To my PAL Moms

What is pregnancy after loss?

I’ve had this marathon analogy in my head. Which is kinda ironic because I’ve never actually run a marathon. But to me pregnancy after loss or “PAL” (there’s an acronym for everything) is like this…

You trained for your first marathon (months and months of training) – midway through the actual race you trip and fall and can’t finish. You’re injured. In pain physically and mentally, so incredibly disappointed that despite all that prep and getting halfway through it, it all went to shit. You’re left thinking…”where did I get wrong?” but the loss goes deeper than not finishing the race. You feel sad, angry, defeated. So many other people finished, why not you? You try to pick up and move on – but the moments surrounding your injury haunt you. You tell yourself you will run a marathon again but now there is something in the back of your mind saying, “but will you ever finish?”, “will I always come up short?”, “what if I get hurt again? I don’t think I can bear more pain.” To say you’re unsure of yourself is an understatement.

Somehow, after some time of healing, you get back on the road. You’re starting from ground zero. Your body is tired. You haven’t run a mile in months, let alone multiple miles. Your body feels slow and uneasy. You try to focus on what’s right in front of you. You try not to think about the “what if I fail” thoughts – but they creep up. It’s literally the mental battle of your life. Physically, you’re impressed that your body can endure so much but mentally, you wonder if you can take anymore. But you do.

Ok, so this is my analogy, you get it. I guess it’s pretty clear…at least to me.

After we lost Charlie, I took some time (6 weeks) off of work – during this time I planted some wildflowers with my Dad. When they finally bloomed, it brought me some much needed joy. I’m planning to get a small wildflower tattoo one day and now you know why.

Being pregnant after we lost Charlie was hard. And actually, getting pregnant again wasn’t easy either. We ended up doing a round of IVF to have Calvin. Which is a whole journey in itself. And super f’n ironic considering we got naturally pregnant with Charlie.

Once we were pregnant, I was “happy” yet terrified. It was a day-to-day thing, sometimes hour to hour. Including telling myself often “you are pregnant right now. Everything is ok.” That was an important mantra.

The scans were the hardest. If you know our story, you know the floor dropped out for us at our anatomy scan. To this day, I do not enjoy ultrasound pics – so if you show me one, I’ll feign delight but secretly coil inside. Our 16-week early anatomy scan with Calvin was the biggest – as this was the point where the doctors said they’d be able to tell if anything was going awry but at least this time it’d be 4 weeks earlier. I could barely speak in those scans. Thankfully, I had the same wonderful tech for each of my scans {her name is Amber}. I remember one scan – she seemed a tad quiet, and I thought “he’s dead, isn’t he?” how’s that for a horrible thought? But once the floor drops out, it’s hard not to think of the worst-case scenario happening again. I was often preparing myself for the worst. When a scan went well, I’d marvel that the drive home felt like such an ordinary day. Just another day after an appointment which was such a stark contrast to that one appointment now almost 2 years ago when a seemingly ordinary day turned extraordinary in a blink.

It was a blessing in disguise for me that I was pregnant during the pandemic – I was able to hide my pregnancy for quite some time. I didn’t need to travel for work. I could lay low. I went to every appointment alone – which I know is actually awful for most pregnant women but for me, I had tunnel vision – I was ok being alone if it meant my baby was ok. I was ok if my MFM (maternal fetal medicine) doctor was there by my side. His name is Achilles and he’s truly an amazing human. The gratitude I have for his care cannot be properly put into words.

Telling a pregnant woman (or partner of a pregnant woman) after loss that “everything will be fine” is hardly a helpful statement. I get it. I get the power of positivity. But the fact is, that’s simply not how it feels after you’ve been through a loss. What is better to say? How about: I am here for you. I am saying prayers for you and your baby daily. Something to acknowledge that it’s not easy but you are there with them regardless of outcome (which is ultimately out of anyone’s control – no matter how many people might think or tell you otherwise).

People often call me strong. On one hand, I appreciate it – I mean, would I rather be called weak? Obviously not. But once you’ve been through a trauma, the “you’re so strong” phrase can be numbing. What choice do I have? One of the hardest things about loss is that the world keeps on spinning while you’re practically frozen in time. The carousel of life keeps turning and you’re literally like, “wait, can we just pause for a minute? Something profoundly awful has happened.” But that’s not life.

