Confidence In The Journey


As parents we have to make so many decisions. Starting before birth, our primary role as parents is basically just making one decision after another for our offspring–and always hoping that it’s the right one. It’s a huge responsibility, and one that I do not take lightly.

The biggest parenting decision we’ve been facing the past couple of years has centered around school choices. After months of turmoil last year, we finally decided to give homeschooling a try. I knew that it was the right choice for us this year. I wanted to give David another year to learn at his own pace and develop a strong foundation. Last year I was not yet ready to send my inquisitive, active then-4-year old son to a big school five days a week.  Homeschool was a great option for us this year and I know that all of us will always remember this crazy, glorious year fondly.

Another factor in our homeschool decision was my own curiosity. I just wanted to know what homeschool was like–to know if I could actually do it. Homeschool was an interesting option for me, but I wasn’t sure if I’d want to do it forever. Because of this, I knew that it was a choice we would re-evaluate each year.

Which brings us to now. After a fantastic year of homeschool, we’ve decided that it is time to move on…at least for now! Next year David will be attending Kindergarten at our local elementary school and Jacob will *hopefully* attend  a local preschool (He’s currently on wait lists because apparently getting into preschool is about as strenuous as college admissions!). It’s been a bittersweet decision–we’ll all miss certain aspects of our homeschool–but one that I am confident in and excited about.

Over the course of these past 8 months I have seen such growth in my boys–academically and otherwise. I know that they will both be successful in their new schools. I also know now that I can homeschool–and if we decide to return to homeschooling again in the future, I’ll feel confident having already worked out some of the kinks and having gone through the initial learning curve. We have had a great experience with homeschool, and if it becomes the right choice for us again in the future we’ll be ready to give it another go.

Next year David will be attending our local elementary school–a bit of a hidden gem among the hype and rigor of typical Silicon Valley schools. It’s a tiny school (there are only about 85 students in 7 grades) with a long history (it’s been around for over 125 years and the original little red schoolhouse still sits on the property).  The school truly is its own little community, and we can’t wait to be a part of it!

The Kindergarten class that David will join has only 13 students, which allows the students time and space to do magnificent activities like weekly bread baking and gardening. I’m considering going back to Kindergarten just so I can join in the fun! David is very much looking forward to meeting new friends at “Big School” in the fall, and I’m thrilled for him.

While the boys are off at school next year, I’m looking forward to spending more one-on-one time with Hannah and having extra time for my other endeavors. In fact, the biggest change I’ll be making next year is that I’ve committed to take on a new role at my church. Starting in June, I will be taking over as the coordinator for our MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group. This is a decision that I’ve been praying about for over a year now. Last year the timing just wasn’t right but, with a more open schedule next year, I am ready to take on this new challenge. I am very much looking forward to leading this incredible group of young moms, and I think it will be a great fit for me!

So, there you have it: the inevitable change that comes with time and decisions. As we embark on this next great adventure, I look forward to seeing how God will work in our next stage of life–through the ups and the downs that will surely come with it. I will move forward confidently, however–confident in the hope of what lies ahead. Confident in the journey that God has set before me, wherever that may lead me.

DIY Rice-Dyed Easter Eggs


I’m always on the lookout for creative takes on old favorites. So, when my friend over at Silicon Valley Toddler posted this idea for coloring Easter eggs with rice, I was intrigued! We decided to try it out and–WOW!–what a fun activity with absolutely gorgeous results. This method is a relatively mess-free way for toddlers and preschoolers to get in on the Easter egg-dying action (no spilled cups of egg dye #ftw). Read on for the how-to.

What you need:

– Hard boiled eggs (Easy-peasy directions: arrange eggs in the bottom of a large pot so they have a little room to dance around–old eggs that have been sitting in your fridge for a week or two are best. Finding old things in my fridge is never a problem, so this works quite well for me. Cover the eggs with about an inch of cold water and spalsh some vinegar in the pot for a bit of Voodoo magic (actually, it will just help keep the yolks sunshiney-yellow instead of that nasty gray center you get sometimes). Put the pot on the stove and bring just to a boil. Turn off the stove, cover the pot, and keep the pot on the warm burner for 12 minutes. Remove the eggs with a slotted spoon into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Transfer the cooled eggs back to their egg carton and store in the fridge until you’re ready to use them. Done and done.)
– Dry rice–a few cups of cheap rice will do
– Liquid food coloring (we went through one whole box of food coloring when we dyed 1-dozen eggs)
– Plastic containers with lids (My mama taught me to never throw away a used margarine or lunch meat container. If your mama taught you the same, use a few of these instead of your fancy Tupperware.)

