And Baby Makes… (Part II)

Just as suddenly as this baby, and the joy that came with it, appeared, she was leaving.

I stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze. I walked into the living room and sat on my chair. I picked up my computer, and began to play online games. No one even knew I was pregnant. Who do I turn to for support? How do I break that news? I stared blankly at the computer screen, praying for the pain to end. The pain in my abdomen, and the pain in my heart. So. Much. Pain.

As I stared at the computer screen, I said blankly, “I’m bleeding. I thought you should know.”

Mr. looked up, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

As though he should “just know”, I responded matter-of-factly, “I’m bleeding out of my vagina.”

“Oh. Are you ok?” He asked.

“Yeah. I guess so.” I replied. I mean, what was I supposed to say? I wasn’t ok. My baby wasn’t ok. My world wasn’t ok.

Mr. continued working on his computer and a while later, he says, “Hey… Do you think Option A or Option B?” As he turns his computer toward me.

Angrily, I yelled, “My baby is DEAD and you want me to care about a stupid website?!? How dare you?!” I then focused my attention back on my screen.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean, I’m bleeding and cramping, and our baby is dead.” I answered. This time not in anger, but in admittance. I repeated myself, “I’m bleeding, and our baby is dead. My baby is dead.” I began crying. The kind of cry where no sound comes out, just the constant flow of hot, salty tears and an occasional gasp for air.

Mr., confused and concerned, says quietly, “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I did tell you.” I said, anger returning.

“No, you just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage.” And there it was.


I hadn’t said it, I hadn’t even thought it yet, but all of the sudden, there it was, staring me in the face. As I replayed Mr.’s words over in my head, I began to skew them.

No, you just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage…

You just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage…

You are bleeding, it’s only a miscarriage.

It’s only a miscarriage.

Then I began adding my own commentary to the words [I thought] he had said.

It’s not like you were even that pregnant. No one even knows. It’s not like it’s even a real baby… it’s only a miscarriage.

Wait. What?! Not a real baby!?! How did I allow myself to get to this place? The place where I think my baby doesn’t matter. The place where society starts to whisper in your ear… No. This is my baby. Whether I was 7 weeks pregnant, or the baby was 7 years old, I still lost a child. A precious life, no matter how long lived.

Are you allowed to grieve a child you never knew, and only knew about for a week and 3 days?

I think so.

So, the grief continued.

I denied it. I was angry. I thought about the what-ifs. I cried.

And then, it hit me. My baby, that I lost, was still just, “the baby”. “The baby” needed a name. I needed “the baby” to be “________, my baby”.

We thought and prayed about what to name our little love.

Should we give the baby a boy name or a girl name? Or a unisex name? What should the  name mean? Should it matter what the name means? Should we use a family name for the middle name like all of our other children?

Somehow, I don’t really know exactly, we decided on a name. A girl name.

Mara Cai

Mara is Hebrew for “bitter”.

At first, I was so bitter toward everyone, including myself and God. What did I do to deserve this? I know the answer. Nothing. I didn’t do anything to “deserve” to lose my baby.

Cai is Welsh, meaning “rejoice”.

Now that the pain is subsiding a bit, I can genuinely rejoice in the thought of joining my baby in Heaven one day.

Together, her name means, “Rejoice after bitterness”.

And I do rejoice. I still cry sometimes. But mostly I rejoice. I rejoice for my baby’s earthly life of 7 weeks, but more so for her eternal life in Heaven. I rejoice that she never had to endure the pains of this world. I rejoice that her heart is whole, and can never be broken. I rejoice that she is being loved by the best Father there is. I rejoice that I got to be Mara’s mom for 7 short weeks. I rejoice that because of God’s love and sacrifice, I will meet her one day.

So, for those of you who read the title of this post, and were expecting a joyous little bundle in 9 months, this one’s for you:

And baby makes… an angel.


And Baby Makes…

I have an announcement to make.

At the end of July, Mr. and I found out that we were expanding our family.

I took not one, not two, but  three pregnancy tests. They were all positive.

Mr. had no idea I had even bought tests, let alone taken them.

Middle Little walked into the bathroom and I decided to have some fun.

“Here, Buddy,” I said, handing him the positive test, “Go give this to Daddy!”

He took the stick from me and looked confused. “Go ahead…” I urged. He ran out of the bathroom and to the couch where Mr. was sitting. I waited behind to give it a minute to register.

“Where did you get this?!?!” He exclaimed, “Give that to me!” Then to me, “Ummmm… do you know our son is carrying around a pregnancy test?!”

I just waited quietly.

“Here, Buddy. Give that to Daddy,” Mr. said. Middle Little handed it over. “Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by, “Oh my gosh! Are you serious!?! That’s great!” The smile on Mr.’s face said it all. He was thrilled. And so was I.

photo (1)

We had a brief discussion about who to tell, and when. We decided to bask in the joy of our good news alone for a while, and after a few weeks just tell people as it came up.

The next days went on uneventfully.

Thursday, August 1, 2013 I woke up feeling great. I even made a mental note about how I wasn’t nauseous (which I had been starting to feel in the mornings for about a week and a half). I went on with my day as usual, but around dinner time was feeling a bit crampy. Thinking I hadn’t had enough to drink, I gulped down some water.

As the evening progressed, the cramping got worse. I told Mr. that I needed to lay down for a while. I went to bed around 8 and at about 9 I got up to go to the bathroom. I sat down, and there it was: a bright red spot of blood.

I looked down and looked at the blood. As it registered what was happening, I became angry. Angry at myself for not taking better care of my body. Angry at Mr. for not coming and making sure I was okay (he didn’t even know I was awake, let alone what was transpiring). Angry at my kids for being naughty and causing stress. Angry at my baby for not hanging on. I was angry.

So. Very. Angry.

Just as suddenly as this baby, and the joy that came with it, appeared, she was leaving.

…to be continued…

Love is a Choice.

Here in Minnesota, they recently passed a law allowing Same-Sex Marriage.

Just like everyone else with a brain, I have an opinion about this. It doesn’t really matter what my opinion is. I am married to a man and I like it that way.

I also have 3 kids, and I like that. And I have a dog, and I like that. And I live in Minnesota, and I like that. I don’t smoke, and I like it. I don’t wear mini-skirts and tube tops, revealing all of the skin the law will allow, and I also like this.

Do you like me more, because of these things?

Sometimes I “bend the truth”, or omit pieces of information. This is called lying. Occasionally I wish I had something that someone else has. This is called coveting.

Do you love me less, because of these things?

I’m sure by this point you are utterly confused. What do all of these things have to do with each other?

I have chosen the life I live.I could have made a choice to not get married to Mr. I could have chosen to not have children. But, I didn’t. I could choose to dress more provocatively. But, I don’t. Why? Because I have beliefs and I follow them. I go to church, and there are women with no husbands, and couples with no children, and women wearing *gasp*  tank tops!! I watch rated R movies. I swear on occasion (but don’t tell my parents). I get angry and yell. At church, there are people who refrain from watching anything rated R. And they don’t swear ever. And they remain calm and collected. Although none of these are sins, they are in fact choices. Does my decision to have a family right away and dress “modestly” make me a better Christian than others? Does the refrain from yelling and watching rated R movies make others a better Christian than I am? Absolutely not. We all go to the same church, so our religious beliefs are the same, but even within those boundaries, we make different choices.

Do I love the single women and the childless couples and even the tank top wearers? Yes. I do. Do I love the calm and collected, PG movie-only-watchers, and non-swearing people? Yes. I do. Even though their lives are different than mine. Why? Because love is a choice. I choose to love.

If I only loved people who were just like me, and believed the same things as me, and chose to live the same way as me, I wouldn’t even love my husband. Or my kids. I would only love me.

No matter what the sin, I choose to love. Why? Because I, too, am a sinner. My sin may be different than yours, but it is still a sin. Does that mean that I think it’s ok that you stole a candy bar from the store? No. But, I love despite that.

I am called to love. Not to judge. The Bible says, “You who has no sin, cast the first stone.” I will not cast the first stone, because my own sin is weighing me down to the point that I am not sure I could lift the measly little rock. I will not throw the second, third or one-thousandth stone, either. Because it is not my job to judge.

There is a wedding coming up that has caused much controversy among my friends and family. You see, it is a lesbian couple that the wedding is for. *gasp* I know that’s what a lot of you are thinking right now. “Lesbians… getting married?!?! WHAT?!” Get over it. If you have never gone to a wedding where either of the participants were sinners, feel free to weigh in in the “Comments”.

I will be attending this wedding.

Because I love the women who are being wed.

I don’t agree with everything they choose, but I love them.

And in the end, that’s what matters.

I have my beliefs, and you have yours.

They are choosing their life, and I chose mine. And I choose to love.

I choose to love the thieves, liars, adulterers, covets, the hypocrites, and the lesbians.

Same-sex marriage is a choice. Traditional marriage is a choice. LOVE is a choice.

My Perfect Age

I just wanted to be 24 years old.

I wanted to have lots of kids.

I wanted a puppy.

And I wanted to cook dinner every night.

I wanted to be a wife, wanted to be a mom.

All of these things would comprise my perfect life.

I am a wife and mother.

I cook dinner (almost) every night.

I have a puppy and 3 kids.

I am 24 years old.

I am tired and worn out, exhausted and a little crazy.

This. This is my perfect life.


As inspired by Mama Kat. What can you say in 12 lines?

“We Can’t Stop”…. But we should.

You know when you are driving down the road and there is a car accident, and you know you should keep on driving and mind your own business, but for some reason you just can’t pull your eyes away from the scene? That was me and this video.

Watch as I react to Miley Cyrus’ new video, “We Can’t Stop”.

There were gold grills (not the cooking kind, either), booty slapping, finger chopping, teddy bears sewn on shirts. It was a disaster.

If you don’t have time to watch the video, here are a few screenshots to give you an idea of what I went through.

Miley Snap 1 Miley Snap 4Miley 3

It really was awful.

Have you seen the actual video? If not, you can watch it here.

If you haven’t seen it yet, record your reaction and put a link in the comments! Also, link up with Mama Kat, so everyone can join in the fun!

What do you think? Miley win or fail? Creative or just weird? I think my reaction video says it all.

Where Do We Go From Here?

When I first decided to start blogging, I dreamed of writing beautiful posts that inspired thousands of women. 

I would write things like, “This is only a season, and it, too, will pass….” and mothers in distress would weep and say, “It is just a season! I will survive!”

But, the more I blog, or at least try to blog, the less of that I feel. I don’t feel inspired. And when you don’t feel inspired, you can’t inspire. At least not very well. 

What I feel is exhausted and frustrated. How many times do I need to say, “You are not allowed to play in the kitchen,” before it sinks in? I’m at number 483 for today and they still aren’t getting it!

Or, how many times will there be rushing to the bedside with a bucket because, “I drank my milk too fast…”? I mean, seriously. How difficult are these things?!

I feel like i just keep repeating myself… over, and over, and over, and over, and over……

These types of things are not inspiring. They are annoying.

Therefore, I will be changing the direction of my blog. I will be posting the same content that I had originally planned, however, it will be wearing different clothing. Instead of a graceful ballerina leotard and tu-tu with beautiful slippers adorned with satin laces, this blog will be wearing more of an afro, mismatched outfit, giant green shoes and a squeaky red nose. 

Thank you for sticking with me as these changes occur!




Our Engagement

4 short (or long, depending on who you ask)years ago, Mr.  asked me to be his wife. And I said yes. I have never been all that great with remembering our “engagement-versary”, because the time around when it happened was kind of a whirlwind. Before I tell you the story of our engagement, let’s get a few details straight.

1. We live in Minnesota.

2. I am originally from Pennsylvania.

3. This story takes place in Pennsylvania, because Mr. was there to meet my family.

Now, where were we?

Right. I am about to get engaged….

There are two versions of this story. The one that actually happened, and the one I tell people.

Here is the “nice” version:

We had taken a scenic drive from Central Pennsylvania to Western Pennsylvania. We were headed out to see some family that lives out in Grove City, and to introduce them to Mr. Upon arriving in Grove City, Mr. says, “Let’s have a picnic lunch before we go meet your family.”

I responded with, “Ok. That sounds good.”

We drove to a nearby park and unpacked our food. Sitting at a picnic table in a secluded area of the park, we enjoyed the sounds of a small man-made stream, and pleasant conversation.

For my birthday, which was just a few days prior, Mr. had purchased a fantastic camera for me. I was so excited to capture a few shots in the park, using some of the cool features on my new toy. After finishing our lunch, I decided to walk up a small incline and take some pictures of the water and surrounding areas.

See. I told you it had cool features. The photo above is NOT Photoshopped. My camera did that. All by itself. With some help from me, of course.

As I walked around, Mr. says, “Why don’t we go up to the top of that stream and take some pictures up there?”

Feeling excited to take more pictures with my new camera, I quickly agreed.

On our way up to the top of the stream, Mr. insisted that we take a picture of ourselves.

Here we are! This picture is pre-engagement.

So, as we walked up to the top of this stream, I saw a rock at the top of it.

See that tree up there? I was standing BEHIND that tree.

It looked flat enough to stand on and take some cool pictures from “above” the water. I decided to go stand on it. Mr. followed me up, and as I stepped up onto the rock, he turned me to face him. Once I was facing him, he hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite?”

I replied with something smart-alecy, like, “I think once or twice….”

To which he responded, “Oh. Well, have I ever told you that you are the best?”

You see, before we ventured into the realm of, “I love you”, we would say these things to each other. Kind of our own little, “I love you”, without the commitment. So, usually, the conversation would go like this:

Mr: Have I ever told you that you are the best?

Me: That depends… the best what?

Mr: The best friend?

Me: You’ve said it once or twice…

Mr: Oh, well have I told you that you are the best… Scrabble opponent?

Me: A few times….

Mr: Well, what about the best girlfriend?

Me: You’ve said it before, but I could stand to hear it again.

Mr: Well, you are the best. The best girlfriend.

See how cute we were?

Anyway, on this day, the conversation went like this:

Mr: Have I ever told you that you are my favorite?

Me: Once or twice…

Mr: Oh, well, have I ever told you that you are the best?

Me: That depends… the best what?

Mr: The best friend?

Me: You’ve mentioned it…

Mr: The best girlfriend?

Now, I was a little thrown off by this, because that is not how the conversation is SUPPOSED to go.

Me: Ummmm…. yes…..

Mr: Well, what if instead of the best girlfriend, you became my wife? The best wife?

Me: Ok….

Mr. looks at me a bit confused.

Me: I mean, yes! I am supposed to say, “Yes”, right?

Mr: Well, you aren’t supposed to say anything. But, I would really like it if you said yes.

Me: If I say “Yes”, do I get a pretty ring?

Mr: Oh… right, the ring!

Isn’t it so shiny and sparkly?!?!

I had intended to take a ton of pictures of the area where we got engaged, but alas, I did not. That ring hit my finger, and I had people to call, rooftops to shout from, I was engaged!!!!

I did however remember to take about 400 pictures of my new bling!

This is us, after he “popped the question”.

And, for good measure, one more picture of my ring!

Now, the reason that this story gets lost in my brain, is because the next day my niece was born, the day after that, Mr. flew back to MN, and I was left to plan a wedding all alone! It worked out just fine, but it was such a whirlwind experience, I can never seem to remember what day it happened on!

I do however, remember vividly,  being so incredibly in love, and feeling on top of the world. June 30, 2013 marks 4 years since that day, and I am shocked at how much more in love I feel today than I did then. I am so incredibly blessed to have such a fantastic partner in crime by my side. I can’t believe that out of all of the people on this Earth, he chose me. And for that, Mr., YOU are the best.

P.s.- Maybe I’ll post the real version next year. 😉