This might seem like an oddly joyful pic given the above paragraph – but I often think of this photo with the whole carousel analogy. The summer after we lost Charlie (the summer I should have been in my 3rd trimester heading towards his due date in early Aug), we tried to “make the best” of things. We made a trek to Storyland in NH. Although so much felt so heavy, we had a great time. That’s Nick (my husband) on the carousel – behind him, is my Dad holding Ellie as she sits atop one of the horses. Don’t get me wrong, it was hard to carry on, but we did, and we made some amazing memories that summer that I will always cherish.

I’ve been able to be strong because of the many resources I have access to. You can call this privilege because it is. Good insurance that afforded me therapy, medications to better cope with the trauma. An incredible network of family and friends who have held me up. Financial means to take time off of work after my loss, as well as afford IVF (with some insurance coverage). Believe me, I don’t shortchange myself and my efforts but I can also recognize where I am fortunate based on where I live/who I am. This is why I share my story, why I push for people to share (if they want), because it raises awareness and reduces shame/secrecy around an all-too-common situation. I believe it will help in a bigger way.

I am here on the other side of PAL – with a beautiful baby boy (and another beautiful baby boy forever in my heart). In many ways my heart is stronger and more grateful than it’s ever been, but it is also different, and I still deal with the aftermath of our loss. It is imprinted in me and that’s ok. To my fellow PAL Mom’s, I see you. You’re not alone. We are stronger together.

To share your story…

I was up around 330am this morning…this is not new for me…and I’m not complaining…especially now that I don’t commute into the city for work. I don’t have that “oh no, I have to be up, nicely dressed, and on a train in just a few hours” reaction. Phew. #pajamasallday

I grabbed my phone and began to scroll (not a healthy early morning habit, I know). I saw the post about Chrissy and John and their baby boy, Jack. Like many others, my heart aches for them reading the news. I looked at the raw pictures. I’ve read many comments since then on their story…and some of them are so negative. Are people more negative lately? Are there more trolls active than ever? Or, am I just gravitating to those comments? I don’t know. But because of this I feel compelled to share something today…

I remember vividly the days leading up to our loss – when we learned about our son’s fatal anomalies…I was shocked. I liken it to hell on earth. I felt so isolated. Like an alien. What was a miracle baby story (much like Chrissy and John’s son; conceived naturally, not through IVF) was suddenly taking a terrible, life altering turn. How could this be? What did I do wrong? I really felt like I must have done something terribly wrong for things to turn out this way. It’s an isolating experience. There were nights that all I could do was lay in bed with Nick and cry.

I will always be grateful for a small group of people who showed up for me during this time. People who had walked a similar path. Suddenly, I had a lifeline. Someone who could give me some sense of what to expect.

Did you know your milk comes in (even if you lose a baby before 24 weeks, I was 21)? I had no idea. But I was able to somewhat prepare myself for both the physical and emotion pain of my milk coming in despite not bringing a baby home. Sports bra, ace bandage wrap, and laying in bed for a few days until my milk went away. In some ways, I felt like my body failed me, failed us, but in others, it was as though it was still going through the natural motions. It’s maddening.

Did you know that you have to decide end of life/death care? I know, horrible to think about. You can gasp and say “I couldn’t imagine.” But this is life, it can be so cruel and suddenly you need to make these types of decisions. Decisions you’d rather never think about but sometimes you have to. Thankfully, I had some preparation for this – to be prepared to sign our son’s name on funeral home paperwork, to decide how we wanted to handle his remains. It’s horrible to even type about. But again, this is life. We decided to cremate our son, Charlie. Everything was handled by a very compassionate funeral home. As some of you may know, we waited a few months and then on what would have been Charlie’s due date, we spread his ashes at the beach near our home. There is no right or wrong way to handle these things. Everyone’s situation is unique. But I can tell you, if there is someone you can talk to who gets it, it makes a huge huge difference.

Ellie last summer @ “our beach” {Egypt Beach in Scituate}

Why am I sharing all this? Because, I was hurt by the fact that Chrissy and her husband have received such negativity for sharing these raw moments. This type of thing happens every day. It’s awful. But to me, it’s important to talk about these things so others can feel less alone. I hope all the love and support that exists out there for them is all they feel right now. They deserve only compassion. As a fellow “loss parent,” I thank them for their strength and willingness to share their story. I will say a prayer for them and their precious son, Jack.