What you do:

Place a handful of rice in each container (make sure the container is deep enough for the egg to move around with the lid on).  Add a hard boiled egg to the container and several drops of food coloring.


Put the lid on your container and shake it to your little heart’s content!


If you want a mulit-colored marble-ized effect, go for it. This is your egg, no judging here. Just move the egg to a second rice container with another color of food coloring.

Once you’re satisfied with your creation, remove the egg, brush off the rice, and leave ’em to dry completely.



What gorgeous little speckled creations!


A few notes:
*This project is best done outside. Or inside, over a drop cloth with an extra dose of patience.
*If the color starts to wear out, just add a few more drops of food coloring to the rice.
* Your fingers will get a little (and by a little, I mean a LOT) messy when you touch the wet eggs. If you don’t like rainbow hands, just wear disposable gloves. Keep wet wipes or a hose nearby for your kids, because we all know they’ll be little balls of tie-dye magic by the end of this project despite your best efforts for cleanliness.
* Have some extra plastic Easter eggs lying around your house? Make your own noise makers (as if your children don’t already fit the bill): Fill a few plastic eggs with a bit of the dry rice and tape or hot-glue the egg shut. Shake, shake, shake–you have your own little maracas!
* Save the rice! After you’re done dyeing eggs, spread out the colored rice on cookie sheets to air dry. Store the dyed and dried rice in an airtight container (that’s fancy language for a Ziploc baggie) for future art projects. We’re going to make these cactus next week in preparation for our upcoming vacation to the desert.

The Season of I Can’t


This page has been a bit silent lately. I’ve been meaning to write–I’ve been WANTING to write–but I just can’t. In fact, there are a lot of things I’ve been meaning to do and wanting to do lately–but I just can’t. I am in a season of “I Can’t” right now, and it’s frustrating and exhausting and lovely all at once.

I can’t because my hands are full. Literally. I have a 5-week old baby who loves to be held. Like, as long as she’s being held she is a silent piece of angel magic, but the moment you set her down she screams herself into a tyrannical sweaty ball of anger. So I hold her. I hold her when I’m cooking my boys breakfast. I hold her when I’m packing my husband’s lunch. I hold her when I’m reading stories to my children. I hold her when I’m walking the dog. I even hold her when I’m sleeping. I can’t, because I’m in a season of holding.

I can’t because I am busy. We have *attempted* to start school up again and that means there are stories to be read and projects to be made and questions to be answered. I have a husband who works so hard for his family, and he’s in a season of  working long hours. His busy means we’re all extra-busy. It’s important work, it is work that has to be done, and it is a lot. I can’t because I am busy.

I can’t because I need rest. Making a baby, birthing a baby, caring for a new baby is hard work. It is tiring. It means that instead of doing some of those things I want to be doing, I have to say no so I can chillax for 5 minutes. I can’t because I need rest.

So, even though I haven’t stopped by in awhile, know that I’m still here…enjoying my season of I Can’t. This season, like all others before it and the ones that are yet to come, will be a fleeting moment in the timeline of Me. Some day I will look back at this season and wish for it again–for the exhaustion and joy that comes with it. There are so many I Can’t’s right now, but there is one I CAN I will accomplish: I Can embrace this season.

Whatever season you find yourself in, my friend, embrace it. Hold on tight and enjoy the ride, because it will all be over before we know it!

Hannah’s Birth Story

IMG_1220If there is one lesson I have learned as a mother it is this: I am NOT the one who is in control. I am repeatedly reminded of this basic fact as I live out my motherhood journey, and it is never too soon to learn this lesson anew. Starting, for instance, at birth.

