Doctor Nate

Even before we were engaged, I knew Nate wanted to go to graduate school. His biology degree was never the 'final' step of his career path and it was always a matter of WHICH career he would pursue. When he quit his biotech job in St. Louis right before our wedding, I knew that he wasn't going back to the working world in that area. I knew he'd begin to take pre-requisite classes in the summer of 2007 and again in the fall of 2007. But he had so many ideas of what he wanted to be when he grew up. Medical school? He always wanted to be a doctor but all of a sudden, that dream didn't seem like it would fit with his other life's goals of having a family life and he wasn't sure he wanted to be in school THAT long with THAT much debt. I supported that decision. Physician's Assistant? Close enough to a doctor but less schooling, it was a thought. Dentistry? We moved to Milwaukee because Nate was on the wait list at Marquette's dental school, although we weren't 100% sure that would be the right pick either (obviously, things always work out for the best).

Then came the original thought of Nate becoming a Physical Therapist. You see, not only am I a PT but Nate's dad is one, too. He's surrounded by our kind, I guess, and the most ironic part of this entire story is that Nate was accepted to SLU's PT program as a senior in high school----just like me. He attended SLU as a part of their freshman-admit PT program, right on track to graduate with his Master's in 2005. But he made the decision to switch into pre-med after one semester, going for that dream of the title 'Doctor'. At least he still met the woman of his dreams at SLU even if he switched his major:)

Fast forward about 7 years later, when he was a newlywed trying to make a huge decision about his career life. He knew that PT would be a great fit for him: a people-person, who likes to make his own decisions, never be at a desk all day long, with amazing job security as the baby boomer generations ages. I didn't push him into this decision and neither did his dad, but we were so happy when he finally picked therapy to be his path. I remember the day we got the acceptance letter from UWM saying he was one of only 15 students selected to be in the class of 2011's Doctoral program. Yes, because he missed his original opportunity to get his Master's degree he now had to endure an extra year for the D.P.T. because that is now the standard across the nation. His measly little wife gets 'grandfathered' in with her M.P.T. and can practice in all the same jobs, with the same pay, as the higher degree. Yes, irony at it's finest.

I remember when PT school began for Nate in the summer of 2008, after one whole year of pre-requisites. It was brutal and I hated seeing him gone every day from 8-4 then studying every night and all weekend long. But I knew we had to get used to this shift in our new marriage because May of 2011 seemed like an eternity. I still don't know how I convinced him to start a family before he was done with school but he will admit now that having Truman was the best decision we've made yet (told you so!) even if the timing seemed crazy at first. Our roles as husband and wife and parents have been anything but typical and sometimes it was tough, for sure, but you know what? Those three years FLEW by (four years if you count the pre-requisite year). I dreamed of this day for so long, the day when Nate would wear his doctoral cap and gown and get his degree. I dreamed of a day we would have two salaries in this marriage. A day when my husband wouldn't need to study all weekend or pay for textbooks or tuition. And now it's here and it's hard to believe.

Nate is one of the most determined, intelligent, outgoing, and positive people in my life. He deserves this moment in the spotlight for this ginormous accomplishment. To say that I'm proud of him in a huge understatement. And it's not all about the second income, like I thought it would be. It's about the fact that my husband has a career that will make him happy, fulfilled, and one that suits his personality perfectly. It took a lot of sacrifice on both of our parts to get to this point and our newlywed years will always have stories that are far from the norm. I wouldn't have it any other way.

This past weekend was the big graduation ceremony, plus a small 'pinning' ceremony just for his PT class. My parents came to town to help celebrate and we had a small BBQ on Sunday night after the graduation in honor of the newest PT of the house. It was amazing and just what the doctor ordered for me (bad pun intended). Some pictures to show you the exciting milestone:


a fave:


fave family photo ever:


I always rolled my eyes when Nate said I'd have to call him a doctor when he graduated. I mean, please---he's not a Physician or a PhD or anything. As his wife it's my duty to make sure his head doesn't get too big, right? But I have to admit, seeing him in that doctoral cap and gown, reading his diploma got me all teary eyed. I'm just so proud of my hubby. All that is left to do now is take the national boards exam (June 7--say your prayers!) in order to get his license and he already found a fabulous job that will begin on May 31. Although the past month has been one of much heartache and sadness for our family this achievement is something that we can claim as one hugely happy event for us all. Nate is done with school...finally. And also: already? :)


I don't want the title of this post to be deceiving to you all, since I am far from feeling 'at peace' with our loss. It's not like the grieving process is over but I feel like I'm working towards closure, starting to see what some of the lessons learned should be.