Link to some resources:

  • I learned of this organization earlier this year– I didn’t know about it when we went through our loss – but want to share with others.
  • Another local support group resource:
  • I also found Facebook groups and individuals on Instagram who have been such a support; you can search certain keywords/hashtags such as: infantloss, tfmr, pregnancyloss, stillbirth, miscarriage etc.

from the highest highs to the lowest lows

I told myself we would share the joy…which we did when we quite miraculously got pregnant for the third time (our first was an ectopic) when Ellie Sue was only five months old. It was surreal. Completely unplanned and totally unexpected. We were so excited. We waited the “standard window” before we went public. We made it way past the 12 week mark after all. {insert massive shoulder shrug here…boy, do I feel naive. I’ve learned that life has a way of doing that to you sometimes}

But now I feel like I need to share the other side of it…

We lost our unborn baby boy (who we named Charles Francis) at 21 weeks. I refer to the experience as…when the floor dropped out from under us. Because it truly did. We went in for our routine 20 week anatomy scan and the next thing we know we are sitting with the doctor, referred to Children’s Hospital, and from there it only got worse.

Instead of getting rid of the vases that came with the flower arrangements we got from family and friends – I decided to plant some wildflower seeds in them and place them by the creek in our backyard. I don’t know if they’ll grow but I’ll be sure to post an update pic if they do. It was also a nice project to do at the time.

This post is not to go through ‘what happened’ because what I’d rather do than re-live that piece* is to share some tools for how we are healing, trying to heal…


To hopefully help another couple who may find themselves in a similar place. Be it an early, late term, or stillbirth loss…those who suffer are not alone.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this roller coaster of “a journey to family” – it is that connecting and sharing with others makes us all feel less alone and helps with healing.

1 in 4 pregnancies result in miscarriage. Although, less than 1% result in a late term loss such as ours (so please, let this be a comfort to you who are worried. It is very unlikely to happen).

Dealing with a pregnancy loss literally involves so many emotions. Sadness, guilt, anger, disbelief, anxiety, fear, jealousy etc. all of them. I’ve told myself many times to “let myself feel my feelings.” Sounds cheesy but allowing myself to process is the only way. As our nightmare unfolded, I spent nights crying, hysterically. I had hours of pure distress…it all f&cking sucked but it has helped to have people who have reminded me all of this is ok and normal to feel. And ohh I felt it. I still do.

A few tools that have helped me – I am sharing in hopes they could help someone else.

A diverse support “team”:

  • Firstly and maybe the most obvious, a good, supportive medical team. Good is an understatement, I couldn’t think of another word. We are lucky enough to be in one of the best cities for medical care in the world. As unlucky and bitter as my heart felt during the heat of our loss and trauma, I reminded myself we are lucky to have had ready access to such incredible and compassionate medical care (not to mention insurance – which is seriously a whole topic within itself. Having the means to actually afford good care knowing how staggering our healthcare costs are, again we are grateful to have)
  • A therapist/psychologist – it is critical to me to have access to a professional I can talk to help process and heal. I am lucky to have someone I’ve known for years but ask your OB for a referral and someone who specializes in women/couples dealing with pregnancy loss. They will give you one.
  • A psychiatrist – which is someone who can prescribe medicine. There is no shame pursuing additional help if you feel you need it.
  • Friends and family – if people offer support (meals, dog walks, to run errands) do not hesitate to say ok. I know it’s difficult to accept help. But some of our lightest moments have been eating a meal from a friend. Not only does it remove the burden of cooking during such an emotionally and physically draining time, it also brings great comfort beyond just something to eat. Hard to put into words.
  • Someone(s) who can relate – be it in person or virtual. One of the harder things I had to do (believe it or not) was ‘unfollowing’ my August 2019 Babies Facebook group. Up until then it was a little outlet to connect with mothers from all over the world who had a baby due the same month. Suddenly, I didn’t belong and it’s not that anyone obviously said that – I just couldn’t be there anymore. So I left. It was hard. I wondered if anyone noticed but I couldn’t see anymore of those pregnancy posts – my focus was no longer there. So I guess my advice is, unfollow anything that is causing you pain. Maybe it’s a friend who recently announced a pregnancy on social media or a group you were part of; know that maybe one day you’ll reconnect but for now it doesn’t serve you. I’ve learned there are many online support groups out there for grieving parents. From forums to private Facebook groups, I combed through many and I am grateful those types of communities exist. You can find them and they can help.