None of my children have followed the birth plan I laid out for them. I don’t want to boast, but they were excellent birth plans. They were detailed and specific and research-based plans. I’m fairly certain that these birth plans would have set all of us up for both short-term and life-long success–my kids probably would have grown up to be president if they’d just followed the dang plan. And yet. They had their own plans. I am NOT the one who is in control. So begins the story of Hannah.

After having two long, difficult labors with my boys that both ended in emergency C-sections, we decided to cut straight to the chase with our third baby and schedule a C-section for her birth. None of that painful labor business, thank you very much. Considering how much planning I had done for both of my previous births, I was quite proud of myself for relinquishing control on this, our final birth. After all, I already knew that I could not control how the labor and delivery would turn out so I was willing to put it all at the hands of my fully-capable doctor. At least then, I thought, someone I trust will be in control.

We went ahead and scheduled the delivery for 11:45 on Tuesday, February 9th, one week before my due date. David had been born nearly two weeks late, and Jacob had been born a week early, so we figured this would give us a good window of time to get the baby out safely (and with none of that painful labor business, thank you very much).

The week leading up to our scheduled delivery was, in usual Allison-style, quite busy. Since I knew the exact hour our baby would be born I was overly-excited and needed some distraction. The boys and I “did school”, we went to Playhouse on Wednesday, and spent the whole day on Friday at Happy Hollow riding the rides and petting the animals and painting our faces.


On Saturday Jon and I snuck out for a little date (pedicures for my choice, and the liquor store to restore Jon’s masculinity). Then there was this little thing called the Superbowl that was being hosted a few miles from our house the Sunday before our scheduled delivery. The boys and I drove out to Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara to pose for a few photos and see where all the action would be going down.

On Sunday we went to church and small group, then came home to tidy up a bit before heading over to our neighbor’s house for a Superbowl party. We had a great time Sunday night “watching” football (and by watching football I mean the kids played outside on our neighbors’ new playground while the grown ups ate copious amounts of food and chatted with the TV running in the background).


My mom flew into town from Seattle late that night and Jon picked her up from the airport a bit after 11:00 PM. I was able to relax a bit knowing that Mom was finally here–she was going to be our primary caretaker for the two wild banshees (David and Jacob) when we went to the hospital later that week. Everything was going exactly to plan.

And then. I’d been having a hard time sleeping Sunday night–at 39 weeks pregnant I had to get up every hour or so to visit the restroom, and then when I went back to bed I couldn’t get comfortable and my mind was racing with all the thoughts of what was about to come. Plus, all that spicy food from the Superbowl party wasn’t settling too well. At least, that’s what I thought at first when I started having abdominal pain a bit after 5 AM that Monday morning.

However, when the abdominal pain started coming and going in waves every 4-5 minutes I realized that this was not due to spicy BBQ pork or chili. No, these were contractions. Holy moly, I was in labor.

By 6:00 the contractions were coming every 2-4 minutes and getting stronger, and I decided this was actually happening and figured it was time to wake everyone up to share the news. Jon (groggily) jumped out of bed to take a quick shower and pack his bag while I tried to get in touch with my doctor. Since we already had A PLAN, however, I did not have the necessary after-hours phone numbers to contact my OB. I called the hospital and they told me to just come straight in and they’d get in touch with my doctor for me.

I went downstairs to greet my mom (I’d already gone to bed the night before when she arrived) and let her know about the recent turn of events. While I was chatting with her in her room the boys woke up next door and I went in to tell them the exciting news: their sister was coming TODAY!

At about 7:00 Jon and I loaded into the car and took the 10 minute drive down to the hospital. The morning commute had already started but, thankfully, rush hour was nowhere near in full force at that early hour as we made our way as quickly as legally possible down Highway 17.


When we arrived at the hospital I went to the patient registration area because that’s what I remembered to do from our hospital tour that we’d taken a few weeks earlier. When I sat down at the registration desk (ID and insurance paperwork in hand) ready to go through the necessary paperwork, the representative just gawked at me and said, “Are you in LABOR?! You have to go straight up to labor and delivery!”. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten–this was one of those parts that was NOT part of the plan.