As far as physical healing goes, I'm on my way along with the emotional healing. Last Friday, 10 days after our bad ultrasound (and 4.5 weeks since the baby actually died), my body was still holding onto the baby without any signs of miscarriage. I requested one final ultrasound to wipe away any false hopes that this baby was somehow still alive, that my dates might have been off by weeks, or that there was some kind of miracle going on inside me. The ultrasound that day was not emotional for me since I was prepared to see our little bean curled up and lifeless, and again the baby measured exactly 6w0d without any changes. I needed to see that last image on the screen in order to move forward and I'm glad I got the peace of mind that indeed, my baby really was gone.

Right after the ultrasound my very compassionate doctor placed four Cytotec pills vaginally, a drug very similar to the Cervadil I had during my two night of laboring Truman, in order to 'ripen' the cervix and get the bleeding started. She promised an 80% chance of the drug working but also scheduled a D&C for the following week at my request, in case my body wouldn't budge. We came home feeling a little better just knowing we had done something to initiate the process, praying that the awful waiting for the inevitable would go quickly.

I won't go into details about that evening's events but let's just say the medicine worked like a charm. And let's also say that anyone who tells you a miscarriage is just like a 'heavy period' has obviously never gone through this nightmare. I think it's better compared to actual labor as far as the pain, true contractions, and insane amount of bleeding goes and of course when you add the emotional aspect of losing a human life to the mix of this madness, it's exponentially worse than any period or any labor could be.

Since Friday I've had good and bad days, sometimes bleeding so heavily I can't do anything but hang out in the bathroom and sometimes I feel almost back to normal. I know that my body will need time to rid itself of HcG, the pregnancy hormone, and I pray that I will return to my 'normal' cycle very soon. Also, in the back of my mind, I am worried that somehow my body didn't get rid of all the 'conception products', as they are called---isn't that the saddest pairing of words ever? I do not want to go through a procedure to remove everything after going through this miscarriage naturally. I'm praying my body to do what it's supposed to do, hanging onto some sort of faith in it after a few weeks of skepticism.

Which brings me to the lessons I feel I must learn through this loss. The first is patience, one of the toughest concepts for me to grasp even before the miscarriage. I am not a patient person. I like to have things done my way, immediately, without wasting time. The word 'wait' has been on my tongue and heart more times in the past 2 weeks than ever before and I must admit that I hate it. I was supposed to be 11.5 weeks pregnant right now. But instead of that concept, now I feel like I will be waiting FOREVER just to get a period again. Just to be able to try again. Just to see another positive pregnancy test. I don't want to wait and although I know time is my friend, it seems like an enemy more often than not. If only I could snap my fingers and magically be at the place when I'm pregnant again----or better yet, holding our healthy baby number two. Isn't that the ultimate goal? Not just to get pregnant, but to have a second child. And yet, I know I must work through my grief and my emotions before getting pregnant and my body must physically heal as well. As I let my ears listen to God more and more, I truly believe He is teaching me patience through this loss. Not that I have to like the lesson, but I get it.

Another lesson of mine is that it is wrong to envy others, it's wrong to 'compete' and compare situations with other women around me. I'm not going to lie: it's difficult to have three of my closest friends due within a month of my lost due date. It's hard to read pregnancy blogs and not automatically feel like, 'Why can't this be me?' I'm obviously thrilled for my friends because they deserve the happiness of pregnancy, and they've been incredibly supportive of me as well. It's just hard to feel so far behind, set back from the rest of the group. Just typing this out it sounds so awful because having children is NOT a competition. The person that has the most babies the quickest isn't a 'winner' and where my friends are in their family time line should have absolutely nothing to do with our personal family plan. But I am being completely honest when I admit I have had those fleeting jealous thoughts and I'm fully aware that I need to move away from that mindset. God is definitely helping me out with this one, too.

The last lesson I have begun to grasp is one of gratitude. It's so easy to focus on the 'have nots' in life, spending so much time and energy on obtaining things we don't yet have in our possession. But how about being content with what we DO have? I'm not trivializing our loss by saying this but we are so grateful to have Truman in our lives. If anything, losing this baby has made me love Truman even more somehow. Being surrounded by my amazing family, including my husband, who love me more than I realize, is the most precious gift out of all this pain. Having friends who reach out to contact me, even weeks after our sad announcement, shows me that we are incredibly blessed in this life. We have reasons to be happy and content while living in the moment, not focusing on the future, and it's hard work to allow that sense of peace into my heart. But I'm trying and that is what matters.

A few people mentioned that it helps to name the baby you miscarried, in order to place significance on the pregnancy and make it seem more 'real' and important. I couldn't agree more, although naming this baby was hard and felt a little weird to me. But then, the more I thought about it, I knew exactly what we will call this baby.

You see, before we had our horrible ultrasound we were having so much fun dreaming of names for this baby. Do you remember the hilarious YouTube video of the twin boys 'talking' to each other in the kitchen? One of the twins was named Wren (maybe spelled differently, but whatev) and I just loved it. I wrote the name down on our growing list and one night Nate spotted the name. He said it was a little odd, and I agreed but replied I would like it to be a nickname, something short for a longer name. Nate thought for a second and simply stated that we should name our baby Darren. Now, obviously, there is nothing wrong with that name but it's rather odd for a newborn baby born in 2011, right? Sort of like our name-holder 'Carlos' for Truman---nothing wrong with the name, but still hilarious in a way. So of course, we started calling the baby Darren and would die of laughter each time.

I knew I wanted to name this baby Wren because of that story, although it's dripping in sarcasm. I still like the name Wren and actually, the symbolism of this baby being a little bird who flew away to heaven before we could meet him is all too perfect. I wanted to get something to remember baby Wren and found this necklace on Etsy after much searching. An adorable baby bird (a wren, if you ask me) with eyes closed, sleeping soundly, and then a topaz birthstone for November--when the baby was supposed to arrive. I figure it's low-key enough that people won't demand to know what it means but special enough to me to keep close to my heart.

We love you, baby Wren. Thank you for blessing us with your brief life in me. We'll meet again someday.


{First of all, thank you so much for the kind and uplifting comments on my last post. It helps tremendously to hear from others who have walked this path, and from those who haven't but are sending their love. I will continue to need your prayers because I still have not started bleeding or spotting and we are going on day #9 since the ultrasound. I have some big decisions to make this Friday about what to do next and all I know is that this waiting game is emotional warfare. I just want to move on. Anyway, this is the first post I wrote last week, a glimpse into the grief process. }

I struggled with the decision to post about our loss on this blog. It feels like waving a giant banner for the strangers of the internet, broadcasting the most intensely painful experience I've had to a number of people that I'll never meet. It's even more odd to think about all of the 'aquaintences' of mine who read this blog---ones with whom I would normally never share this story, but who will now know about it. And I hate that some of my actual friends will read this instead of hearing it from me, but I just can't bring myself to spread the news over and over again. The entire concept of a miscarriage is so sad, so personal, and even a little bit shameful and embarrassing. But you know what? The more I thought about it I knew I had to blog about this. How could I not? If I neglected to share this significant part of my life on the blog I might as well just shut the whole thing down and I'm not ready to do that. Miscarriage should not be a topic that women are afraid to discuss, and it should not be something we have to endure alone. Reading about my loss is bound to help someone out there going through the same thing, right? It will absolutely help me to sort it out, and to hear from other women who've survived the same ordeal. Becoming a member of the large miscarriage club is not something I'm proud of, but I will not be ashamed or ignore it, either. It feels very empowering to share this story, in a way it lets me take control over the words and own them, so that I can heal as well. Blogging has always helped me move through hard times and it only makes sense that at my lowest point in my very blessed life, I write about it.

I really don't know where to begin. I sit here today, one day after my thirtieth birthday, living out the reality of a nightmare I dreamed for many weeks. It's been a little more than 48 hours since we had our dreams of baby number two ripped away from us---and in some ways, these past two days have been the longest of my life. The fact that we heard the worst possible news just one day before my big 3-0 is probably the most ironic timing ever, right? Setting up the ultrasound to be right at the 9 week mark, the day before my birthday, seemed like it could be a great gift to celebrate as I left my twenties and entered the next decade. But instead it turned out to be the biggest slap in the face. As I read the kind, unknowing words of friends on Facebook say, 'Happy Birthday, enjoy your wonderful day!' it made me want to cry for about the millionth time in a 24 hour period. What is 'happy' about the saddest feeling I've ever known in my thirty years. And a 'birth' day? How ironic to celebrate the day of my own birth as I mourn the death of an unborn baby inside me. How could I possibly enter into my next year with more pain and sadness? And yet, although my birthday started off really really rough with tears waking me up from my broken sleep and a horrible attitude hovering over my head, it did turn out to be an amazing gift in the end. I forced myself to go to work and see my five patients that day, and stepping outside of my own misery for a bit to help others was more therapeutic than I could predict. My job---the one I love to complain about, and dream of quitting to stay home full time---was the biggest reason I made it through my birthday. Not to mention the flowers, emails, calls, and texts full of heartfelt and comforting words. By the finish of my big day, I had finally gotten the message: I have been blessed with a group of friends and family that truly care about me, who love me no matter what, and who will support me through the worst of times. I definitely felt the love and understood that our loved ones are incredible gifts.

It's really natural to spit out about three token phrases to someone who is suffering from a miscarriage. I'm absolutely positive I've said them all at one point in my life, and I don't regret saying them now that I'm on the other side of the line. All of them mean well but they can't be a quick fix, placed in a nice little box of words, to make the mother feel less pain. I realize that everyone just wants to say the right thing to help, but when you are in the darkest despair it's easy to have a response for everything. I know that is really awful for me to say, and I hope it doesn't make it even harder to come up with words for those suffering.

-'At least you already have one healthy baby.' Very true, we are so blessed to have Truman as the ultimate distraction to our pain, the perfect symbol for life and happiness. But you know what? There are two sides to the coin of having a first child and then a miscarriage. I know how amazing it is to have a new baby. I am in love with being a mother. And to have it be thisclose and then ripped away from me? I am fully aware of what I am losing and it's absolutely heartbreaking to know I will never meet this baby. I will never get to love him or her with every ounce of my being, or get to smell their sweetest newborn scent, or watch them grow into a precious toddler and beyond. I am beyond grateful for Truman and don't mean to sound greedy, wanting more children after him. But I truly feel that our family is not complete with just one. And I wanted this baby more than I can accurately explain.

-'There was probably something wrong with the baby, so it's probably for the best.' Absolutely true, but of course we'll never know if this was the case. And if so---if the baby had a chromosomal abnormality---how can you NOT ask The Question of 'Why?' I know that these things happen. That when the miracle of life begins with just one cell and rapidly divides into thousands, there is a large margin for error. I get that, I really do. But why did my baby have to have a mistake at the cellular level? Does this mean we are more at risk for another abnormality in the future?

-'You'll get pregnant again and have a perfectly healthy child next time.' Really? You have a crystal ball and can predict the future? Because right now, when fate seems like the biggest biyatch in the universe, it seems pretty ridiculous to assume everything will go on to being just fine in the future. What if we don't get pregnant again? Or what if this happens multiple times without explanation? I seriously doubt I would be strong enough to do this all over again.

And really, if God allows me to get pregnant again, how on earth will I ever be able to enjoy pregnancy again? I've always been incredibly neurotic, a worrier, finding it difficult to just relax and be in the moment. Will I even be able to function in the early days of pregnancy again? Or will I literally be so anxious and scared that I'll make myself sick?

Because I like to be a Pollyanna sometimes, I really do try to see the good things in every situation. As far as the timing of this loss, I can honestly say that it's much better finding out at 9 weeks instead of 19 weeks, or 29 or 39. Also much better finding out we've lost the baby now than losing a baby after it's born. It's better that the body knows when something is wrong, and 'takes care of it', so that we do not bring a child into this world with added suffering, pain, medical procedures, and heartache if at all possible . Of course if we did have a child with any disability we would love that child with all of our hearts. But I think it's okay to admit that it would be a difficult life. I am so glad I didn't get an ultrasound at 6 weeks, see the heartbeat then and feel optimistic, and then not find out about this loss until much later. I'm also very grateful that I didn't speak up at my 8 week exam, requesting to squeeze into the Ultrasound room right away, on the off chance they had a random opening right then. I would have been completely alone, without Nate or Truman, and I can't imagine how much worse it would have been then.

