.m. and pour a stiff drink because the last 13 hours have been so much. Compassion when they cry instead of verbally respond when you ask “How’s it looking?” Help. We’re asking for your voice! We need more supplies. You wouldn’t send a soldier to war without a gun, and it is absolutely ludicrous to send a nurse to battle this virus without appropriate PPE. It’s inexcusable. Help us with your voice as a call to action. And last, but not least for your prayers. God is powerful, He is almighty, He is Lord, and He is Sovereign. Your prayers are heard by the Almighty and have a far greater impact than your armchair-quarterbacking the government’s decisions.

Don’t lose your humanity. Your neighbors and the strangers in the grocery store are not your enemy waiting to infect you. Now keep your distance, wash your hands, and don’t touch your face, but also, please don’t lose your sense of compassion. We are in an unprecendented time in which our independence and free will is being restricted. That’s hard. But it doesn’t mean that we should become reclusive, selfish assholes. Help where you can help and love on people from a respectable distance- six feet, please. Make the phone call, send the text. If you’re feeling ambitious and homemakery, make an extra loaf of bread for your neighbor. Lord knows you’ve got the time. Show up the only way you can right now because now is when it matters.

Thankfully, our family belongs to an amazing synagogue that goes the extra mile and is really, really great at doing this stuff. Make sure your family, your friends, your circle, your house of worship–WHATEVER is doing this good stuff. Our actions are what we’ll be remembered for, so make a positive, kind impact. You may change the course of someone’s life.

“Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created.” Esther 4:14

Stay safe out there. Love to all ❤




Riding that Struggle bus

Last night I dreamed that Clark had to have a re-do craniosynostosis repair surgery.  I remember not being exactly sure why he had to have another surgery, just that it was going to be an open repair involving a craniotomy (removal of top portion of skull). Isn’t it strange how strongly you feel emotions while dreaming? I was terrified and angry. “Haven’t we been through enough? Haven’t I served my time with craniosynostosis, two times over?!”

I woke up with a start. Clark is not having another surgery. Today IS Clark’s cranioversary–the 2nd anniversary of his craniosynostosis surgery. Maybe that’s what brought on the dream/nightmare. But, maybe not. You see, our lives are finally “calmer.” Ben is no longer commuting to Thibodaux or New Orleans. He has a job in Baton Rouge with better hours, etc. Darcy and Clark are well and without major health struggles. I’m finished with school, and I’m picking up shifts while working PRN in the CICU while looking for a job as a nurse practitioner. And there it is. The source of most of my stress. Job. Hunting.

You see, despite the shittiest of circumstances, I did really well in grad school and ended up with a 3.85 GPA and honors. I passed boards within a month of graduation on the first try, and I even had an interview within that first month window. Then…nothing. I’ve lost count of job applications and reaching out to my “contacts” with no real result. It has 100% totally sucked, and this past Monday I had a real come apart over it. “What the hell, God? Why have you brought me this far for nothing?” I mean, my student loan payments will be knocking on the door soon, and I feel like I’ll still be working PRN on the unit instead of working as a nurse practitioner. It has been incredibly disappointing.

In the grand scheme of things, I realize that this is not a great tragedy. My children are healthy. My husband has a really great job. Hell, I still have a job. One where I make my own schedule, work with my favorite dysfunctional coworkers,  and earn decent money. But, it’s not enough is it? We always want more, feel entitled to more. I don’t know if any of you are similar, but I often find myself reaching for the future and gambling away my present which is a frustrating and self-destructive way to live. I know this, and yet I do it over and over again. And yes, I know that a job will “come along” as so many people are quick to tell me,  I just truly hope that it comes along sooner rather than later before I go completely crazy.

In the mean time, I am deep cleaning my house,trashing, I mean…organizing the kid’s toys (I’m looking at you, useless, plastic party favors), running/exercising, and cooking all the things to undo my exercising. All that nervous energy has to go somewhere, right? Clark is crawling everywhere, trying to pull up on everything, getting into everything, and throwing temper tantrums like a typical 2 year old. He has also become quite the biter when he’s pissed off or excited–two emotions he cycles between with great regularity. He looks so sweet and cuddly, but you are absolutely risking your shoulder flesh if you give yourself over to his snuggles. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Darcy is so…much. I mean, she’s a lot. A LOT. She is so precious, and so funny, and so sweet, and so argumentative, and so frustrating, and so challenging. It’s intense. In the cover photo of this blog post, you’ll see a barefoot Darcy. This was her class picture (a picture of a picture-hence the quality), and I am at least 75% certain that I sent her to school wearing shoes, but whenever I ask “Darcy, why aren’t you wearing shoes in this picture?” she says, ” I’m not.” So there you go 🤷🏼‍♀️ She is currently obsessed with rainbows and princesses, despises bugs,  and is a stereotypical little girl. She also says that she wants to marry Ben when she gets older and “live with mommy and daddy forever!” I know, it’s unbearably sweet. I’ll remind her of this when she turns sixteen and we become the biggest idiots she’s ever known.

In conclusion, I feel God telling me to be patient. He’s not in a hurry, I am. And I just need to slow down and enjoy the time I’ve been given because I’m not guaranteed anything more than the present. We should all remember that. So, I’m going to catch up on Netflix shows and try out fun recipes, and go to the lake with my family. I’m going to pray more and worry less. Also I’m going to order a king cake from Thee Heavenly Donut. No, I did not misspell that, so quit with your judging.

That’s all for now. Eat some king cake because Ash Wednesday is in one week and Ash Wednesday=No mo king cake 😦  Love to all ❤




Or how a trip to the doctor ended in a CT scan

First of all, hello readers! I have been MIA. Finishing school, struggling financially, mentally, physically. So basically the same as before! Anyway, in the spirit of “keeping it real” I want to share today’s events, but I’ll have to back up a bit so you get the fullest picture.

So last week was crazy (as usual for our fam). I was rushing around trying to get my scholarly project manuscript edited, printed, and submitted. I was also trying to apply for my APRN (advanced practice registered nurse AKA nurse practitioner) license AND submit my certification paperwork. Also, I was trying to study for boards and feed my kids that are always hungry, etc. Clark threw up a couple of times, and was stuffy and snotty, but I was pretty sure it was just viral, and he was fine. Anyway, Saturday rolls around and I graduated! I graduated, y’all. I have a Master’s of Science in Nursing degree and will be a certified Family Nurse Practitioner as soon as take and pass my boards. Eeeek! I digress. Anyway, Sunday I woke up not feeling awesome. I was coughing, but Darcy had been coughing directly into my eyeballs for about a week, so I figured I was getting that. Sunday night my throat was scratchy. Monday morning I woke up feeling like I swallowed razor blades, and Darcy threw up on the couch. That morning was shitty to say the least. I had to keep Darcy home all day while I was in and out of fever basically using Disney+ as a babysitter. Ben finally got home that night and said he also felt terrible.

The next morning I went to the doctor–I had strep throat. WTH. I have never had strep in my life (that I can remember). I had my tonsils out as a child and have never had issues. So, then I started thinking, “Duh. Both of your kids have strep, too.” They haven’t run fever, and Darcy hasn’t said her throat hurts, BUT both have had decreased appetites, vomiting episodes, AND Darcy complained of a headache the other night. I had brushed it off because they were also both snotty and coughing (not generally associated with strep). So, I took them to the doctor this morning even though both were perky acting and looked “well.” Darcy freaked the eff out when they swabbed her throat, so the doctor gave her a sucker for being “good.” Darcy needed a hug, and I didn’t want Clark to sit on the floor and contract whatever virus he hasn’t yet had. So, I sat Clark in the chair and turned around to open her sucker. SMACK. He fell face-first out of the chair onto the hard floor. Immediately he screamed and had a GIANT blue goose-egg. I picked him up and walked out of the room to tell the doctor that he fell, hit the floor, and that she should shine my trophy for ‘Mom of the Year.’ She came in to inspect my hysterical baby and also to confirm my suspicions–they were both positive for strep. She said she thought Clark was okay but wanted to watch him for a bit. She brought me an ice pack. Clark continued to cry, and I frantically called Ben to let him know why he should divorce me immediately. I called work to call-in AGAIN (second time this week) because my life is a regular shit-show. Mom guilt consumed me. Why had I put him on that chair? Why hadn’t I told Darcy to wait. Why hadn’t I just sat down and held Clark while opening the sucker? Why do I suck at this?

