march on


i should be having a baby today.


right. now.

today i should be laid up in a hospital bed, celebrating life, tears of joy spilling from my eyes, congratulations pouring from mouths and hearts of family and friends alike.

i should be counting little toes. and breathing in new baby breath. feeling the softest of skin against my cheek. drinking it in.

my sweet boy would be holding a baby, beaming proudly, and saying in his perfectly high-pitched voice “awww, he’s ah-doh-wable!”

i should be hearing camera clicks going off like crazy, quick to capture the love in the room.

i would be oblivious to the sharp pain from my freshly cut belly, reminding me with every laugh and movement that i had just brought a life into the world. instead i would be gazing at amazing husband with love and adoration, so enamored with our growing family and proud that the rocky journey that led to that moment was finally over.

but it isn’t.

there are no congratulations.

no joyful tears.

no camera clicks. no revolving door of visitors.

instead there is fresh pain, deep in my soul. i hide it well, on the outside. with smiles and forced laughter. but there is no hiding it from my thoughts. my memory. i remember clear as day seeing 2 lines on the pregnancy test, 9 months ago, and thinking “finally! this is it!!”

i remember hoping for sweet relief from our nightmare of loss.

there will be tears today. more than those that already have fallen from my eyes. i will pick up amazing son and hold him tighter, and let them fall. and thank my stars i was allowed to have him.

and the holidays will march on. reminders of all that we have, and at the same time, all we do not. and i will smile. and laugh. and carry on. but i will never forget.

oh my sweet butterfly, no one ever wanted anything more, than i wanted you. may my light and love find you, wherever you are.




lightbulb – Trying To Conceive | Mama Lovejoy

sometimes life takes us in directions we never saw coming. and oftentimes it is not until we look back in hindsight that the lightbulb flickers on to say “THIS is why, THIS is (partly) why you were meant to struggle.”

oftentimes i am admittedly blind to the glare of that lightbulb. this is not one of those times.

a few weeks ago, an old friend of mine suggested i gear up with another mommy blogger to jointly tackle, for lack of a better term, a piece for Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month. through her, i was so very blessed to make the acquaintance of Cary Lawler, the author behind the popular blog Mama Lovejoy. Lawler’s blog is a safe haven and supportive place for moms who feel the undue pressures of motherhood by offering sage advice and providing the information we all “wish we had known” prior to having a child. let’s be honest, there is much too much pressure put upon moms, amiright? anyway, together, we shared my trying-to-conceive-and-multiple-loss story with the hope it would reach more women who were struggling with this themselves and lacking support, or women who had friends and loved ones battling infertility. because there is strength in numbers. and if 1 in 4 women have lost a child you KNOW someone who needs support, whether they are in hiding or out in the open. and it is helping.

as scary as it is, putting it all out “there” for people to see/judge/comment, i know sharing my story makes a difference. i want those who are still suffering in silence to know they are not alone . i understand. i GET it. i am here for you.

secondary infertility is more common than you think. a very big thank you to Cary for taking interest in my cause and interviewing me for her piece.  please check out her article here: Trying To Conceive | Mama Lovejoy  and share it to increase awareness. and if you enjoyed it feel free to visit her blog at

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the sun has set on this month. i’ve been channeling and working through my grief these last 31 days, as we brought awareness to infant and pregnancy loss this October. Carly Marie’s Capture Your Grief project has been on my mind daily, whether or not i posted my thoughts, poems, pictures, or stories here. i undertook this painful, determined action to document my grief, in hopes that i would be one step closer to closure, and also in hopes that someone, anyone, would understand/commiserate/sympathize with my struggle. i think in the end, in this culmination of difficult step upon step, i would like to think someone walked away with something tangible. something positive, in all the darkness.

honestly, i really hope that someone was me.

you see me up there? that is the face of struggle. and determination. and grief. and resilience. and hope. and hopes that were dashed. that face is all-encompassing, a chameleon of emotion. my self portrait is as ever-changing as my heart. so what heals me? that remains to be seen. i used to think it was another baby. and then that never happened. then i thought it was booze. lots and lots of escape mechanisms. exercise. retail therapy. more booze. nope. not that either. my latest answer was self-reflection. so far, that has been the most-healthy of all the mechanisms. but i stand here still, with a hole in my beating and bleeding heart. a cavity in the depth of my soul. i am unhealed. the scars do not fade. they simply fade in color, lose their raised edges.

these last few days of CYG were self portrait, reach out, what heals you, reflection and sunset. as i wrap up this exercise, i reflected on these days and i felt they all went hand in hand.  i am not ashamed to have lumped them all together, they are intertwined, breathing as one.but the bloodstream is less forceful. my knees less weak, my stance more grounded with each passing day. week. month. year. this months’ reflection has made me look back on these years with sadness but also with respect. there is no room for judgment. none for regrets. simply room for acknowledgment. forgiving the past and moving forward with the future. i will never be able to forget. simply to forgive and hope i am allotted the same respite.


the days are shorter. the nights longer. that means more time with my thoughts. as the sun sets on this project, i come back to this song. the words of which could be sewn into the stitches of my soul. i dedicate this to my loves. may these words find you, wherever you are.

“i have died everyday

waiting for you

darling don’t be afraid

i have loved you for a thousand years

i’ll love you for a thousand more.

and all along i believed i would find you

time has brought your heart to me

i have loved you for a thousand years

i’ll love you for a thousand more.

one step closer.

one step closer…”

-christina perri

i wish you all healing, for whatever ails your heart. and love. lots and lots of love.


check out more of Carly Marie’s Project Heal at: