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Book Review – Mercy

Published in 1996, this book was born into a world where Kevorkian was actively practicing physician assisted suicides despite the media’s attention. This controversial topic is not one that gets me jazzed, but I was still intrigued as to how the plot would play out…

This next book was our March book club book. This isn’t one I would have picked myself – I don’t love Jodi Picoult’s approach to writing, but what I love about book club is that it encourages me to try books I would not have picked up otherwise. I could easily hang out in one genre were it not for book club or Book of the Month, so I’m grateful I have resources pointing me back to the things I “don’t like”, saying “try again”.

Book 11:
Mercy
by Jodi Picoult

Genre:
Fiction, Domestic Fiction, Legal Story

Published:
1996

Synopsis According to Mandi:
Without spoilers, Mercy is about a man, Jamie, who confesses to his cousin, Cam, a police chief of a small town in Massachusetts, that he killed his terminally ill wife out of mercy. The book jumps into a murder trial while exploring the depths of love, loyalty and morality amongst the obvious plot, but also intertwined in several smaller, co-existing stories. It examines the lines of emotions and ethics – what’s too far? What’s not far enough?

Favorite Quote:

I once heard someone on a bus say that this guy had gotten under her skin. And it struck me as a remarkable thought – that someone would affect you so deeply they’d always be a part of you.

― Jodi Picoult, Mercy

Awards (based upon my brief research):
None noted.

Pages:
400

My Overall Rating:
2.5 – Published in 1996, this book was born into a world where Kevorkian was actively practicing physician assisted suicides despite the media’s attention. This controversial topic is not one that gets me jazzed, but I was still intrigued as to how the plot would play out. I was disappointed that much of the book was filled with other, co-existing stories that weren’t given enouch attention to matter and didn’t affect the murder trial I’d anticipated reading about. I think Picoult could have written the same plot with half the amount of pages and engaged readers with a deeper connection by doing so, honing in on the murder trial and cutting out the superfluous stories. 

The Drought

In my heart, I fully believed we were starting our family with this pregnancy. But in my mind, what toyed with me, slaloming in and out of my thoughts, was that we might not even have a baby at the end of this. To go through so much and end up with nothing seemed too unfair to be possible.

4.25.17

“At this point, my hope is more so that this won’t be what my entire pregnancy is about.”

At 6 days of no significant blood loss, this drought had already become the largest since the chaos began, but again, I couldn’t allow myself to believe it was over. By this time, the mental battle had become real. I needed to believe something good.

I needed to believe our pregnancy wasn’t going to be defined by blood loss, by previa, by abruption, by chaos.

In my heart, I fully believed we were starting our family with this pregnancy, so that’s how we planned and projected. But in my mind, what toyed with me, slaloming in and out of my thoughts, was that we might not even have a baby at the end of this. To go through so much and end up with nothing seemed too unfair to be possible, yet I know it happens, and I knew I couldn’t write off that possibility just yet either.

But the baby was fine. The baby had been fine at each step so far. It was me who wasn’t – my body that had been fighting the pregnancy, refusing to be beautiful and glowing and all the nice words people use to describe a pregnant woman, and instead gushing blood, misplacing organs and growing cysts in the space meant for our baby.

I was pregnant with a trouper who was putting up with the overly unideal circumstances my far-from-trouper body was giving it. I was mentally and emotionally asking a baby to flourish in the slums that were my reproductive system.

I was losing my mind.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 18 weeks, 3 days
Days of blood: 13
Days of bedrest: 20
Doctor’s Appointments: 5
Ultrasounds: 2

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. I selected the picture above mostly to show that I sat on towels everywhere, just in case. If that’s not humiliation, I don’t know what is.

Book Review – The Last Equation of Isaac Severy

I went out on a limb with this selection because I was curious about how math, mystery and fate might line up in a plot together to form a novel. 

Again, I know there are some of you following purely for the pregnancy story. You should know that amongst that story, I’m posting other things like book reviews, notes about various things and, eventually, DIY projects when I get around to them. Feel free to delete any posts that do not interest you as they land in your inbox. I won’t be offended. But please comment if you feel you’re getting more than you bargained for, and at that point I will look into selective subscription options for you. Otherwise, enjoy! Thanks for following! 


