Towel Washing Day

Image Credit

It was towel washing day, one of my favourite washing days. Towel washing day normally equates a late night shower with the candles burning and music playing. Late night showers means me. Only me. No interruptions, just peace to enjoy the water running down my skin and thoughts twirling in my mind. Towel washing day is one of my favourite days. I get to have a shower, on my own. Without Evelyn in the room crying for my attention. Without Evelyn at my feet in the shower playing with her toys. Towel washing day, I savour, I celebrate and I enjoy every single drop of water that falls on my body. I then step out of the shower onto the fresh bath mat and I unfold that beautifully washed towel. I get a breath of sea salt and fabric softener. My favourite smell. And then I wrap that towel around my body and I enjoy the feeling of the freshly cleaned towel. 

Towel washing day is a magical day in my house. It is a day that I truly treasure and look forward to. It is my day to take my break and enjoy all the finer things in life. I get to forget, for just a few short moments, how everything in my life is now shared with my children. My children whom I adore and love with all my heart, but whom I also enjoy a moment away from. I forget that my body is no longer mine, it is Jelly's to live off, taking every nutrient for oneself and leaving me with the bare minimum. It is Evelyn's to climb on, to sit on, to nuzzle in to, to take comfort from. I get to forget that my food is no longer mine, it is Evelyn's to eat, to throw, to play with. My drink, that is her's too. 

My jewellery is hers to play with. My sleep time, is theirs, it is for Jelly to disturb and it is for Evelyn to post pone. My bed is a cubby to play within. My toilet time is a lesson in toilet paper, flushing toilets, potty training. My pencils are hers to draw with, because Mums are more fun than crayons. My underwear is Evelyn's, to pull on and stretch and play with. My mind is theirs, full of thoughts, worries, concerns and love for both of them. My spare time is their time. Motherhood is about sharing. We share our lives and our bodies and everything in between. I love to share with my children. Mostly I enjoy it, I get to teach Evelyn while I share my life with her and I am able to watch her learn. I love to share with my children.

But on towel washing day, I get to have my very own moment. I get to have my very own newly washed and neatly folded towel. It is mine and I will not share it. If you try to take it away from me, I will bite. Because this moment is only mine and I will be selfish.

Anthony learnt this lesson, the very hard way. On this particular washing day, my late night shower was an early afternoon shower. I had to share the bathroom with Evelyn and Anthony who were taking a bath. They were quietly playing while I closed my eyes and let the water fall, I drifted off into another world, a world where I am just Jess. That was, until I was awoken by the words 

We will just use Mummy's towel

My clean, fresh air with a little sea salt dried, fabric softened, folded towel was shaken awake and wrapped around the tiny body of my Daughter and I saw her enjoy the moment. The moment that is mine. I saw her nuzzle into that towel, my towel and then I watched them walk away from me and I quietly weeped a little defeat. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it is just a towel. A fresh towel, but just a towel. I reminded myself that I am no longer just Jess, I am Mummy and I am to share. 

I tried to wash away my frustrations but they slowly began to grow bigger and bigger. Until I turned off the water and I wrapped myself in my now damp and crumpled towel and I walked out to Anthony and I said NO, not okay! He did not understand, not even slightly. He says to me that it is just a towel and that he didn't realise something like a towel could be such a big deal.

In that moment, I realised that Daddy is never going to understand why something as small as a towel can be such a huge deal. Daddy will never understand why Mummy holds that towel and that moment so close to her heart. Was it worth having the argument? Probably not. But I pushed on through and tried to explain that there is very little left that is only mine and he just took away one of the only things Evelyn hasn't touched yet. 

Daddy didn't understand and until Daddy has to share the toilet with Evelyn and Jelly every single time he goes, Daddy won't understand. Until Daddy has to share every single meal with his children, he wont understand. Until Daddy has to share all that Mummy has to share, every day, Daddy will never have the ability to understand why something as small as a towel can be so important. 

Towel washing day is my day, it is my moment and I will continue to treasure that one moment because we Mummy's need to take what we can get. 

Giving Up The Dummy At 18 Months

Before I gave birth to my Daughter I used to look at Mother's putting the dummy back in their babies mouths before they even had a chance to squeak and I used to judge. I am ashamed to admit it but I always thought to myself 'that is such lazying parenting'. I was never going to grow up and have a child who depending on the dummy. Not ever.

