Circa July 2011, on the ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. That day is forever etched in my heart. So much happiness, and more love than you could possibly imagine.

PS: I shared the twelfth piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.

There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light
In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right
And it comes in black and it comes in white
And I’m frightened by those that don’t see it

There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light
In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right
There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light
And I’m frightened by those that don’t see it

PS: I posted the eleventh piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.

I nursed my sweet Huckle for the last time seven months ago.

At the time, I was pregnant. I was sick with hyperemesis, struggling to stay hydrated and nourished, and nursing had become painful. After almost two and a half years, it was clear that our nursing relationship had grown to be more about comfort than it was about nutrients. I had been keen to let him take the lead as to when we would wean, just as I had let my other two children dictate their readiness to part with the breast, but given how ill I was feeling, I strongly encouraged the end.

Which is to say, the next day, I didn’t offer. And when he asked, I denied him. I suppose in his own way, he was ready, because he never really fussed about not getting to nurse. So long as he could nestle between my breasts, one had on each, he was able to soothe himself to sleep. After all, he’d nursed longer than the other two combined!

With the knowledge that I would have a new baby to nurse, I was definitely not as heartbroken as I would have been otherwise. And of course, once I lost that baby, the loss of my nursing relationship with Roux became absolutely agonizing in retrospect. I felt as though I had betrayed him, even as I myself had been betrayed by my own body.

Of all my babies, Roux is the only one who ever had a deeply affectionate attitude toward breastfeeding and my breasts in general. Even now, seven months later, he falls asleep with one hand holding his “boobie”. When he’s upset or nervous, he’ll reach inside my shirt, placing his tiny hand softly upon my chest. It’s sweet, and it’s sad, all at the same time.

I am proud of how well we did, he and I. Against all odds, even. We were told from the beginning that due to his prematurity, he might never actually nurse, that he would have more success with pumped breast milk from a bottle. And for the first five weeks of his life, every three hours, that is exactly what I did. After he came home from the NICU, I obsessively researched how to encourage cognitive development in premature babies, and nearly every single resource mentioned breastfeeding – not breastmilk, but actually feeding from the breast – as one of the most effective ways to support brain function. I was hesitant at first given his low birth weight and the need to keep him on the side of gaining. Any weight loss would have found us right back in the hospital. But once it became clear that he was doing better than any doctor had suspected, I took it upon myself to ditch the bottle and feed him the old fashioned way. He took to the breast immediately, and continued to gain weight at an impressive rate. At our next visit with our pediatrician, herself an expert in premature nutrition, she couldn’t believe that he was feeding so well directly from the breast. She told me it was risky, but she was supportive. At his six month visit, we were told that she could count on one hand the number of babies born in their 35th week that had been able to exclusively breastfeed with such success.

Breastfeeding was the first of his many developmental achievements; he has continued to chalk up such accolades, defying all the odds he was given at birth.

Nursing has been the highlight of my life as a mother of young babies. Each of my children and I have shared a unique bond, no nursing relationship has been alike. All three have had their own individual words, rituals, habits, patterns, and each one of them has been precious. To think I might never nurse another baby is a special kind of sorrow, yet I can’t help but be grateful to my body for allowing me one of the greatest physiological experiences of them all. Altogether, I have spent four years and four months nursing my kids, and I’m damn proud to have done so.

“We must eradicate from the soul all fear and terror of what comes towards humankind out of the future, and we must acquire serenity in all feelings and sensations about the future. We must look forward with absolute equanimity to everything that may come, and we must think only that whatever comes is given to us by a world directive full of wisdom. It is part of what we must learn in this age, namely to live out of pure trust without any security in existence. Trust in that ever present help of the spiritual world. Truly, nothing else will do, if our courage is not to fail us, and we must seek this awakening within ourselves, every morning and every evening.”

Rudolf Steiner, For the Michael Age, 1910

My focus is on what I can control, how I react, where I send my energy. Trusting now more than ever in cosmic omnipotence. And love, always love.

PS: I posted the tenth piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.