Clark continued to whimper and cry. The doctor came in to check on him and he gagged like he was going to be sick. She told me that she was concerned enough to order a CT scan to ensure there wasn’t a fracture or brain bleed. She ordered a stat CT and away we went to radiology. In the waiting room, I started tearing up and quickly swiping them away so Darcy didn’t see and get upset. Looking for a distraction, I got out my phone and I realized I got a FB message from a college friend who told me she was praying for me, and that I was an incredible mom. Melinda, that meant the world to me in that moment, btw.

My mind quickly went back to guilt. What if he has a brain bleed? My sweet baby who has been through so much? Injured due to my mistake. He’s already had to have a CT scan before, and it’s a lot of radiation. Mom guilt, mom guilt, mom guilt. Thank God for iPhones because I put “Three Little Pigs” on for Darcy so I could hold Clark’s hands during the CT scan and keep him calm. He did just fine and even smiled at the technicians. We went BACK down the hall and did the walk of shame by the nurses station. They were very sweet, but still. Mom guilt, y ‘all. The doctor came in and said Clark was okay, the antibiotics had been ordered, that Clark probably had a mild concussion, and to watch him closely the next few days.

So, there you have it. In the last few days, I have posted some fun pictures of my graduation and a sweet picture of Ben and Clark on social media. I could post one of Clark now, but it’s very pitiful, and I’m really not trying to garner sympathy votes. Sometimes it seems like days like today happen in my life with unfortunate regularity. Not the head trauma/CT thing, but the throw up, sickness, forgotten doctor appointments, calling into work, burning supper, locking keys in the car, forgetting kid’s lunches/diapers/school supplies kinds of things. Life is filled with strep throat and the mundane. I haven’t been the perfect mom today (OBVIOUSLY) but I did give them a dose of medicine, feed them, and stress-clean all surfaces of the house.

This is not intended for sympathy or “poor-you.” I just want to assure you that if this holiday season is filled with mishaps, mom-fails, and ugly stuff–you aren’t alone. You’re not. And someone always has it worse. Truly, they do. That doesn’t minimize your struggle, but it should put it into perspective. I am so thankful that Clark is going to be okay. I am so thankful to be finished with school. I am so thankful for a husband that doesn’t want to divorce me for letting Clark attempt baby-suicide. I am thankful for friends who support and lift me up when I feel especially undeserving. During this busy season, take the time to be the light for others. Be kind. Be understanding. Be generous. And don’t sit your baby on chairs in the doctors office while you open your hysterical daughter’s sucker.  Lordhamercy.


Tumbleweed shoes and other stories

The summer is basically over , and we are getting back to school! It’s been bittersweet because I’ve kept Clark home with me all summer, and now he’s back at school, and I miss his snuggles and squishy cheeks. He has made a lot of progress over the summer–he’s army-crawling now and gets into everything. I worked 2 days a week for a urologist and I loved it. It’s fast-paced and my coworkers are amazing with good senses of humor which is basically a requirement when I’m working. Otherwise I cannot possibly be expected to work. I cannot work with unfunny people who are not easily amused by body humor because I am a #nurse. Anyway…I digress. Below is a not so conclusive list of my summer wins and fails:

  1. Fail- Tumbleweed shoe. We were headed back to my hometown for Memorial Day with my family. It’s about a 4.5-5 okay 5.5 hour ride with children. There are like a lot of stops at gas stations because Darcy needs to “Go potty.” We manage to make it just into the ‘Sip when we have to make our first stop. We stop and Darcy and I run into a supremely dodgy and disgusting gas station bathroom. On the way out, Darcy starts griping about having to wear her shoes and is all, “My shoes! My shoes off!” Blah, blah, blah. Whatever, kid. I put her in her car seat and tell her to just take her shoes off and be quiet. When we stop at the next gas station, I can only find one of her shoes. It is then that I realize that Darcy was telling me one of her shoes fell off. AT THE GAS STATION. Like the gas station from 2 hours ago. So now I know how single shoes find their way to the side of road, just floating along like tumbleweeds. It’s because of mothers like me. 🤷🏼‍♀️
  2. Win-When we finally got to Mississippi, we had a pretty amazing redneck party with the family. Caleb smoked BBQ, the kids went swimming, and my nephew Bram got a nail through his foot. All in all, a good time.3. Win- Girls beach trip! Had an absolute blast with my sisters, nieces, and mom. It’s an awesome trip where we pretty much do whatever we want for a few days.
4. Win-Took my kids to the splashpad and the Knock-Knock Children’s Museum TWICE last week. If you knew how much prep and carry-along crap those trips require, you would just crown me with flowers right now. I did these things and had (mostly) fun. And they had fun, too. So basically, I’m #momoftheyear.

5. Fail-Mom discipline. You see, Darcy has turned into the dreaded “threenager.” I thought that was kind of stupid term until about two months ago. Tantrums, “No,” and a generally pissy-attitude have become the mainstay around here. Mostly, I have managed to keep my patience and what-not. Not so the other day. It was the end of the day which should signal to most parents that I was barely grasping onto the last threads of my sanity. Anyway, I asked Darcy to get in her car seat for the second time. She’s very independent you see, and I was giving her an opportunity to do it herself to promote independence and a healthy psyche and all that crap. She was scrounging on the floor of the car for her stickers she needed to hold on the way home. She grabs them and reluctantly gets into her seat–very, very slowly. Parents, you know the movement, so slow that it’s super annoying but she’s technically obeying you while also being defiant. It’s the *best.* Anyway, Darcy got into her seat in slow-motion and then immediately slumped down into her seat, and began squirming so I couldn’t buckle her in. “Darcy, sit straight.” cue the wild arm flailing. “Darcy, stop it!” More flailing. “Darcy, that’s enough! Sit! Up! NOW!” She stops moving, squares her jaw, leans forward out of her car seat, and stares me down. Y ‘all, I swear I  saw red. But I did not yell and I did not knock her lights out. No, no. Instead I remained very calm as I snatched her stickers out of her hand and chunked them out of the still open door. I finished buckling her because she was hysterical and pliable at the time, slammed the door, and blared music on the way home to drown out her indignant screams. Pretty sure that’s an immature parenting move, but I am imperfect and she was being a brat. Andddd I reaffirmed that I am crazy and will throw her stuff straight out of the window, which can only be useful in the future.

So that’s not nearly an exhaustive list of my wins and fails, but they are the ones that stand out the most right now. I’m about to start my FINAL semester of graduate school, and I am so excited, I cannot even see straight. Eeek! I wish you all the best of luck as you start off the year. Love to all ❤


Loving people through “it”

Don’t be lame

I last left you people with the story of Clark’s diagnosis.

When you receive a life-changing diagnosis, you cannot explain how it rocks you. For Clark, the diagnosis was actually a relief because of the months building to that moment. The hard part was when our neurologist dropped the heavy truth-bomb that Clark was not and would not ever be “typical.” For my friend just diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, it was the moment of diagnosis. I am absolutely wrecked with their news. I love this person and their family so, so much. I want to take away all the hurt and fix the situation–hello, nurse over here 👋

Y’all, I’m going to get serious for a minute and tell you all the things I’ve learned from my personal experience about dealing with someone’s heavy stuff.