From the moment Evelyn was born it was clear that she was generally a sucky baby. Trying to wrap her little mouth around anything that presented itself. She was also born a very bad sleeper, having a lot of difficulty drifting off to sleep and remaining asleep. Before long I went out and purchased my first dummy. I decided then and there that although I may be giving her a dummy, she will never use that dummy outside of nap times. Except for those select few times in the early weeks when I needed to do my makeup for a night out and only had 5 minutes left. Since I made that decision, I have been true to my word and that dummy does not leave the perimeters of the cot.

Evelyn became a wonderful sleeper. I was able to put her down each night without a peep. Before 18 months I could not tell you the last time she awoke over night. Mostly she would sleep without the dummy, but she used it as her wind down routine. Each morning when I pull her out of bed she knows to 'ta for mummy' and she places the dummy in my hand. She has never cried for it and she has never tried to sneak it into her days. 

In the last few months I was beginning to notice, each morning, that there was a ring of hair wrapped around the dummy. Every day I would cut the hair away from it, give it a wash and return it to her bed without so much as a second thought. Until the hair on the top of her head began to thin. So I started to investigate and I found that a part of her wind down routine was to suck the dummy, then run it through her hair and put it back in her mouth. The rough rubber would just pull on her hair and break it, or rip it completely out of her head. 

I was devastated that my girl's beautiful hair was being ruined so I had a decision to make. I really was not ready to take the dummy away from her as it had become a part of her nightly routine and it was not causing any harm. But I decided that now was a better time than ever. So with great hesitation, one Sunday night, I put her down to bed without her dummy.

The first few days were fine. It would take 10 to 15 minutes each night for her to settle, but she drifted off into slumber without too much hysteria. Until we sent her to her Grandparents for a couple of nights. There, she found a dummy. She came home a spawn of the devil himself!

Her whole persona changed. She was no longer my gentle, calm little girl. But rather, she was full of attitude and frustration. She was quick tempered. She refused to sleep... at all. No more day naps and not going to sleep until 9-10pm at night. Waking up earlier than ever before and often waking throughout the night. There was no solution I could do to get her to go to sleep. No amount of playing, running, swimming would tire her out. No amount of cuddling, patting or rocking would help her to drift away. She was angry. 

I am embarrassed to say it but it actually did not occur to me that this whole shift in her happiness could possibly be the responsibility of the missing dummy. My Daughter, who never cried for the dummy. My Daughter, who feel asleep beautifully for the first 4 nights without the dummy. How could it possibly be the dummy that she was so dreadfully missing?

This week I decided that enough was enough. I decided that I would give her back that dummy, just to see. She had been in and out of bed for three hours on this day, me trying to coax her to sleep, pleading ever so desperately for her to just please go to sleep. I laid her back in her cot and I presented the dummy. Her face light up with absolute glee, she smiled and she clapped her hands. I placed it in her mouth and asked her to go to sleep and closed the door behind me. I did not hear another word from her, for two hours! When I checked on her, I found her like this...

When she woke up she was standing there, dummy in hand, literally squealing with delight. In a matter of two hours my devil child had found her happiness again. She was no longer mad or frustrated. She spent the rest of that day with serious 'Mum Love' eyes. I have never, in my life, seen anyone be so thankful!

A wave of relief washed over me. Followed quickly by despair and a lot guilt and a touch of embarrassment. How on earth did I think it was ok to put either of us through that torturous month? It made us both miserable. We were both unrested and highly strung. Stroppy with each other and quick to get upset over the smallest things. A month. An entire month I allowed this ludicrous episode to continue. For what? I didn't want to take it away from her and she definitely didn't want to say goodbye to it. All because she was ruining her hair. Hair which will grow back. I wont get that month back.

I have learnt from this, that all things run their due course and not to rush them. Neither of us were ready for this decision and it turned out to be one of the worst Mothering decisions I have made to date. I will let her give me the dummy in the future, when she is good and ready.

For both our sanity's!

Losing Myself to Mother's Guilt

A Mother's guilt controls the way you live your life, the decisions you make and the steps that you take. It can cause you to become someone that you are not and live a life that you never envisioned. Mother's guilt does not become you, in can turn you unkind, unhappy and un-you. Mother's guilt is not a feeling that we should allow ourselves to feel, as often as we do.