This book was my March Book of the Month selection, and while I finished it a while back, I saved the review so I wouldn’t flood the inboxes of my subscribers. Regardless, I can’t remember the last time I read a mystery novel (or, in fact, if I’ve ever read one), but I went out on a limb with this selection because I was curious about how math, mystery and fate might line up in a plot together to form a novel.

Book 10:
The Last Equation of Isaac Severy
by Nova Jacobs

Genre:
Mystery

Published:
March 2018

Synopsis According to Mandi:
Without spoilers, The Last Equation of Isaac Severy is about the loss of mathematician and family patriarch, Isaac Severy and his final equation that both pulls the family apart and brings them together. Adopted granddaughter, Hazel is, per her late grandfather’s request, left indebted to find the equation, protect it and get it into the hands of the right person. As Hazel unravels the clues to get her closer to the equation, she learns of others searching for it as well and the power it holds, witnessing math used in an otherworldly way and changing her life forever.

Favorite Quote:

If there is no tangible reward at the end, he sees the work as pointless. It’s an empty way to live, in constant pursuit of the trophy. It’s the reason he has failed.

― Nova Jacobs, The Last Equation of Isaac Severy

Awards (based upon my brief research):
Debut Novel
Book of the Month Club Selection
Indie Next Pick

Pages:
337

My Overall Rating:
3.5 – This book has all the makings of a 4. Nova Jacobs is very clearly an intelligent, creative writer as she’s gone where not many have, intertwining math, mystery and fate into a plot that keeps the reader engaged. Once the story got underway, there isn’t much I would change. However, several characters are introduced in the first few chapters, and, of my own fault, I struggle to really engage in the introductory text of any book, which later proved to be an issue this time around. I could not keep the characters straight. Who was married to whom? Whose child was whose? In the end, I felt the the novel could have been done just as well with fewer characters, hence the 3.5 instead of a 4.

If you’re into mysteries, I still have to recommend this book. I’ve never heard of another one like it.

P.S. I’ll say it again, if you’re interested in a Book of the Month subscription, let me know and I’ll get you a link where your first book will be free! Of all of my selections in these first 6 months, I’ve only had one dud. The rest have been some of my highest rated books. It’s a great opportunity to venture out of your usual reading habits and explore other genres, read debut authors and get your hands on books before they’re available to the general public. Plus, it’s just fun getting a book in the mail once a month!

Those Cruel Good Days

The good days felt cruel. We could see right through them. Behind their transparent bliss lurked the bad days. We knew we weren’t out of the woods, but starting blood loss again was harder than starting it in the first place.

4.17.17

“It’s getting harder to believe everything will be ok at the end of all this. So many tears have been shed, so much blood lost and so many prayers said. What could the next 4-5 months possibly hold?”

The 16th and 17th each saw another large, middle-of-the-night round of blood loss. Relapse. An end to the drought we’d prayed would last forever. I wasn’t surprised, but I was hurt.

The good days felt cruel. We could see right through them. Behind their transparent bliss lurked the bad days. We knew we weren’t out of the woods, but starting blood loss again was harder than starting it in the first place. The more often I lost blood, the more it became our “normal”. The more it became our normal, the more our pregnancy became abnormal.

I slept on towels, afraid of ruining our sheets. I slept in fits, afraid of ruining our child.

Why couldn’t the blood loss just stop? And what on earth was God’s plan in this?

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 17 weeks, 2 days
Days of blood: 11
Days of bedrest: 12

Doctor’s Appointments: 5
Ultrasounds: 2

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

The Rise of the Village

It was as if, in word, it was easier to commit to hopelessness – to plan on more blood. Between the detriment of our pregnancy, the lack of sleep, the loss of blood and the navigation of interactions, I hope this was one of the hardest weeks I ever have to live.

4.15.17

“I’m looking forward to the day we hold our baby, and hoping that day will be in September. I know God can do miracles – it feels like it’s going to take one to get to that day.”

Since the 11th, I’d only lost minimal amounts of blood. Back in March, this was enough to completely freak me out, but after seeing the amount of blood my body could lose time and time again while pregnant, it was hard to find this spotting significant. So as for the days where I simply spotted, I didn’t even count them as “days of blood” anymore. They felt, relatively speaking, easy.

Could my pregnancy return to “normal” like my doctor had said? I refused to believe it would, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment if it didn’t. On the 13th, already, I’d written, “While I want to believe this is the home stretch, I’m also very hesitant to trust my body these days. It still feels like I could gush blood at any moment, because when it’s happened, it’s come without warning.”