But even when I'm doing really well with those happy thoughts, I'll have dark moments hit me hard and it takes awhile to catch my breath. Why is this happening to us? Do we deserve it somehow? Did all of my worries about this very scenario somehow will it to happen? Why would God provide such a precious gift of life and then quickly whisk it away from us in an instant, before it even seemed real? I've had a lot of talks with God in the past two days and I hate to admit that some of my words haven't been the nicest.

I understand that there must be 'mountaintop moments' in life, and also times when we walk in the valley. I'm definitely in the valley right now, struggling to see how God has not deserted me. But I do believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe in heaven, and that life begins in the womb. I think that our world today trivializes life in utero making it seem insignificant, like a baby isn't really 'real' until he or she is born. I wholeheartedly disagree with that statement and choose to believe that my baby was real. I wonder if some people simply will not understand my devastation with this loss, thinking it's silly to be so sad over a pregnancy that only lasted a few weeks. I'm sure there will be some that want me to move on already, to get over it and suck it up. But this little life that briefly passed through my own was my child, with so much potential washed away in a matter of weeks. No matter how short or how long a child touches your life he will absolutely leave a mark. I believe this baby is in heaven and we will meet him someday and I am thankful for the hope and anticipation we felt for the 5 weeks we knew about this child.

The worst part of the whole nightmare is the waiting, the emptiness, the lack of closure. I am still not bleeding yet. My body still thinks it's pregnant. And honestly, I have lost an enormous amount of respect for my physical body in the past days. First it loses the pregnancy, unable to grow the baby into an actual child for us to love. And now? It's not getting the freaking memo. The baby is dead, you idiot. Why won't you just let it go and let me get on with my life? I spent 5 weeks holding my breath with every bathroom trip, praying there wouldn't be blood. And now? I pray that God shows his mercy and lets me start bleeding, shedding the physical and emotional pain in the process. I know that the actual process is going to be absolutely terrifying, and more horrible than I can imagine. But the fact that I'm just sitting here with a dead baby inside of me, waiting for the loss to happen is sickening. If nothing has happened by next week, the doctor thinks I should come in for some medicine to help speed things along. Two days ago that idea sounded disgusting to me. And now it sounds more appealing by the minute. How am I supposed to heal, to move through the grieving process, when I haven't even lost the baby yet?

So here I am, headed into day #3 after everything has changed. Just typing my thoughts for the first time and feeling it all sink in a little deeper. I think I've successfully moved from shock, sadness, despair, and now to numbness and emptiness, with a touch of anger thrown in there for a bit. The grieving process is a wild ride, for sure.


This post was supposed to be the big reveal, a huge announcement that baby number two was on the way and due November 29. Truman and his sibling were going to be just 21 months apart. I was supposed to be 10 weeks pregnant today.

But in the place of a happy surprise announcement is pure sadness over the loss of my second pregnancy. It feels like a dream, just like it did in the beginning of this pregnancy, but in the worst way possible. A true nightmare has certainly taken an emotional and physical toll on me.

We didn't plan for this baby; no charting, no counting down days to test. I only had one real period once I stopped breastfeeding. My baby fever was just starting to accumulate under the surface but we figured we'd wait to 'try' until the summer. Instead, God gave us the most precious gift of a positive pregnancy test on March 24. We were surprised, shocked, and incredibly happy. 'How can anyone be this blessed', I often asked myself? 'What's the catch?' We already had one beautiful, healthy, happy baby boy. And now we get the pleasure of doing it all over again? It didn't seem possible, it seemed too good to be true, and the worrying began.

Just like my pregnancy with Truman, I overanalyzed every twinge in my body. I imagined a future ultrasound appointment that included the words 'no heartbeat' and 'miscarriage.' But then by 5 weeks I began to have even more classic symptoms than I did with Truman's pregnancy--more waves of nausea, extreme exhaustion, crazy sense of smell, and even enough bloat to start looking like a pooch. I felt exponentially worse than I did the first time around and that comforted me, eased my worries. I even joked to Nate that maybe we were having twins because I was feeling doubly worse than the first go around.