And yet, Mother's guilt is what is controlling my every desire. Lately, I have been feeling a need for more but that guilt has built a barrier between me and more. It is preventing me from knowing how to start the search. From the moment my Daughter was born, my life became hers and no longer mine. That was a decision I made with every fibre of my being. I wanted to be the ever present Mama. I wanted to be everything for her, for our family. For the last 18 months all that I have done, all that I say and think and dream, has been for her. I spend my time trying to provide her with the best, the best of everything, and along the way I seem to have lost my way. 

I no longer live for me. I no longer take the time to be me. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, I have lost me. In recents days, or even weeks, I have really been grieving that loss. With the coming arrival of Baby Jelly, I worry that if I do not make a change soon, if I do not find my way and find me, then perhaps she will be lost forever? This fear has forced me to reconsider my choices and reevaluate my life and I have found that if I do not live my life for me, if I do not find my own balance and harmony, my own happiness, then how can I ever teach my Daughter to grow and be confident in herself and find happiness in her life. I need not give my everything to my children, instead, I need to give them inspiration, a role model... Someone to aspire to. I cannot do this, if I do not know myself. 

My life has become one of repetitiveness, of structure and of routine. I am not a creature of routine or structure or habit. My nature seeks adventure and spontaneity, thrills and the unexpected. I thrive when I live each and every day bigger and better than the last. But lately, my days have been the same. They are full of habit, of routine. They are becoming more and more the same. As a result of all this structure I am beginning to feel like a caged animal. My heart yearns for a change, for something more. My body is aching for the freedom of spontaneity. My soul is searching for something. 

I need to rediscover myself, rediscover my spark and my fire. I need to press pause of the daily grind and search for my spirit, before my spirit is a distant memory. My children deserve the very best version of me. Anthony deserves the very best version of me. But today, what they are being given is a mere shadow of my former myself. They are being given less than they are worthy and I can see it in their eyes, in his eyes, that I am not the only one who is losing me. 

My Mother's guilt has been preventing me from going out on my own, but I am beginning to realise that my Mother's guilt should be pushing me out the door and paving the way of my journey back home to me. 

I need to dance in the rain again. 
I need to pick wild flowers and walk barefooted
I need to create
I need to feel... 

When Breast Isn't Best

When I was pregnant with Evelyn I made many decisions about how my life, my household and my parenting choices were going to play out once she arrived. Many of them unrealistic, some of them ill informed, others based on judging the choices of other parents. There is a lot of information we are fed before we have babies and mostly, we don't go digging for any further information. We take the booklets, we listen to the advice, we see other's mistakes and theirs triumphs and we start to make our own choices and decisions based on this. But the reality is, that this information isn't the only, or even the best, information.

While I was pregnant with Evelyn, there was so much about pregnancy, about birth, about parenting that I just didn't know. I wish they told you about the bad and the gory as well as the pleasant and the simple. I wish I was more read. I wish I had have been better prepared. Because once she was here, I had to struggle with the shock and then the disappointment and mostly the guilt of all the things that went so horribly wrong.

We each have our own stories about those first few months with a baby, finding our feet, getting to know each other. Figuring out what works best for us and trying to find a way to make our new lives work. We each have our own stories about how we prepare for the day we are to bring our new baby home and the months that are to follow. My story is quite simple really, but it is an emotional one that still, 17 months later, can make me cry. I thought I was prepared. I thought I had it all under control. The nursery was done, the car seat was installed, the bassinets was made and my mind and heart was ready.

The night I went into labour I was so very excited that the time was finally now and in not too long at all, I would be holding my precious Daughter. We went to the hospital and I endured my 33 hours of labour and then... there she was. Here she is. With me and ready to bond as Mother and Daughter. Our very first moments to be her naked body, next to mine. We were wrapped up in a new kind of love that I will never find the words to explain. Then came the time to feed my new born, crying baby. Not once did my mind ever consider that this may be hard. I put baby to breast and she latched on and suckled away perfectly. The midwives checked to see that all was as it should be, and as it was, they left me to be, new Mother and new Baby. Little did they, or I, know that this would not work so perfectly on the other side.

Before owning a blog I had never admitted this to another person but I have one inverted nipple. Before I was a Mother, I never knew the complications that an inverted nipple can carry. Not once in my preparation to become a breast feeding Mother did I come across any information about how this could affect me and my baby. I did once sit down with a midwife and express my concern about how this may affect my breast feeding journey and she laughed at me. I had to beg her to look at my nipple and beg her to tell me if and how this could change my path. She laughed. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Took a quick look. Rolled her eyes again and then said it'd be fine. She did not discuss with me that it can in fact be a problem. She did not discuss with me that many women cannot breast feed with an inverted nipple. She did not discuss that some women have an operation to have their inverted nipples fixed. She did not talk with me and about nipple pullers, nipple shields, nipple anything. She simply rolled her eyes and ushered me out of her office.