Other resources that have helped:

  • A journal – one night my mind was racing with what I knew were irrational thoughts. The next day I had Nick pick up a notebook for me at CVS. The next night, back in a dark place (the nights are the worst) I got it out and just wrote – all my thoughts and feelings – and told myself maybe one day I’ll burn this f&kin thing but right now I’m going to scribble down all these repetitive, terrible thoughts so they fall out of my brain
  • I also dusted off this daily planner/journal called The Desire Map daily planner by Danielle Laporte. Each morning I fill out a page which includes writing down what I’m grateful for. It is a positive ritual to start my day. I recommend this journal regardless if you’re going through a difficult time or not. It is wonderful.
  • A book or something to turn to for support during quieter moments (aka a non-electronic). Reading was one of the things I leaned on in the earlier days. As an avid TV watcher, TV did not help me, I felt like I just stared at the screen. Even the real housewives couldn’t do it for me (and that’s says a lot). But a good book, it took me in and brought me peace and more productive thoughts. Below are a few I recommend.
  • Yoga and general movement – at first it was hard to be motivated to do anything. getting out of bed was difficult. But once I was medically cleared, I pushed myself to get up and move outside my house, even if for just 15/20 minutes.

How am I feeling today? It depends on the day and sometimes the hour. I’ve learned that grief is like that. Unpredictable. I am learning to carry multiple feelings around this experience – including gratitude (because there was so much good I experienced during this time, I cannot deny it) as well as a deep sadness, that I know might never completely leave me. Sometimes I can’t believe this all happened but I know we will move forward. We have vowed to honor Charlie by being a stronger family and remembering him in peace. We want to set a good example for Ellie –  that tragic things happen and we want her to know that it’s ok to be sad (and angry etc.) but that we can also carry on with love and light in our hearts. We will do it for Charlie and thank him for that gift. Even though he’s not with us physically – he’s here and we’re a better, stronger family because of him.

I want to thank everyone who reached out to us, be it a text, Facebook message, card, flowers, or any of the other gesture of sympathy and support that were shared with us. We are so grateful for all the support we received and continue to receive. I don’t think I could say thank you enough.

In yogi fashion, I’ll end with a Rumi quote: “the wound is the place where the light enters you.”  And I believe that now more than ever.

*one caveat being, if you or someone you know finds themselves in this situation, you can reach out to me directly and I will share whatever I can to help. It does help to talk with someone who has been through it.

As maternity leave comes to a close…

I was just looking at an old email from work. back in May, I wrote:

“out on maternity leave starting Jun 8th – returning Oct 1st.”

how the heck is it almost Oct 1st?

It feels like yesterday but then again a lifetime ago that I wrote that message. It’s hard to believe I’m already returning to work on Monday.

I know it’s easy to say when you’re on the “other side of the storm” but time has passed at a rapid pace.

It feels like yesterday that I cried for baby Ellie…when she was just a hope in my mind. It feels like yesterday that was I laughing about my swollen pregnancy feet. Like yesterday that I told myself “wow, we have the whole summer together!”

I savored the mornings we were able to stay in bed together. I’d nurse her…catch up on some reality TV…and drink my coffee. Now here we are…Ellie is at daycare and I’m sitting at our local coffee shop trying to pass some time.

I realize that I’m lucky that I have a “buffer” week during which Ellie will be at daycare and I haven’t started back at work yet. {If you can swing this type of arrangement, I highly recommend it.}

This morning we were out the door on time, with a bag full of baby goods, a list of “instructions,” and NO breast milk. Oops. So, yea, I had to drop Ellie off and then go back with the milk. Thankfully, our daycare is literally a mile from our house.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this experience it’s the need to seek gratitude every day. My new saying is “ever grateful.” {Even got a bracelet to remind me of this from an awesome company called MyIntent. See below} It probably sounds cheesy, but it’s been the way that I’ve re-framed things for myself when I’m feeling down or ruminating on something that in the big scheme isn’t a big deal.