I started to dream of two little boys being less than two years apart in age, running around together, playing hide-and-seek, and being best of friends and little trouble makers throughout the years. I loved that we'd be able to use our baby boy clothes again and we talked about our favorite boy names, imagining a house full of men with me as their queen bee. Or a little girl this time, looking up to her big brother with admiration and respect, just 21 months younger than him. I dreamed of pink and frills and a mother-daughter relationship that would surely make me weak in the knees. My heartbeat would speed up when I thought of that newborn smell, the cuddles, the breastfeeding, the coos and first smiles. I wanted this baby more than I could ever explain. My heart was ready and I was excited for the challenge of 'two under two'. A newborn at Christmas time. Maternity leave over the holidays. It was going to be so much fun.

I had my first appointment at 8 weeks, just an exam and blood work, with a brand new doctor at a brand new practice because of insurance changes. Everything seemed to be right on track---an 'official' positive pregnancy test, a uterus that felt 'swollen and pregnant.' Before I left they had me schedule my first ultrasound and said it was best to have between 9 and 10 weeks. Of course I opted for the earliest appointment possible, which just so happened to be the day before my thirtieth birthday, right at the nine week mark. I certainly felt pregnant, still with symptoms, although they seemed to be regulating a bit.

The morning before the appointment I started to get nervous. I was pretty quiet and Nate noticed. I told him I was just anxious to get this over with so we could breathe a sigh of relief. We snapped my 9 week belly picture just moments before walking out the door for the appointment. We brought Truman with us so he could be a part of the big moment in our family history.



Walking into the ultrasound room I started to get a pit in my stomach. Something just didn't feel right, but I was sure that it was just me being neurotic and fearful over the unknown. The ultrasound tech commented that Truman was extremely handsome, to which he responded with a flirty grin and some waves. She said that she can always tell a good baby because those are the parents who have another child close in age to the first. I was so proud of Truman for being well-behaved, stealing the show as always. And then it was time to lay back and see our second baby.

As soon as the image filled the screen I knew. I saw the big black hole but there wasn't a precious white blob in the middle, there was no flicker of a heartbeat inside. The tech didn't say anything for what seemed to be an eternity and I didn't have the courage to look at Nate or my son for their feedback. I wanted this to be a dream. I wanted to go home.

'What I'm seeing here is a fetus that measures about 6 weeks, and there is no heartbeat.' I should have been 9 weeks. There should have been a heartbeat even if my dates were wrong and it was only 6 weeks old. I remember her asking something about when I got my positive pregnancy test and I choked back tears as I said, 'right around 4 weeks.' I knew it wasn't possible to have a 6 week fetus. It should have been 9. And it should have had a heartbeat.

As the tech left the room to get the doctor I finally looked at my husband and my baby boy. The look of concern on both of their faces was almost too much to bear. Truman's innocent eyes told me that everything was going to be okay but I couldn't stop thinking about all we'd be missing without this baby. I'm not sure what we talked about in those first few minutes of reality but I know that is when I started crying the saddest tears I have known.

The doctor was incredibly supportive and understanding as she shed tears right with me, telling me that she had a miscarriage before her son was born, too. When she told us that we did nothing wrong, that we did not cause this to happen I broke down in the ugly cry. I was holding Truman by this point and buried my face in his sweet head of baby hair, praying to God that this was a dream. The doctor told me I would probably start to lose the baby in a week or two but if not there would be other options to speed along the process. My baby had been dead inside my body for three weeks now. And my body didn't even know it yet. Why was my body failing me by losing the baby and then pretending to still be pregnant? Why was this happening to us? Why?

The rest of the day was spent in a series of tears, a phone call to my mom, and numerous texts and emails to those who were waiting to hear the good news from the big appointment. I spent a lot of time in the arms of my husband, who told me he loved me and that we would get through this and get our second baby. Just not in November. Just not this time. We were saying goodbye before we even got to say hello.

Everything would make me burst into tears that evening---one of Truman's toys shutting off and saying, 'Bye Bye!' TV commercials featuring brand new babies with wrinkly faces. My beloved Henry, coming up to me as I sat on the floor in a stupor, resting his head on my lap and staring up at me with his puppy dog eyes. He knew his mama was sad and he wanted to make it better. Everyone wanted to make it better and yet nobody could change the fact that our baby's heart wasn't beating.

I went to bed that night knowing that miscarriage is incredibly common. I have become a part of a group of women that knows how devastating this loss feels. And now I have to move through the grieving process just like the rest of this group has done, and I know it's not going to be easy.