I think in the back of my mind there was room for a glimmer of hope things would return to normal. I knew it was a possibility, but it wasn’t one I could speak out loud. Each time I bled, my body let me down. Had I shared my tiny bit of hope out loud, I feared I’d be letting everyone else down too. It was as if, in word, it was easier to commit to hopelessness – to plan on more blood. I was verbally convincing everyone, including myself, this was not the end of the bleeding, but in spirit, I wanted so badly to be able to believe it could be the end.

Regardless, in the one week things had been sour, our village began to rise up and rally. As I’ve mentioned, I am not a bedrest kind of person, so when I couldn’t get out into the world, the world came to me, one visitor at a time. I had been on bedrest for one week, and I’d already had lunches brought to me, dinners, smoothies, orange juice, coffee, snacks, books… I was beginning to taste the support I’d noticed just a couple of weeks ago we would have.

I was also beginning to taste the hard part of being the invalid in those interactions. Throughout the rest of our pregnancy, people would, with their best intentions, say or do things that probably seemed right to them, but felt hard and hurtful to me. It was this first week of chaos that I not only saw how truly great our people were, but I was most hurt by those people. I hadn’t yet had the time to think about the spot they were in. What do you say to the person in my shoes?

I went on to receive the awkwardness with grace, but in this first week when someone told me if I miscarried “it must have been God’s plan for this pregnancy”, I honestly wanted to ask that person not to pray for me. I do believe God has a plan and that it was being carried out in my pregnancy, and 99% of my life I’ve prayed for His will to be done. But on that day, if His plan was miscarriage, I needed prayer against it. I needed people rooting for me and my baby, not dismissing the chaos, encouraging me to be fine with the worst of outcomes, by attributing it to God’s plan.

I prayed against miscarriage, but yes, I already knew God’s plan would prevail regardless of what I wanted. I just didn’t need to be told that.

*Proverbs 16:9*

I would go on to be immensely blown away by the village that formed around us, and eventually I’d learn to let the awkward words and deeds roll off my back. But that first week was the greatest concoction of encouragement and discouragement from other people I’ve ever experienced.

Looking back on that week, I’d categorize it as one of two weeks in our journey to parenthood that still make me want to throw up. Between the detriment of our pregnancy, the lack of sleep, the loss of blood and the navigation of interactions, I hope this was one of the hardest weeks I ever have to live.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 17 weeks
Days of blood: 9
Days of bedrest: 10

Doctor’s Appointments: 5
Ultrasounds: 2

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. This post’s picture is of me and my best friend from college. She came and spent the weekend with me. It gave my husband a chance to not have to babysit/entertain me, and it gave me a chance to practice styling her hair for her wedding in May, of which I would be the Matron of Honor.

The Things We Lost

I dreaded going to bed each night, because going to bed meant lying still for 6-8 hours, purely waiting for my body to fail me.

4.11.17

“Going to bed is scary. I don’t want to fall asleep and wake up to another nightmare.”

Looking back on the week where our pregnancy spiraled out of control, what feels worse than the blood loss is the loss of sleep. Both losses would go on to become “normal” in our pregnancy, but in those first five days, if I had to guess, I probably slept a total of 14 hours of 120… and most of that sleep occurred in 5-10 minute increments when I just couldn’t keep my body awake despite my very wakeful mind.

I dreaded going to bed each night, because going to bed meant lying still for 6-8 hours, purely waiting for my body to fail me. It was essentially an odd form of solitary confinement, being trapped awake in the dark, silent nights yet doing everything in my power not to fall asleep, because sleep meant failure.

Sleep is a beautiful, beautiful thing. I think any new parent would agree with that, but my daughter, postpartum, has never kept me awake for five days straight. I was sick in every way possible for those five days. Mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, psychologically… A human is not meant to operate without sleep.

On the 11th, we went back to my OB for a follow up after our emergency room visit. We wanted to know what our new information meant for the rest of our pregnancy. Instead, we learned I also had two large ovarian cysts that would continue to be monitored and hopefully not interfere with the pregnancy. As for our fate, the doctor tried her best not to give any answers at all. It was frustrating. The most she said was we could easily face pre-term labor, but things could also still return to “normal”.