  1. They are hurting. Like run-over-by-a-mack-truck-mangled-and-gasping-for-air kind of hurting. Life-changing news actually takes your breath away. That’s not just a saying. The affected party actually struggles to get enough oxygen with their breaths because it feels as if their lungs are stupid and are not cooperating.  Do not delegitimatize this level of hurt. Don’t say, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” That’s complete bullshit and is completely unhelpful.
  2. Now, if you do love them, you’ve got to let them hurt. Let ’em. You don’t have to have the magical words to make them feel better because *spoiler alert* you cannot make them feel better with any words. Let them tell you how destroyed they are. Let them tell you their life is falling apart. Let them ugly cry. Yes, I know it can be totally uncomfortable when they are sniffing and dripping their own snot with their swollen, red, blotchy-faces. Just let it happen again and again if they need it.
  3. DO NOT SAY “I’m here if you need anything!” Look, Brenda, they do not know how to tell you what they do not know they desperately need. Instead, just try being there. Send the note, text, email, letter, gift, package. Tell them, “I’m thinking of you, and I love you.” Show up with all of your inadequate words and your Mawmaw’s casserole that uses two cans of Cream of Chicken soup. Just show the hell up.
  4. Also, don’t ask “How are you?” And follow it up with “but you’re okay, right?” They aren’t good. That’s a given. Instead say, “This sucks, and I’m here. Want to talk? Want a drink?” Let them know that you know the situation is messed up, the future is uncertain, but you are there for all of it. I promise this means more than “Oh how are you?”
  5. They are not the same anymore. Acknowledge that, but love them anyway. Keep inviting them to every function even if they never show up. Know that they have been forever changed, but also let them know that you don’t care. Be the friend you want to have when your life is wrecked, because one day it will be.
  6. Treat them like a human without the kid gloves. Nothing will piss a person off faster than being treated like a fragile piece of glass. If you regularly text the person pictures of floating hair, aka tumbleweaves (like I do), then still do that! If you screenshot hilarious and dramatic Facebook statuses (guilty, again) don’t stop. Keep up your friendship, oddities included.

The moral of the story is to be a friend, which I think is a lost art. Truly. Think about it–we live in Facebook world where everyone is a “friend,” but that’s just not true. Not every acquaintance is your friend, and not every friendly person is a friend. You can be kind without letting everyone into your inner circle, and that’s totally okay. But if you claim the title of friend, then be a good one! Show up and stay through the hard parts. Go out of your way and love people so, so hard. Show up with the meal, write the letter, and love on people consistently and genuinely. I just cannot emphasize this point enough–Be authentic, invite your people into that inner circle, and love them aggressively.

We are not perfect people. We’re going to mess up and say and do the wrong things. So what? Do better, love harder. What everyone says about “millennials” is bull because we are hardworking, we are accepting, and we are far more genuine in our relationships than anyone gives us credit for. Let’s show them all how we’re going to change the world by eschewing the platitudes we’ve been taught and embracing authenticity, both in friendships and in life in general. Until next time,  love to all. ❤

The Diagnosis

Clark’s Diagnosis: Part II

So if you haven’t read my previous post, you should do that first. Just click here.

I left you with my lifechanging perspective and baby Clark’s amazing progress. We were initially told it would take 6-8 weeks for the WES test results to be available. The WES test results actually took 15 weeks. I really think people thought we were lying when we said that the test results weren’t back yet, but seriously they weren’t. We started calling the geneticist’s office about 8 weeks after the appointment, and we were told that it would be 2 more weeks. Two more weeks would pass, and we would call and they would say, “One more week” or “Two more weeks” ad nauseum. 🙄 I called this past Tuesday morning, and to my surprise the nurse told me that the test results were back, that she had placed them on the physician’s desk, and that I could expect a call later that day. Yikes.