Fourteen Months

A whirlwind of a month over here. This calls for bullet points and a fragmented monthly update for my precious 14 monther.


-Truman is walking about 8-10 steps now and his balance has improved exponentially in the past few weeks. He's getting so brave, walking to us or even away from us without warning, but always with a purpose. He isn't walking around the house just yet but his favorite walking activity involves reaching out for one of our hands, and then strutting around the house in laps until his poor legs just give out from exhaustion. It's really the cutest thing ever.


- He's playing ROUGH with Henry. Loving him, laughing at him, chasing him. I think that Truman loves Henry more than any other creature alive. And let's be honest, Henry is pretty fond of his baby brother, too.

-He's imitating like crazy. Kissie noises when mom and dad smooch in front of him. Loves to clap when he hears a studio audience do the same on TV. Trying to say 'doggie' and 'baby' and basically anything else we say---just not very successful yet.


-He weighs about 25 pounds and is about 32 inches. Totally guesses here, based off his official one year stats. Actually he might be about 50 pounds by now because he feels like a giant lug when I pick him up. Still wearing mostly all 24 month clothes, bought some 2Ts for the summer, too.

the fam at Easter

-Bottles/Milk. The saga. We tried to cut out all bottles except for the nighttime one and that lasted all of two days. He would NOT drink anything at all during the day and I was scared he'd get too dehydrated. So we went to a morning bottle of 7 ounces and a night bottle of 7 ounces. Then I started to get tricky and played around with warming the sippy cup milk and keeping the bottled milk cold. I swear the hatred of the cup has more to do with the cold temperature than anything, and my trick worked pretty well. He started drinking a tiny bit of warm milk from cups during the day but also demanded his nighttime bottle was warm, too. At this point in time we are down to just the nighttime bottle, and it's usually cold. No other bottles during the day and I am proud to say he will even drink about 8-14 ounces of cupped milk in addition to his nighttime bottle. Next up: getting rid of that last bottle. Should be fun!

-Solids. A true statement from Lori at daycare: 'Truman is eating more than some 3 year olds.' But the thing is, he is still very finicky with his food choices. One day he'll adore string cheese and granola bars and the next they are dead to him. One night he ate an entire turkey dog, part of the bun, mac-n-cheese, grapes, strawberries, milk, and a cookie for dessert. But then there are the nights he will have a single crumb and claim he is full. I just don't get this child but I'm starting to relax about his eating habits because he is obviously growing just fine and seems to know when he is hungry (practically all the freaking time).

-Sleep: was doing great, just trying to decide between one long late-morning nap and two separate ones. But lately just started teething so all hell is breaking loose again. Not really, just waking up at 11 and 3 and then 5 for the day. But I know it's a phase and we'll get back to normal pretty soon (right?)

-Pacifier: we were totally weaned off the thing at home, and he still used it at Lori's on occasion to help with his separation anxiety. But then the molars starting disturbing our lives and our sleep and thus I succumbed and let him have the paci if he was beside himself at night. But only rarely and only when sleeping. I figure he's only 14 months and if he really needs to suck on something right now to get through this teething process then I should let the paci win temporarily. I'm a softie who wants my sleep, what can I say?


- Words: Ma Ma, Da Da, Duh Duh (doggie??), Ya Ya (grandma??), Ba Ba (who the heck knows). Babbles like it's his job. Always cracking us up with his new sounds. Loves to pretend to hold actual conversations with his toys and with Henry. I die over it.

-He seems to be a very cautious soul. Likes to test the waters a bit first with a new skill, observe, think about it some more, and then MAYBE try it out if he's brave enough. I'm totally fine with him being cautious, by the way. Hope it lasts.


-Really into giving kisses without being asked. Best thing ever. Also still has his awesome fake laugh and even a new 'forced' loud laugh he tries to do when he is working himself into a chuckle.

-Truman is doing light years better with daycare drop offs. Lori says he is really having fun there and loves his friends, rarely cries more than a little whimper when I drop him off, and gets super excited to see me when I arrive.

-He has really good fine motor skills now. Can manipulate our cell phones like a teenager, puts them up to his ear to 'talk', and has mastered the shape sorting toys. Also loves to hammer and throw and smack everything together. Getting kind of rough and tough...

I love you, mister man, this month and every month. You keep us entertained and we wouldn't trade you for the world.
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