I’ve let myself cry it out a bit that my baby is going to be in the arms of someone else for almost 10 hours a day for 5 days a week. Feels unnatural. But then I realize I am grateful to have found an amazing person to care for Ellie. And that I am actually excited to return to work and be with some of my favorite people there.

That I’m lucky we live in a beachside town and I was able to enjoy 4 months of maternity leave by the beach. To have spent some quality time with my Dad. He had open heart surgery last Nov, so it’s been particularly special to have that quality time after life reminded us last Fall how quickly things can change.


there she is – a lil piece of my heart.

It still boggles my mind that we are here…with a baby…almost 4 months old! As there was a time I wasn’t sure we’d ever have our own baby. I’ve heard that even if things work out with your infertility journey it’s never really a skin or a reality you totally shed. My heart always hurts extra hard for the couples I know that are struggling. I can’t tell you how many conversations I had this summer with couples or women who have been through (or are going through) a similar journey. It has connected/re-connected me to more people than I’d ever have expected. I am grateful for that. And I’m still always there if someone wants to talk about their journey or just needs a shoulder to cry on.

So…as I approach my return to work on Monday. I can say…I’m anxious as heck. I feel guilty for stopping nursing, for leaving my baby, for actually wanting to go back to work. But I am more than anything grateful for this full experience. The good and the bad – because as a whole it’s been beautiful.

now just a little Rumi quote to end it – – it’s the yogi in me, what can I say…

“Yesterday is gone and its tale told. Today new seeds are growing”

Ellie’s birth story

I wanted to share Ellie’s birth story before I completely forget. I’ve already blacked out some of it – which I’ve heard is nature’s way of getting you to be ok with doing it all over again.

Towards the end of my pregnancy I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. My blood pressure was moderately high (it had never been high before or earlier in my pregnancy), I had protein in my urine, and my leg/foot swelling was pretty severe. As much as this condition was frustrating/uncomfortable and can lead to serious complications…I thankfully wasn’t in a lot of pain. I ended up working the last three weeks of my pregnancy from home to keep my blood pressure down. There was a point when this bummed me out a lot but… 1) I was lucky to have the flexibility to work from home and 2) I needed to let go of the unrealistic expectation of working up until my due date like other women I know. It just wasn’t in the cards for me.

This was one of the last and only pictures I have of myself “super” pregnant. Admittedly, we took quite a few to get one that I was comfortable with. It was worth it though because we want to be able to show Ellie one day!

there they are! my super swollen cankles and feet! Those lines are from the only pair of slip on sandals I was able to wear towards the end of my pregnancy! 

Because of the preeclampsia I was closely monitored towards the end and they typically induce you around the 37 week mark vs. let you go with it for too long. My doc had me induced at 38 weeks and a couple days. We both felt better knowing I had passed the 37 week mark which is considered full term these days.

I went into Beth Israel on a Wednesday night. I was given cervidil around 11pm. Then it was a waiting game and the nurses came by periodically to check on me. I was given 2 doses. At 3am Thursday morning my water broke. I was wide awake and remember feeling a weird pop and a rush of fluid. Nick was sound asleep. It was then that I realized my husband can fall sound asleep anywhere at the drop of a dime. I paged the nurses and they came right in.

I had this impression that things would speed up after this point. Not really! My cervix took a few more hours to totally efface. During this time, I was having bad cramping and opted for a narcotic (I think it was fentanyl) to help with the pain. I was too early for the epidural and the medicine they gave me didn’t take away the pain it just made me feel woozy – but I was able to calm down a bit and nod off. Up until then I was just sitting up watching the clock and wanting to punch Nick for snoring.

Once I started dilating they moved us to a delivery room. At this point, I was progressing pretty well. I honestly can’t remember exact timing but once I hit 2 centimeters, I asked for the epidural. It was honestly the unknown of “will this pain get worse??” that convinced me I needed the epidural right then. I was nervous getting the epidural would hurt but it wasn’t that bad at all. I was nervous it would totally numb me, but I could still feel my toes which I was happy about and it completely took away the severe cramping that is contractions.