I immediately became anxious and stress-cleaned my entire house which is honestly  much more productive than stress eating raw cookie dough my usual methods. Around noon, the geneticist called. Immediately he told me that we had an answer for Clark’s issues. Cue the relief. He then explained that Clark has TMCO1 gene mutation or Cerebro-facio-thoracic Dysplasia. I know, I know. It’s a big word. And you will probably want to google it, so I’ll save you the trouble. Here. So, Basically, Clark has a syndrome that affects brain development, facial features, and thoracic/spine development. This explains his hypotonia, some facial features, spine and rib abnormalities and delayed development. This syndrome is officially classified as a mental retardation syndrome and has been associated with eye and cardiac disorders as well as severe intellectual disability and global developmental delay.

The long-term prognosis? Actually, okay as long as he is monitored for eye, cardiac, and neuro development, which he is. There are statistics listed that say things like “Half of diagnosed individuals never walk” and “A quarter of affected individuals never speak” blah, blah, blah. There are only about 15 or 16  confirmed cases worldwide. WORLDWIDE! That means that the prevalence of this disorder is <1/1,000,000. Far less than 1 in a million. More along the lines of 1 in half a billion. Now the interesting thing is that there are all these aforementioned statistics concerning patient outcomes, but they are based off these very few individuals. So, I’m going to take them with a grain a salt. 

So, what did I feel when Dr. S told me the diagnosis and explained that my child would have severe intellectual disability? Honestly, I felt relieved. We have an answer, y’ all. My son does not have major medical issues, and I am so glad that his diagnosis is not life-limiting. Clark is healthy, happy, and so very loved. We have been doing everything right with specialist follow-ups and early-intervention intensive therapies. There is nothing we could have done to prevent this, and Team Clark is doing everything we can to help him reach his fullest potential. His therapists give us life and are the sweetest, most encouraging humans ever.

To the family and friends who have shown up, packed up, and traveled on this diagnostic journey with us: We love you more than words can say. Readers, you may or may not have reached your terrifying, life-defining moments yet. If you haven’t had the privilege, let me let you in on something both extremely true and extremely cliché: you will find out who your friends are. Some friends and family members will suck it up tremendously. They will. They’ll say “Oh, I’m here for you,” while remaining curiously absent. They will act disinterested because they are. It might sting, because they *should* be there, but don’t worry about them. Because your people will show up. I mean it, yo. Out of nowhere, you will be hit with genuine love bombs. These special souls will listen to you cry, let you barge into their homes, drink the 4th glass of wine with you, lay on rugs, play ridiculous card games, and patiently sit there listening to you tell them again that you can’t possibly do this. Hold these people close because they are the real deal. The other friends and family members? Eh, not everyone is meant for you and that’s okay. Also, you have my permission to eliminate them from your circle. They can belong someone else’s circle of crappy friends. Bye Felecia👋

The more shit life has thrown my way, the more my perspective has evolved. This past week was huge for a lot of families. We finally got our diagnosis. Sweet William with cerebral palsy, who has had multiple surgeries and years of physical therapy, took his first unassisted steps this week! The video is just incredible, and I could barely hold it together. I know his mama was wrecked in the best possible way. Another college friend gave birth to a precious, tiny baby girl. She and her family have experienced true heartache with two stillborn daughters, and this sweet angel may have arrived a little early, but her safe arrival has been celebrated by all. My heart could have burst from joy for these families! On the other end of the spectrum, I have been shocked at a dear friend’s very serious cancer diagnosis. My heart has just ached over it. Life has a way of presenting us with a strange and constant dichotomy of both joy and sorrow. I was amazed at my ability to feel both so profoundly.

If I can impart any wisdom at all in my rambling, I want you to realize that while you might be having a normal day, or even a great day, others are having their worst. Sometimes even days that have victories can also be bittersweet. Please, please be kinder and gentler than necessary. My new goal in this life is to recognize and celebrate the victories as they come and to aggressively love on people who are in those dark trenches. And y’all, the Rayners are not in the trenches. Please, don’t feel sorry for us. We are happy and laughing and thankful for this incredible life, wretched moments and all.