We were just too early to really predict how this would go.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 16 weeks, 3 days
Days of blood: 9
Days of bedrest: 6

Doctor’s Appointments: 5
Ultrasounds: 2

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. Remember when I said you wouldn’t find pictures of my dog on this blog? I neglected to think about the fact that the bulk of the time I was at home on bedrest, the only thing I took pictures of was my dog. I’m trying to stay as true to each date as possible in stats, journal quotes and photos, so for the duration of my bedrest at home, you’re welcome… cute pictures of my dog like the one on this post. What a perfect, comforting buddy he was in this time. Dogs are the best, aren’t they?

The Emergency (Room)

I patiently waited for my body to fail me again. And it did. Blood. Again. We had answers as to what was wrong, but we still had so many questions as to what this would mean. And for those answers, only time could tell. 

4.8.17

“We’re praying for the ideal situation, but we’ll take whatever ‘good’ situation we can get at this point.”

2:00 am on April 7 was entirely too similar to that of 2:00 am on April 6. The doctor told me the baby was fine. We saw it wiggling around in there – there was no reason to believe anything was wrong. Yet here I was, again, hurling myself into the bathroom to quickly lose a revolting amount of blood.

I returned to bed, knowing full well I would not be sleeping anymore this night. Then at 6:00 am, my body had the audacity to make it happen again. This time, I wasn’t going to wait for another doctor’s appointment. I wasn’t going to believe this was just a fluke anymore. My sleep deprived self needed answers. I rounded the corner into our bedroom and said to my husband, “You have to get up, I need to go to the emergency room.”

We ate breakfast and drove down the road to the small, local hospital we’d imagined delivering our baby at some day. We walked through the revolving door of the emergency room where I uttered to the receptionist, “I’m pregnant, and I’m bleeding.” Tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks as we walked the long, empty hall to the last room on the right.

One by one, doctors, nurses, students, administrative assistants and whomever else, it seemed, was bored would peak their heads in, go through a similar list of questions, and leave without giving us any answers. After blood work and an ultrasound, finally our primary doctor returned with the news.

First, the baby was still fine.

Second, my blood levels were still fine as long as the blood loss would slow down – he feared I couldn’t afford to keep losing at the rate I was losing.

Third, I was diagnosed with placenta previa and showed signs of a marginal abruption. Before explaining these terms to us, the doctor warned us not to look them up online upon our departure. The amount of horror stories revolving around these terms is probably enough to scare a baby right out of you.

So what do these things mean? In laymen’s terms, the organ that was meant to nourish and maintain my baby in the womb, the placenta, was instead threatening our pregnancy. It was improperly placed, blocking the birth canal (referred to as placenta previa – a condition 1 in 200 women will experience into the third trimester) and, for some reason, tearing away from the uterine wall (referred to as an abruption), a condition that can deprive the baby of oxygen and nutrients.

In other words, 16 weeks ago, when I was worried about petty things like a pregnancy ruining my body, I had no idea that I would so soon be worried about my body ruining a pregnancy.

And no, the pregnancy wasn’t ruined yet, but its potential to become ruined greatly increased with these diagnoses. We needed the placenta to remain attached – to continue to nourish and maintain our baby for, ideally, 24 more weeks. And we needed it to move as my uterus would grow, or we would be facing a cesarian section for delivery.

But until delivery, one thing was certain, I would be put on bedrest, and I would remain on bedrest until the end.

When I went to bed on April 4, I didn’t know it would be my last full night of sleep for almost an entire year. On April 7, I laid on our living room couch through the night, a continuous drip of tears onto my pillow, my husband sleeping on the floor next to me as I patiently waited for my body to fail me again. And it did. Blood. Again.

We had answers as to what was wrong, but we still had so many questions as to what this would mean. And for those answers, only time could tell.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 16 weeks
Days of blood: 7
Days of bedrest: 3

Doctor’s Appointments: 4
Ultrasounds: 2

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. Again, for those of you relying on Facebook to follow along, thank you for following. However, eventually I will become more selective as to what goes on Facebook as things become increasingly more personal. Feel free to subscribe via email by entering your email address in the Follow Along box to the right of this post. I’d love to share our story with you, but I don’t want to keep sharing it with those who’d rather not hear about it.

