Aiming for the Same

img_6778

My pediatrician doesn’t know that I lost two babies.  It was timing, really.  Quentin and Theo have birthdays in March and September.  I had only lost Nelle a few weeks before Theo’s well-child visit in the Fall and there was no reason to bring it up at his appointment.  Then lost Iris before Quentin’s visit in the Spring. I was a few months pregnant with Autumn at the March appointment this year but, as I ended up doing throughout the pregnancy, said nothing out of fear that something would go wrong.  I think it was a big surprise for the pediatrician when we showed up for an appointment with a five-day-old newborn. Continue reading

Where To Put Grief


This past week, I have been editing some of my own writing.  It is writing that I did in the months between losing Nelle and Iris.  I found myself tensing up as I read my own words.  I was still reeling from the pain of losing Nelle, pregnant again, terrified.  And looking back, I know what is coming.  That unfathomable doctor’s appointment where I learned that I had lost Iris too.  I have to read through all of my fears that, in the end, proved to be true. Continue reading

Dream On

img_6137

I have had so many bad dreams. The one that reoccurred the most was a doctor telling me that something was wrong, or that I had lost a baby, followed by me screaming “No. No. NO!”  I would wake from fitful sleep, often drenched in sweat or tangled in my blankets. Continue reading

Giving Permission

img_6077

It is 3:00 am and I just finished feeding my baby. Not because she woke up crying and hungry. But because I wanted and needed to be with her.

I had met a friend for dinner. Tucked the big kids in so that I was not leaving Ger to fend for himself with three kids at bedtime. There was pumped milk in the fridge. I spent a few hours away. Even had a glass of wine, a first in a long time. And the first time leaving the baby for “fun” versus out of necessity like running an errand or taekwondo class.   Continue reading

Inescapable Reality

“Your death really feels like a prison sentence…Upon the slamming of those doors for the first time, one fights and struggles and wrestles trying to get them back open – trying to get back to freedom and the world you knew. Then, once resigned, you decorate. You hang up a photo of something pretty, buy a plant, and drink a good cup of coffee. You move in for good and get settled. You’re still imprisoned so it all seems a little silly, but you do it anyway.”-from “Notes from a Cell with Flowers” by Julia Cho

The room trapped me.  Swallowed me. Continue reading