If you’ve made it through this journey with me, thank you. Love to all.

*To any and all PTs, OTs, and STs out there:  you have no idea the impact you have on your patients and their families. What you do is vital, and without intervention, Clark would not be where he is today. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 


The bumpy, ugly, and altogether beautiful road to a diagnosis

Clark’s diagnosis: Part I

Hello all! I’ve been super MIA lately, but that’s because I have been living life and staying busy. I think I previously mentioned that we went to the very long-awaited genetics appointment for Clark the first week of March. It was an intense, 3-hour-long appointment. We went through our families’ entire genetic history, health history, social history, our reproductive history, etc. The interview was extremely thorough and filled with high-level conversation. By that, I mean that I am a nurse with a science education, and it was still difficult to comprehend a lot of the information given to us. Now, the geneticist was super kind and explained things as well as he could, but honestly it’s just very complicated, and I really feel sorry for those with no scientific/medical background. The geneticist is obviously super smart and you could tell he was trying to dumb everything down–he tried. So basically the geneticist told us that Clark did not fit any “box” of diagnoses he was familiar with. This was not new to us. I mean, we’ve been to about 8 specialists and 3 therapists who haven’t been able to figure Clark out either. So, he recommended Whole Exome Sequencing (WES). Long story short, it basically looks at Clark’s genetic information and *hopefully* identifies the glitch.

We have known that Clark has some type of syndrome. We have had many different diagnostic tests run to identify the issue. Nothing has come back positive. At first, this gave me great hope that *maybe* nothing was wrong. Once I couldn’t lie to myself anymore, the negative tests became irritating. You see, there a lot of children in this world who have “unknown syndromes.” You know what that means? That means their parents have no answers. No answer, no diagnosis, no possible prognosis, etc. The geneticist warned us that we may not get an answer even with exome sequencing. The test results could identify a genetic abnormality of “unknown clinical significance.” That seemed too horrific. Because we would have done everything possible to come up with no answer.

Y ‘all, I prayed a lot after that appointment, but for the first time I wasn’t pleading for Clark’s healing. Instead, I was begging for peace and understanding. Instead of praying for God to change the circumstances (which, let’s be honest–that’s my usual prayer), I was now praying that God would sustain me, equip me, and give me peace and strength. I prayed that we would find answers, but that even if we didn’t, He would use this situation for His glory. It took about 15 weeks to get the WES results. And I noticed some huge changes during that time:  changes in Clark, and changes in me.

Clark now sits up and plays for long periods of time. He can stand unassisted for up to 5 minutes. He rolls and swings himself around to get to his toys. He can run like a banshee on his gait-trainer. He is eating less purees and more mashes–he’s biting and eating graham crackers! Clark is trying so hard to army-crawl and is even pulling himself forward occasionally.

Changes in me?? Well, let’s scoot back in time to December of 2017, when I felt like every lab test held my world in its cruel hands. I simultaneously anticipated and dreaded the result. Every negative test felt like a shallow victory, because at least Clark didn’t have that disorder, but we were no closer to finding a diagnosis.  I continued living this way for a solid, miserable year. It was undoubtedly the hardest and bitterest year of my life. My heart was irrevocably changed when it was broken to pieces this past December. That was when I was forced to accept that life would not be “normal” for Clark. When I say that my heart was broken, I mean it. I actually had literal, physical pain in my chest, and there was no earthly comfort to be found.

Even still, God found me there. He met me in my suffering and no, it wasn’t like this blazing, yet oddly comforting light where He revealed his master plan and it was all suddenly hunky-dunky. Because it wasn’t that way at all. It was gentle and subtle, and came in little pieces instead of all at once. He gave me peace and hope, true hope for our family’s future. I honestly did not even feel anxious about these genetic test results. I mean, sure, I thought about them, but I did not dwell on them. It’s so odd, and I cannot describe it other than God gave me this incredible gift of joy and peace and acceptance.  I was truly okay and could praise God with an earnest and grateful heart, not knowing the testing’s outcome. Y’ all who have been on this journey with me know that I have been torn up and crazy and railing at God for almost two years over this situation. To say that I am at complete peace proves that Jesus is alive and well and still working miracles. And no, the miracle wasn’t Clark’s earthly healing, but maybe instead He broke my heart to save it, and that for sure is a miracle worth celebrating.