P.P.S. I do not have pictures from April 7 or 8. I cannot even begin to imagine what I might have taken a picture of on either of those days, hence the picture of my dog who snuggled me on April 6 after our first big scare.

The First Big Bleed

I’d been awake for less than 30 seconds, yet my nightmare was just beginning. Blood. So much blood that there was no question – things were not ok.

4.6.17

“I was given the worst case scenario by the on-call, emergency nurse. She delicately explained there was a good chance I’d lost the baby.”

It was 2:00 am. Rain on the roof, head on my pillow, blankets over my body, in a matter of seconds, my eyes jolted open into the dark room, my brain recognized horror and I lurched my body into the bathroom. I’d been awake for less than 30 seconds, yet my nightmare was just beginning. Blood. So much blood that there was no question – things were not ok.

What do you do at 2:00 in the morning when your pregnant body gushes blood? How do you tell your husband? How do you reach any sort of peaceful rationale?

The blood seemed to have come like a tsunami – one quick, massive tidal wave that left behind immense devastation.

We decided I’d return to bed and deal with the trauma in the morning when I could reach my doctor, but sleep was no longer an option. I laid there for four hours, mind frantic, eyes wet with tears. My doctor’s office opened at 8:00 am, but at 6:00, I gave up on pretending I’d be able to sleep and willed myself to get ready as if I would go to work that day.

After an hour and a half of mindlessly pacing various rooms of my house and unproductively “getting ready” for work, I called the number for the on-call, emergency nurse. Through teared attempts to swallow the lump in my throat, I explained exactly what had happened and awaited her response. She didn’t need to use words – the tone in her voice could have said it all, but two of her words will forever haunt me – threatened abortion.

The nurse gracefully warned me that our doctor would be referring to our situation as a threatened abortion, that I needed to get an appointment immediately and that there was a good chance I’d lost the baby. Our conversation took us to 8:00 am, when I could call my doctor’s office to make that appointment. By 10:15 am, my husband and I sat in a waiting room, minutes away from learning if our baby was still alive or not.

Our appointment began with the surest way to answer that question – an ultrasound. In a matter of seconds, we let out the breaths we’d held for what felt like minutes. Inside my womb was a baby; squirming, doing somersaults, living.

There was no explanation for the blood. It seemed to have done nothing to our pregnancy other than give it the title “high risk”. My husband and I left that appointment with a nervous reassurance. We parted ways, and went to work as if it were any other Thursday. When we reconvened at home that night, it was as if we’d dodged a bullet. For eight hours, a third of our day, an eternity in the land of worry, we’d wondered at a whole new level if this pregnancy was done.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 15 weeks, 5 days
Days of blood: 5
Days of bedrest: 1

Doctor’s Appointments: 3
Ultrasounds: 1

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. Again, for those of you relying on Facebook to follow along, thank you for following. However, eventually I will become more selective as to what goes on Facebook as things become increasingly more personal. Feel free to subscribe via email by entering your email address in the Follow Along box to the right of this post (if you’re on a computer) or at the bottom of the page (if you’re on the mobile website). I’d love to share our story with you, but I don’t want to keep sharing it with those who’d rather not hear about it.

Book Review – Wishtree

Wishtree takes a modern day, controversial, political nightmare, and speaks love into it through nature. It’s a cute story. It’s educational. It’s thought-provoking if you allow it to be. I have to highly recommend this book, and even to adults, which feels weird, but right. 

First, I know there are some of you following purely for the pregnancy story. You should know that amongst that story, I’m posting other things like book reviews, notes about various things and, eventually, DIY projects when I get around to them. Feel free to delete any posts that do not interest you as they land in your inbox. I won’t be offended. But please comment if you feel you’re getting more than you bargained for, and at that point I will look into selective subscription options for you. Otherwise, enjoy! Thanks for following! 


I am not above reading children’s literature because one, I have a child and two, children’s literature gives you all the warm, happy feelings. Don’t be fooled by the genre, this one is not a picture book. It’s about 200 pages long, but you could read it in one night. If I had to guess on the age it’s intended for, I would say… 10 year olds? I don’t know, I’m not there yet. Ask me when my daughter is 10 if I think it’s appropriate for her reading level. Anyhow, I found Wishtree at a library used book sale for $.50, and let’s be real, that’s basically a steal.