Jon went to move our car to a legal parking spot while I found my way up to the correct floor of the hospital. Since I’d already called to notify them that I was coming in, they were ready for me and whisked me straight to a L&D prep room. I changed into a glamorous pink gown that had so many holes in it I couldn’t figure out where to put through my arms–turns out the breast-feeding holes were NOT the correct place.

Once we were in the prep room, things moved very quickly. My labor was progressing rapidly–after only 2 hours I was already 4 cm dilated, fully effaced, and having contractions lasting for about a minute every 2 minutes. Since my previous labors had lasted 24 and 48 hours, I was surprised at the speed this baby was coming. I was progressing so quickly that the nurses asked me if I wanted to try for a vaginal delivery, but that was NOT THE PLAN. I declined their offer and told them I wanted to stick with the C-section.

Shortly after we arrived at the hospital, my OB (Dr. Kilkenny–she’s Irish and I love her and would truly like to be her friend) arrived. Mondays are typically her day off, and she had just gotten up to meet with her personal trainer when she got the call to come straight to the hospital instead. Over the past year I’ve developed a strong relationship with Dr. Kilkenny–we’ve been through a lot together–and I was so glad that she was there to be the one delivering our baby.

Just after 8:00 I was prepped and set for surgery so they wheeled me down to the OR. Once in the OR I got my spinal and was ready to go. It was time to get this baby show on the road.

At 8:39 AM on Monday, February 8, 2016, our daughter made her debut (and for those of you who are the stat-seeking sorts, she weighed 7 pounds and was 20 inches long). Hannah Doreen entered the world, gorgeous and perfect, without so much as a squeal of greeting–she was wide-eyed and curious, simply taking in this amazing new world in which she found herself.

Alrighty, quick time out here–I have to make a note about Hannah’s name.

Sticking with the Biblical name tradition we already had going with our children, we chose Hannah. I have always found inspiration in the Biblical story of Hannah–she had great faith and obedience to the Lord, and she found great favor in His eyes. The name Hannah means grace, which is fitting for the circumstances we find ourselves in welcoming a child into our family.

Her middle name, Doreen, was the name of Jon’s beloved grandmother who passed away this November. Gramma Doreen played an integral part in our family and it is no stretch to say that Jon and I would not be where we are today without her care and support. She loved our children deeply and it was her greatest desire to meet her first great-granddaughter before she passed. In addition to the personal connection we have with this name, we also discovered that the name Doreen is of Irish origin (another place we have a deep personal connection with) and one of it’s meanings is gift (which, of course, she is). Little Hannah Doreen, our grace gift.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled birth story.

While a nurse and Jon took Hannah next door to clean her up and take her vitals, the doctors completed my surgery and got me stitched up. It was then that I learned Hannah had been Frank Breech in my womb, basically doing a gymnasts pike position instead of diving head-down ready for delivery. She almost certainly would not have been born naturally. I was grateful all over again that I decided to stick with our plan for a repeat C-section and hadn’t changed my mind last-minute to give V-BAC another try!

Once I was all stitched up I rode on a hover mattress onto my recovery bed (I also had a robot clean my bathroom at the hospital. True story. Welcome to Silicon Valley.) and was wheeled next door for 2 hours of bonding time with my new daughter. We were immediately placed skin-to-skin and she began nursing straight away. I couldn’t believe how beautiful and tiny and perfect she was. Oh my, I was in love.

Our next stop was our new home-away-from-home: our own personal recovery room in the maternity ward. We were in room 271–a perfectly functional space with a hospital bed for mom, a rolling cart bassinet for baby, and a too-short fold-out chair/bed for Dad. Plus, there was a nice view of the parking lot two floors below (Daddy liked being able to keep an eye on our car, so this was an actual perk).


Over the next two days we mostly hung out in our room, nursed a very mouthy baby around the clock, scorned the nurses who woke us up every two hours to check my stats, and took infinity photos of our precious baby.