In the next post, I will tell you about Clark’s diagnosis, what that means for us, and why our future is so bright ❤


Three and fabulous

Happy birthday, Darcy

In some ways, I cannot believe that Darcy will be three tomorrow. That she has been earth side for three whole years–the most life-changing three years of my life. Parents, you understand this feeling. These children drop into your life and consume it so completely. Don’t get me wrong, you still have your own things going on, but nearly every single activity is impacted by this new, tiny person. And it stays that way, I think forever. So in that way, I can totally believe it’s been three years because sometimes the days are freaking long, man. This past Sunday lasted approximately 92 years, of this I am certain. I thought about writing Ben a “Goodbye, Good luck, and Godspeed” note because it should have been bedtime, but it was actually 11:00 a.m., and I just could not mom anymore. And in the same moment, I remember this night, the night before you were born, so very clearly.

Darcy. Girl, you are unique. I know everyone says that about their child, but you really are. You make expressions with your face that you just shouldn’t make out loud. If you don’t think something is funny, you aren’t going to laugh or fake laugh. You can glare and mean-mug like a champion, and it can be so embarrassing, but you are you, girl. You also belly laugh and smile so big that your eyes close. You love to run and play with your friends. You are O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D with Shabbat. You love it so much, and Friday is your favorite day of the week, fo sho. You demand the Hamotzi before every meal, and you cover your eyes when we light candles, even if they’re just scented candles because Libby stinks. Also, you love bossing Libby around–to any new readers, Libby is my “single girl” Westie that is now almost 9 years old. You are in love with the color blue, and want blue everything. You were so sweet the other night and asked me to make blue waffles. I felt like a superior, fun mom, and I made my baby girl some blue waffles.  Then you threw up blue waffles all over my couch. Fun times. 😑

You love baby Clark so much.  You call him “baby Cwark” or “my baby.” The other day I heard him crying (rare) and saw that you were dragging him by his legs to your room to “pway wif me.” I mean, obviously I had to rescue him, but the sentiment was truly precious. You love him and defend him so well. You love to read him books and make up new stories and songs for him. Your daddy has always sung a special goodnight song and good morning song, and now you sing them to Clark at ear-splitting decibels. It’s got to be a rough way to wake up, but he is so in love with you and lights up when he sees you.

You. Are. Sassy. The other day I told you that you were not listening to me and you hissed, “I IZ yistening!” You totally weren’t, and you got reprimanded for back-talking, but inwardly I laughed a lot.

This morning after Daddy left for work, you looked at me and said, “Mama, Daddy picked this out” while pointing to your dress.

Me: “Yes, he sure did.”

You: “Daddy. Picked. This. Out.”

Me: “Oh. I see. You want to change?”

You: “Yes. I not yike this.”

You tell me to “hear it up” when you want the volume to the radio louder. You call lemonade “lemma-lade.” You love to bake, and turn into such a little hostess when the cookies are ready. You want to serve and serve (and serve) all of the cookies before you start eating one. “Chicken filly A” (Chik-fil-a), waffles, and anything chocolate are your favorite foods. Sack is still your main man when it comes to lovies, and you love to read books and run.

You have been so excited to turn three, and you’re going to have a big, blue cookie monster party this weekend. We are going to start your birthday tomorrow with “benny-yays” at Coffee Call, and I just cannot wait to celebrate you, my Darcela.

Darcy-girl, I just love your toddler-speak. I love your sass. I love your sweet heart. I love you. I will never recover from falling in love with you, and I cannot wait to see what’s up ahead. Happy birthday, baby.



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