I didn't pursue this any further as it was too humiliating to show your breasts to someone to have them laugh at you and I tried to forget that a problem may be sitting in my bra that will affect the course of my bonding with my baby.

Once Evelyn was here and I saw that this inverted nipple is actually cause for concern, I was to shy and embarrassed to call on the midwives and because they thought I didn't have any troubles, they never asked. I was sent home, unable to feed this new child of mine. Unable to care and nurture her in the best way I could. I went home with an attitude full of fight and hope and I truly believed that I was going to be able to figure this out on my own. This just wasn't so.

After a week of trying every angle I could possibly try to have Evelyn latch onto my left breast my spirits begun to break and my fight begun to falter. I started to feel like a failure. After all, isn't breast feeding meant to be natural? Isn't breast feeding what we are meant to do? Isn't it my responsibility as a Mother to ensure that my baby is given the best and isn't breast, best? 

I can still remember sitting on the side of my bed when Evelyn was 4 weeks old and I was crying to Anthony. Inconsolably. Sobbing. 

I am a failure!

This is the one thing I meant to do naturally, and I cant do it... what kind of a Mother is that setting me up to be?

I cant make my own baby happy. I cant give her what she needs. I am starving her

No one ever told me that breast feeding might not work. No one ever told me that shape or size of your boobs can make it more difficult. No one talks about flat or inverted nipples. No one talks about a bad sucking reflex, low milk supply, cracked and bleeding nipples. No one tells you that it might not work. All they tell you, they hammer into you, is that breast is best.

But what if its not?

I tried so hard to work out a way to be able to feed my baby. I tried every single brand of nipple shield I could find, none of which Evelyn would go anywhere near. I found a device called a nipple puller, its purpose was to draw my nipple out, but rather, it just made it invert even more. I spent hours upon hours in a hot shower or bath trying to draw the nipple out myself, to the point of turning my boob black and blue. I tried to express with a pump from that side, which split my entire nipple in two and instead of expressing milk out of that nipple, my bottle filled with blood. I tried to manually express every hour from that breast, to the point of causing carpel tunnel in my wrists. I tried feeding from only the right side, to the point that my right breast was two cup sizes larger than my left.

I found myself at a breast feeding clinic crying. Heaving, hysterical big breaths of absolute despair and complete defeat. The nurse looked at me and simply said "breast is only best, when it is best for Mother and child". At that point I knew, that breast feeding just wasn't going to work for me. I knew, that if I wanted to create a happy baby and a happy family, I had to admit defeat and let it go. On the way home, I bought my first tin of formula.

I breastfed Evelyn, exclusively, for the first seven weeks of her life. Back then, that was a failure. But today, this is an accomplishment. I introduced my first bottle of formula at seven weeks old and I continued to feed Evelyn from the one breast in the morning and in the evening until she was three months old. 

To me, breast just wasn't best. To me, to continue down the breast feeding path would have caused major destruction. Mental and emotional destruction. I still feel like I haven't quite lived up to the my role of being a Mother and I still feel such a huge amount of guilt for buying that tin of formula. But what I need to remind myself is that before that tin, Evelyn and I were both two very unhappy girls. Crying all through the days and nights. And after? We were at peace. We finally had the energy and strength to bond with each other. We had finally found a sense of happiness and normalcy. 

In the end I had to make a decision that was best for both my baby and I and in our case, breast just wasn't best. I will try again with baby Jelly. But I will not place so much importance and pressure on what is so trivial in the grand scheme of things. 

Your health is just as important, if not more, than the way your baby eats. So if you find yourself in a similar situation just remember that Mum and Baby need to be nurtured!

When a group of Mothers become a group of friends

Photo's taken by one amazing Mother - Kate

Mothers Group has all the intentions of being a group of women whom support each other, love and accept each other (warts and all), nurture each other. It has all the intentions on creating an environment in which new Mothers can form a bond and can form there own new source of support. It has all the intentions on being something really great. Really great. 