Book 9:
Wishtree
by Katherine Applegate

Genre:
Juvenile Fiction

Published:
September 2017

Synopsis According to Mandi:
Without spoilers, Wishtree is about an old oak tree in the city, Red, who serves as the neighborhood “wishtree”. Once a year, on May 1, a long time tradition begs people to write their wishes on a piece of cloth and tie them to Red’s branches. The warm, happy feelings that come with community traditions like this, however, subside when someone takes to the wishtree with prejudicial actions toward the neighborhood’s new residents, a muslim family. Red, along with her animal residents, work together to make right the wrongs of the hurtful human before it’s too late.

Favorite Quote:

It is a great gift indeed to love who you are.

― Katherine Applegate, Wishtree

Awards (based upon my brief research):
An Amazon Top 20 Children’s Books of 2017
New York Time’s Bestseller

Pages:
224

My Overall Rating:
4 – My gut reaction was to give a 3, demoting it from a 4 simply because it’s “children’s literature”, but I let this post sit for a while because it just didn’t feel right. I’ve always appreciated children’s books that tackle deep, political issues in a way that a child may or may not fully understand at the time of reading (like much of Dr. Seuss’ writing, for example). Wishtree takes a modern day, controversial, political nightmare, and speaks love into it through nature. (Like… I think I’m talking myself into moving this up to a 5 just because of that last sentence.) It’s a cute story. It’s educational. It’s thought-provoking if you allow it to be. I have to highly recommend this book, and even to adults, which feels odd, but oddly right. 

P.S. What wish would you tie to the wishtree?

Pregnancy is Bliss

There in my journal, on January 4, 2017 sits the goal that would become the excruciating theme that would encapsulate so much of 2017. Slow down.

3.26.17

“For a year where I’d hoped to slow down a bit, I didn’t anticipate having to almost get through March before that could happen.”

I was either out of town or in town, but at conferences for work for eight weekends of the first twelve weeks of 2017. Like I do every new year, I’d picked a goal to achieve in 2017 – to slow down. When I picked the goal, I knew we may or may not enter into a pregnancy in 2017, and assumed it would probably be a good thing for my whirlwind of a self to learn how to slow down.

Things I don’t like:

1 – slowing down.

True confession – I was not 100% on board with starting a family yet, because I didn’t want to slow down. I didn’t want to give up my weekends away, my lighthouse-seeking adventures, my vacations, my hiking/biking/cross country skiing outings, my ability to work out or read whenever I wanted, my grocery shopping on the fly… I wanted to still be able to jam pack each week with the perfect concoction of fun, productivity and necessity. I knew having a baby would put a wrench in the cog that was my perfectly planned out whirlwind of a life.

So I needed to learn how to slow down. I needed to learn how to stay home, how to scale back, how to be content… As an achievement-focused individual, what I needed most was to put in writing a goal that would help me learn these things. There in my journal, on January 4, 2017 sits the goal that would become the excruciating theme that would encapsulate so much of 2017. Slow down. The foreshadowing I projected on that day would become downright eerie.

But the foreshadowing I projected on March 26 would become the hug I would wear through much of my pregnancy and beyond:

“Baby-wise, in general, I finally feel like I’m in a good place with it. I’m actually looking forward to being a mommy. I think the mind-shift took place as people began to step up… I’m so, so comforted by the support system that has formed around us. I don’t know that I necessarily thought we would have to face all of these changes alone, but I’m more so just realizing that we can do this. And in the times when we think we can’t, our support system will be there for us. Praise God for the people He’s put in our lives…”

On March 26, we were just days away from an abrupt ending to the honeymoon phase of our pregnancy, yet I already knew the major blessing God had bestowed upon us in our support system – our people, our village. I wore that blessing when I needed the reassurance that slowing down and starting a family was going to be ok, but I would wear it again like it was the old, worn out, comfortable sweater I’d never be able to part with for much of our pregnancy and Oaklee’s first months.

In the stats: 
Gestational Age: 14 weeks, 1 day
Days of blood: 4
Doctor’s Appointments: 1

Sponsor/Join Oaklee's March of Dimes team.

P.S. For those of you relying on Facebook to follow along, thank you for following. However, eventually I will become more selective as to what goes on Facebook as things become increasingly more personal. Feel free to subscribe via email by entering your email address in the Follow Along box to the right of this post. I’d love to share our story with you, but I don’t want to keep sharing it with those who’d rather not hear about it.