We were not alone in our stay in the maternity ward–in fact Hannah was born right in the middle of a baby boom. Turns out her birthday was the first day of the Chinese New Year (year of the Monkey…quite fitting for our family of little monkeys!). Since it is considered good luck to be born during the New Year–and we live in an area with one of the highest-density Chinese populations outside of mainland China–it was a very popular day at the hospital for scheduled C-sections and inductions.

The boys and my mom were able to come by for a few hours each day for little visits with their new sister. I have never seen David and Jacob so excited and gentle and affectionate–it was love at first sight for them, too. On Hannah’s birthday they brought a gift for their new sister: an adorable stuffed pink pig, swaddling blankets, and HEADBANDS (oh my goodness, I’m going to have to buy stock in headbands before we go broke on my shopping binges). Hannah is such a thoughtful baby that she also brought gifts for her big brothers: a new movie and balloons that they could blow up and shape into animals and swords.


Our visitors also brought cupcakes so we could have a little birthday party for Hannah. The best part of the cupcakes, though, is that they were actually frosted cornbread muffins. In my rush to leave the house that morning I had spouted off instructions to my mom to take the cupcakes out of the freezer and frost them to bring to the hospital…only she went to our second freezer and took out corn muffins instead! No worries, though, because–as always–the Funfetti frosting saved the day.


Unfortunately I couldn’t eat the cornbread-cupcakes that first day because the anesthesia I’d had for my surgery was making me nauseous. After throwing up a few times that morning–and getting some good anti-nausea medicine in my system–I felt much better and was quickly on the road to recovery.

I was able to get up and start walking around my room by the end of day 1 and, despite what the doctors had expected, we were ready to go home on day 2. We got our hospital discharge papers on Wednesday, February 10–still 5 days before my February 15 due date–and went back to our real home sweet home.


We are settling in well to being home again, this time as a family of five.


I still can’t believe that we have three kids–that this will be our new forever life. It is so much more wonderful than I could have dreamed of, and infinity better than I ever could have planned. So, even though this birth did not exactly go according to plan, it was exactly as it should have been. This is our life, and we are abundantly blessed.

Welcome to the world, little Hannah. We are so glad you’re here!


To My Daughter On The Eve Of Her Birth

Disclaimer: I started writing this post a few days ago in preparation for my scheduled C-section today. Baby had other plans, though, and arrived on her own schedule a day early! I still wanted to share my thoughts leading up to her birth, though, so I’ll share this with you on the day AFTER her birth! Watch for her whole birth story coming soon! 


Dear baby girl,
Tomorrow our world will change forever!

We have been waiting these past nine months–and for years before that–for this very moment. And now that it is here, I can hardly believe it. Tomorrow will be the culmination of our prayers and our wondering and our waiting: you will be born. No longer will we hold you in just our hearts and in my womb, but we will hold you close in our arms. I. Can’t. Wait.

Even though we haven’t officially met yet, I feel like I already know you so well. We’ve already had 39 weeks together as one being, intimately connected through every moment of your life thus far. I have to thank you, because during this pregnancy you have been very good to me (well, as long as you don’t count those first three months when I constantly felt like I was stumbling off the teacup ride and would puke any time I saw a salad). Our doctor has commented several times that we are a model pregnancy and she wishes that every patient of hers would be so “easy”. I think we’ll make a great team!

At every prenatal appointment when I hear your heartbeat on the doppler I still get tears in my eyes because it is the sound of your beautiful life.  I can’t wait to meet you and see who you become–to witness the outpourings of that beautiful heart and to share in the love that will come from it. I want to know what will touch your heart and what will trouble it, what will make it content and what will make it beat a bit faster. I look forward to knowing who you are, from the inside out.

I can’t wait to see you. I keep wondering what you will look like–will you resemble your brothers with light hair and piercing blue eyes? Or will you be the kid who picks up some of my genes and have my green eyes…maybe even red hair like your grandpa? Will you be soft and squishy or long and lean? Tomorrow I will gaze at your face for the first time and it will be like meeting a stranger–a stranger who I already love.

Your brothers can’t wait to meet you, either. Every day they smother my belly with kisses and whisper sweet words to you.  David is excited to show you all of his toys and share his favorite movies with you. Jacob still thinks that you’ll be sleeping with him in his bed every night so he can give you extra cuddles. They adore you already, baby girl.

As you grow up, your brothers will care for you and defend you, teach you and–most likely–drive you completely bananas. Just know that they love you very much–and I’ll do my best to remind you of this when I have to unbury you from a mountain of Toy Story toys or rock you back to sleep because they’re running around outside your bedroom during nap time like the wild banshees that they are. They mean well, and I pray that the three of you will have an amazing relationship throughout your lives.

Speaking of amazing relationships, I can’t wait to see your daddy doting on you. He has wanted a daughter for as long as I’ve known him, and I know that you will be his little princess! Your daddy is an incredible man and he will treat you the way you should be treated: with love, respect, encouragement, and dedication. I am proud that you will have such a worthy man as your role model–he will be your daddy, but he will also be your biggest fan.

So, as we close in on these last few hours before our first meeting, know that you are already cherished. Sure, there will be lots of craziness in your life–that just goes with the territory when you’re the third child born into a busy family. But know this: no matter how crazy life may get, you are loved, you are treasured, and you will be welcomed with the most open of arms.

I love you, baby girl, and I so look forward to being your mother!

Always and forever,


P.S. Happy early birthday–I just wanted to be the first one to say it! Tomorrow we shall have cake🙂



Buh-Bye, Bump

I have been pregnant for just over 2 of the last 5 1/2 years, which means I’ve had loads of time with my bump (my bump, of course, being the human child/ren growing inside my womb). It’s surreal for me to think, then, that this stage of my life is nearly over. Forever. In just a few days our last child will be born and I will never again have a bump (flabby trophy tummy excepted, of course). It’s a bitter-sweet realization.

My first pregnancy bump was highly anticipated. I expected my belly to start growing exponentially the moment that pee stick turned positive. I couldn’t wait to have that pregnancy glow and not be able to see my toes. Seriously, this is the stuff dreams my dreams were made of. Each day I would examine my still-flat tummy in the mirror and disappointedly wonder why it still looked so toned (back in those days I was a marathon runner, not a multigravida).

As the months progressed, however, my bump (finally) started to grow.

pregnancy 010And grow (Note the moving boxes. Why do we always move when I’m pregnant?)…

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And grow…

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And grow!

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That baby we’d been waiting for was making his presence known, and I adored my bump. We spent months planning obsessing over every aspect of our baby’s birth and arrival. We painted the baby’s room and I posed with my bump in the baby’s new nursery. I wanted everything to be perfect.

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As holidays approached, I even decorated my bump in celebration. Pregnancy was so much fun!

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I had grown quite attached to my bump, but when my baby’s due date came and went…and 10 more days passed…I gave my bump an official eviction notice. It worked, and on October 27, 2010 our first child entered the world.

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Exactly one year after I said goodbye to Bump #1, I started growing Bump #2. This time around we got to share our baby joy with…our baby. Looking back at some of these photos makes me wonder what we were thinking–seriously, we had TWO BABIES!

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Bump #2 progressed through the natural progression of fruit growth, from the size of a poppyseed, to an orange, to a fully ripe watermelon.15 weeks baby 2 - 0006

It was so much fun sharing Bump #2 with Big Brother and joining him in his wonder and curiosity about the baby that was growing in Mommy’s tummy.

And although we knew all our lives were about to change, we knew with certainty that it would be a change for the better.IMG_2228

A few years passed, and there was no bump. In those bump-less years our family learned what it was like to raise little boys–to splash in puddles and collect sticks weapons of mass destruction and wrestle before bed. They were sweet years that I will always hold dear.

After we got good and settled into our little life and our routines and our not-needing-diaper-ness, we decided to mix things up again. Enter Bump #3.

I was elated to be pregnant again–and, if I’m totally honest–absolutely terrified. We had a long road getting to Bump #3 and I just wanted everything to go smoothly. That, paired with the fact that I knew this would be our last baby, made me cherish this bump more than I might have otherwise.

From the very beginning, I was in love with Bump #3.