However, before I had even fallen pregnant with my Daughter I was privy to stories of Mothers Group experiences. Experiences full of judgement and criticism, comparison and competition. You know, those awful feelings that a new Mother should never have to experience, all those awful things that a new Mother should never place on another. I had heard stories of people leaving in tears, they were judged for using a dummy, bottle feeding, a crying unhappy baby. Anything and everything. In a time of such need I could not believe that women could still be so cruel to each other. In a time when sisterhood should shine, I could not believe that we still resort to petty school yard behaviour.

When I feel pregnant with my Daughter I had a brief thought, "this means Mothers Group!". And I shut it down as quickly as it entered my mind. Never to be thought of again. I wasn't doing any such thing! I was not going to set myself up to be so cruelly treated when I just knew I would be in a place that I would not be emotionally strong enough to be able to hand such behaviour. The idea of being placed in a forced environment, having to introduce myself in a room full of women, talk about my pregnancy, my labour, my birth, my child. Talk about how I am coping and feeling. Talk... in general... in front of people, people I knew nothing about and no doubt had absolutely nothing in common with. Well that was just overwhelmingly frightening! And I just wasn't going to do it!

Then Evelyn was born. The thought had entered my mind again, and again I threw out. Until the midwives came to visit and didn't give me a choice. I was going! I needed it! It would be great for me. Apparently. They signed me up and called me multiple times to ensure I had all of the information. But, I exercised my right to freedom of choice and I just didn't go. I didn't have the strength to walk into something that just was not in my persona. I didn't have it in me.

Until three or four months passed. And my Daughter had grown, she was teething, she wouldn't breast feed, she was unhappy and then happy, things were happening and I had no one to talk it through with. Then, I realised... how nice it would be to have a group of women who had babies the same age, who I could ask, who I could talk to.

So I did something so totally out of character for me. And I contacted that group of women that I was too afraid to meet. Then I turned up one Thursday morning. After they had been meeting for months, knew each other, knew each others babies, knew their place. I walked in there and I sat down and I introduced myself and my Daughter and I talked about my pregnancy, my labour, my birth. I did all the things I was too afraid to do. Then I learnt, that I can do this. I was just so completely proud of myself. I walked into a ladies house whom I had never met, and I met a group of 7 other women. And I talked and I felt ok. Nervous, so utterly nervous, but ok!

Then this strange thing happened. I started going back. Every single thursday. I started craving that time. Those women. Their babies. Their stories and advice. I cherished thursday mornings, I waiting for them and when I left on thursday afternoon I felt empowered... ready to start a brand new week. They gave me strength and courage. They gave me a confidence that I had not had before.

Then something even more strange happened.

We became friends. Me and those 7 other women. Me and those 7 other babies. Evelyn and those 7 other babies. Friends. The day I walked into that cafe for the first time I never could have prepared myself for what the next 14 months would bring. I never would have imagined that all of those women and their babies would help me celebrate my babies first birthday. I never would have imagined that those women would wipe away my tears and give me a hug when I had no where else to go. I never could have prepared myself for the love those women would show my Daughter, or the love I would feel for those 7 other babies. I never ever would have imagined, that in that very moment that i sat down and said hello I was creating for myself an unbreakable community full of support and encouragement and love and kindness. 

The love I have for these women is beyond describable. When I watch them play with Evelyn, cuddle and kiss her, talk with her, my heart swells. On that very first day, I did not think I would survive and yet here I am, with a 16 month old baby who has 7 16 month old friends. Here I am, a woman who never had many women in my life, with 7 new friends who I cherish and adore and just cannot imagine my life without them.

The decision to attend Mothers Group was one made with complete apprehension, total fear and anxiety but today... If I had not made that decision my life would be one a little less bright, a little less happy. I would be a different woman and a different Mother. These girls help me to be a better, greater version of myself and help me to be a Mother I never could have known existed without them.

For that, I will be forever grateful, forever in their debt.

It takes a village...

For the last few days I have been struck down with yet another version of this years attacker flu and I have really struggled to muster up the strength and energy every day to get out of bed and attend to Evelyn (who mind you, has also been hit!). But, every day, I find that teeny tiny little bit of energy that we Mama's just have to find and I put on my brave cape and I pull Evelyn out of bed and I spend the day with her. We have not left the house, the weather is not of the kind that two sick girls should be spending their days in. But we have been out of bed and out of our pyjama's every day... except today. Every day I try to parent to the best of my sickly ability. I may not give her 100% but she is ok with that, for now.