Like sand through my fingertips, grasping for every little bit of hope I can find that what I hold most dear will not vanish. Has it already gone? Can it ever be again?

Who’s to say how it happened, why it happened, why it is happening. I want so badly to mend what is broken, like the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi, reinforcing shattered porcelain with solid gold. But, I cannot do it alone.

I still believe. I will acknowledge the pain as an invitation for healing, and I will never lose sight of what is most important.

PS: I posted the ninth piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.

I’m at a loss for words. I’ve been searching for the pockets of happiness tucked into my days, which almost always inevitably involve my children, thank goodness for those three beings of light. As for everything else, I just don’t know. My heart is heavy, my stomach in knots, my brain on constant high alert. There are so many unanswered questions hovering over me, so much uncertainty. I’m trying to focus on the good, which is not always easy.

In sharing my miscarriage recovery story, I’ve noticed that I was also silent at this time exactly six months ago. Revisiting those posts has brought to the surface a lot of the gut wrenchingly raw vulnerability I experienced during those days. Has publishing them been helpful? I can’t really say, only that they are very much a part of my narrative whether they are public or private, and in the interest of reclaiming the personal blog as a medium of honest expression, I stand by my decision to reveal them.

For better or worse.

I started to write something serious, but then it got, like, way more serious than I can handle at 10:30 PM on a school night. Especially for a day that started out with a donut for breakfast, so.

Let’s talk about Netflix!

Right now, I’m looooving The Crown. I was hesitant at first, because the thumbnail looks so intense and I usually like to reserve what little viewing time I have for comedy. “Let’s watch something funny!” is what I say nearly every night to Mister Baker. A day without laughter, you know? But after making our way through every single stand-up special (the new Jim Gaffigan is hilarious, by the way), I casually mentioned that I’d like to take a peek at an historical drama about the early years of Queen Elizabeth II and Baker was totally into it.

It’s beautifully shot, and it’s so well acted. John Lithgow is incredible as Winston Churchill. I knew nothing of the show going into it, and as soon as Lithgow appeared on the screen, it was clear who he was supposed to be. He embodies that character like none other I’ve ever seen him play.

For a show that is most definitely not a comedy, it manages to be humorous in a very real way. I often wonder how accurate a depiction the whole thing is, whether the characters are reminiscent of the historical figures – some of whom are still alive – they represent. And whether or not the Royal Family watches! These are the thoughts that keep me up at night!

We’ve only got a few episodes left and then we’re back to wondering what we should watch next. Any suggestions?

I’ve had this song stuck in my head for hours, and as I sit here trying to write, it’s all I can think of. So, I’m taking a cue from my brain, which is mostly mush at this point.

There but for the grace of God go I, indeed.

What are you changing?
Who do you think you’re changing?
You can’t change things, we’re all stuck in our ways.
It’s like trying to clean the ocean,
What do you think, you can drain it?
It was poison and dry long before you came.

PS: I posted the eighth piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.

It doesn’t seem possible that half of January has already expired, yet that is very much the case. The late night, early morning theme continues, though now that school has started again, naps have been added into the rotation because mama is tired!

I spent the morning with all three kids at this natural playground in Balboa Park. For the better part of two hours, Emet and Jade worked collaboratively to construct a tipi-like shelter out of bamboo rods and stones. Just as it was about finished, Emet invited Roux to sit inside the little house they’d made for him, and he managed to knock it down in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t even snap a photo in time! The big kids were, of course, devastated. They really had worked so hard. But it provided a good opportunity to talk about how nearly everything in life is temporary. That however remarkable their structure was, and it really was remarkable, it was bound to topple one way or another. The point is that they had fun together while it was being built.

I’m still bummed about the photo part, though.

My heart has been heavy recently, a forlorn mix of longing and loneliness. Two different Yogi Tea bags had love related messages today. Love without trust is a river without water. Love has no fear and no vengeance. I’m sitting with these thoughts as I navigate the delicate state of my heart. Perhaps everything in life is temporary, but some things should last forever.

PS: I posted the seventh piece of my miscarriage recovery story, if you’re interested.