When we found out that Bump #3 was a she, I absolutely did not believe it. After all, we were a boy family and I had gotten so good at puddles and sticks and wrestles. Once I got past the shock of the whole girl thing, though, I fully embraced it. I’m thrilled that I will get to introduce dolls and dancing and sweet cuddles to our usual routine of puddles and sticks and wrestles.IMG_7946

As this baby (and my belly grew) I got to experience the sheer joy of anticipation with our big boys. This was probably the greatest difference with Bump #3–the fact that we had two older children who totally understood what was happening and absolutely adored their baby. The questions and the cuddles and the doting words and the shirt-lifting-belly-revealing-in-public never end with these two.IMG_8086

And even though each of my bumps has been its own unique experience, each has brought our family one step closer to completeness. I’ll be a bit sad to say goodbye to my bump for the last time–to say goodbye to the excitement and expectation that it has always brought. In the end, though, I know that something even better is coming.

In a few days I will meet my daughter and the wait will finally be over. My bump will be gone forever, but it will signal the start of our next grand adventure. And I’m ready–ready for the goodbye, and even more ready for the


Reflections at 1 Year Post-Miscarriage


You know how there are those things in your life that define you–that change you? Those catalyst events that occur, and you know that you will never be the same again. Last year I experienced one such occasion, and it has forever altered my very being.

One year ago this week I miscarried what would have been our third child. I’ve written about this topic several times this year because it’s been cathartic for me and has been a huge part of my healing process. I feel very strongly that my pain should not be wasted, and if my story can help even one other person, then I will continue telling it. Now that it’s been one full year I want to revisit my thoughts–mostly just to check in with myself, but also to share with you about how God has worked in my life this past year. So much has changed…and yet some has still stayed the same.

There is still not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about my lost baby. Even though I know that this was God’s plan for this child–and for me, and my family–it’s still difficult. It’s painful.

I wonder what she would have been like. I wonder if she would have had Jon’s eyes and my nose. I wonder if she would have giggled when her big brothers played peek-a-boo with her. I wonder if she would have enjoyed rice cereal and avocados when we introduced them this month or if she would have spit them out at first taste. I see other babies who are the same age as she would have been now and I wonder if they would have grown up to be friends. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder and the hardest part is that I will just never know. Not in this life, at least, and that’s a hard pill to swallow.

So, you see, some things are still the same. I don’t think I will ever not miss this child. Perhaps some things are meant to never change.

On the other hand, some things have changed profoundly.

For starters, I am stronger. I have learned the power of the heart and soul, and mine have been fortified. I know now that I can weather storms and come out on the other side–not just intact, but more powerful than before.

Along with my personal strength, I have been encouraged by the strength of others. So many of you have shared your own stories of heartache and loss with me this year, and walking through these trials together has motivated me to continue moving forward. Going through a difficult time is so much easier with friends, and for all of you who have shared with me, and in turn supported me, I am grateful.

Most importantly, however, I have learned that God’s plan is always perfect. I knew this before, but now I truly believe it. Even in the messy, chaotic, unexpected, heartbreaking turns that life throws at us, God is sovereign and His plan is perfect.

I would not be where I am today–as an individual, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend–if I had not experienced pain and healing this year. We are not meant to go through life feeling like we are in control, because we aren’t. We are not meant to live in total comfort in this world, because this world is not the prize.  We are not meant to suffer in solitary silence, because Christ suffered publicly for the benefit of all people. We are not meant to walk through life alone, because we are created to live in the community of others. The truth is that we are made for a greater purpose, and sometimes pain and suffering are necessary to move toward that goal.

And then there is hope. Because no storm lasts forever, and new days begin just when we need them. Our joy comes in the morning. That is where I find myself now: a place of profound joy. Not superficial happiness, but joy. Joy because I have walked through this time and still experience grace and love and triumph every day. Joy because the end is not really the end, but just the beginning of something totally new. Joy because my story is still being written, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.

May you be encouraged, friend, whatever you are going through. Know that with pain comes power. You are cherished. You are never alone. And finally, find your joy–your joy in today, your joy in tomorrow. Find your joy in the journey, and never let it out of your sight.

One year down, and forever ahead. Bring it on!