For the last few days I have been struck down by the stinging realisation that it really does take a village to raise a child, and yet, I dont have a village. It is Me, My Mr and our Evelyn. We have family, of course. But they are not readily available to call on for support on days that you cannot support yourself. Most live away. Some dont care to support and others are struggling with their own lack of a village. We have friends, of course. But as they should be, they are working. 

On days where you really wish you could make that phone call, that one that I imagine would be so terribly hard, and say "I can't do this today, I need help", I notice a big gaping hole in my life. There is no one to answer that call. No one on the other end of the line. No one who can help.

At this point in time I am so overly dehydrated that, to stand up and walk, I fall over. I basically crawl from one room to the next while trying to slowly suck back as much water as humanly possible, while looking after a 16 month old active toddler who doesn't want to sleep. At this point in time, I would like to call on my village.

But I cant.

I do take solace in the fact that I have an online village, they lift me up with their words and their virtual support and hugs. They comfort me with their kind hearts and their beautiful souls. When things become too hard here, when I fall and hit my head, I load a photo into my village of Instagram and see my people come together. They leave words that make me smile, offers that make my heart sing, encouragement that lifts me up and gives me the strength to be my own village. 

It takes a village to raise a child, but when you don't have that village, you have to create your own.

This is the moment that I knew...

From the moment my Daughter was born... I knew

I knew that I had found my reason. I never knew before I had her in my arms, not even as she was growing inside my tummy, I never knew that the reason I am here was to be a Mother. 

But in this exact moment here...

...it all became clear. 

In this moment I finally understood why I have lived the life I have lived. Why I have battled the wars I have won. Why I had been broken and repaired so many times. And why I still smile so bright. In this moment, I realised that the only reason I am here, is to be a Mother. No. More than that, to be a Mummy.

When that precious child opened her eyes, her lungs and her heart up all in that moment, my world exploded. With love and with joy and with an overwhelming sense of belonging. I have never known where I was going, what I was doing. I felt like life was constantly an uphill battle. I felt alone in my world and like I was always waiting. Waiting for life to start. And then it did.

Ever since Evelyn was born, all I have wanted was to make her life the most beautiful and memorable life I can. I wanted to give her what I felt like I never had. I have spent the last 16 months trying to do exactly that. I have also spent the last 16 months longing for another child to call me Mummy. From the moment Evelyn was born, I knew... I needed more.

I did not let that longing become needing. I did not want to let the days of Evelyn's life go by before me while I longed for something that was not here. But it did remain in the back of my mind, always. I want to make a Sister for my Daughter. I want to give her the best friend that I have. I want to make a Brother for my Daughter, I want her to have the constant challenge that I have. I want to make a family, a community, a village for my Daughter.

Once Evelyn was 8 months old, we had decided that it was time to make that dream a reality. And we tried, every month, to the point that trying was no longer fun. We both wanted it. We craved it. We needed to see those two double lines. We would make love. We would wait. We would pee on a stick. And then we would cry.

We would repeat. For 7 months we would repeat.

Until, May came around, and I took that test to the bathroom, with a heart full of apprehension and anxiety, and I peed on that stick, and the faintest of faint second line appeared. It was there! This was our time! We danced and we laughed and we cried. Then I came to my computer. And I sat here, and I wrote a post about my joy. I saved that post to a draft and began the wait until 12 weeks to publish.

Until, I started to bleed. 

And that baby was no more. Those dreams, were just that... a dream. That joy slowly left my body with every day it took for that baby to leave my body. I hurt, I ached, I cried... I was broken and that post remains a draft...waiting...

It only took four days to begin the bond with that baby. Four days. I saw those double lines and I started planning an entire life based on those two tiny pink little lines. Then... four days later. It was gone, just like that. Some would think that four days is not long enough for such a loss to be considered a loss. Most think that. But four days is long enough to feel it. It is long enough to fall in love and lose love.

I decided then and there, that I will not stop trying. There is a soul waiting to be given to us. We will create a body for that soul. So we tried again. We waited. I peed on a stick. And then I cried.

Because this was it. There was two lines. It was strong! That soul has been delivered to me and now it is my turn to deliver the soul to this world so that I can create a family and a life and a home for him.

We are 9 weeks pregnant. I feel anxious and nervous and apprehensive that something will go wrong but I also feel confident and secure and safe because I know...

I know that this is what I am meant to do!