It wasn’t until Thu night that it was actually time to push. Since you are able to administer the epidural dosing to yourself (although they regulate it to a button press every 20 mins or so) I was fully numb below the waist except for my toes. In hindsight I wish I didn’t let myself get that numb as I couldn’t feel if my pushing was actually “working”/focused on the right area! The nurses kept telling me to push like I was trying to poop. I had a ridiculous fear of pooping while pushing. It was honestly distracting because I kept thinking I pooped myself in front of everyone. In hindsight, this was a complete waste of energy. Don’t do what I did and preoccupy your mind with a silly worry like this. Just remember, the nurses have seen it all!

I had also told the nurses that Nick was going to hold a leg while pushing but he’d stay up near my shoulders. Also, in hindsight, this is hilarious because I didn’t want him to see “everything” and believe me when I say he saw IT ALL by the end of this production. There was no way around it. Just let it go. Any and all modesty goes out the window when you’re trying to get that baby out!

So there I was pushing for hours and every so often a doctor or resident would come by to check if Ellie was progressing. At first things were looking good. Then, boom, she was right at the birth canal. I kept pushing for hours and she did not budge. I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. At one point, the doctor wanted me to push ‘one more hour’ and I asked for a short break because I felt so weak. I cried a bit because I was feeling discouraged.

It was around 1am Friday morning that I was totally zapped. There was talk of forceps or the vacuum – both of which freaked me out. I started to feel really frustrated because she literally wasn’t moving, and I felt like all my effort was useless. I asked to speak to the doctor and told myself to stay calm and avoid getting testy. I looked at the doctor and just asked her – based on her professional opinion, what should I do? She’s not moving. If she were moving, if even a tiny bit, I’d keep pushing, but this was getting to be too much. This is when she finally looked at me and said a c-section was my best option. That’s all I needed to hear. Ellie’s head was sideways, and she wasn’t coming out the natural way.

They needed to prep the OR and during this time both Nick and I passed out cold. I woke up around 2am being wheeled into the OR. I was delirious. For those who’ve been in an OR, it’s a freaky place. So bright and white!

They lay you out on the table and have your arms spread at your sides. Thankfully, they don’t strap them down because I would have lost it. Nick wasn’t in the room yet and because I was so tired and anxious – I started to feel really panicked. I had a moment or two where I thought I was going to have a panic attack but tried my best to control my breathing. The anesthesiologist administered the medicine through my epidural line and I was freaked out I’d lose total feeling in my lower body. Don’t get me wrong, you want to be numb for this surgery! The whole idea of being cut open on table while awake is unnerving. But I was glad that I could still feel my toes after the meds set in. And finally, Nick entered the room and I told myself “if anything went wrong he could carry me out.” Ha!

It felt like the actual c-section was pretty long. Ellie was stuck down there, and Nick said it was kind of crazy how my body rocked back and forth while they tried to dislodge her. I just laid there shaking and teeth chattering profusely. Apparently, this is a common side effect though.

Finally, she was out. At 2:53am on Friday, June 8th – almost 24 hours from the time my water broke, we heard a loud screech. It was such a relief to hear that sound. I remember thinking she sounded like a cat. They had Nick stand up to see her. And lucky him he also got to see my insides on the table (gross!) because they hadn’t put me back together yet. Like I said earlier, by the end of this he saw EVERYTHING.

There we are. The anesthesiologist offered to take a pic – in my mind I thought ‘hell no! I’m a mess!’ But thankfully I agreed. I expected to be a whiteish green in these pics based on how anxious and exhausted I felt…but I’m glad I didn’t let those thoughts prevent me from getting such a perfect picture. The first moments our little family was finally together. ♥️



There she is! Eleanor Susan Moore…ESM…better known as: Ellie Sue

They had Nick get up and go over to the station where they clean her up, weigh her, and cut the umbilical cord. It was weird to know she was “here” but I had to wait what felt like at least 5-10 minutes to actually meet/see her. I wasn’t all starry-eyed waiting for her. I was still shaking and wanted to just get the hell out of the OR. When they finally brought her over – I couldn’t believe how small and cute she was! And thank god – healthy.

Once they put me back together and transferred me to a gurney – the nurse held her out and asked if I wanted to hold her. I started to feel sick and the last thing I wanted was to hold her and get sick. So, there I was – barfing up a storm while everyone stood around me. I was finally able to hold her in the recovery area. All was right in the world and she was truly the most beautiful little thing I’d ever seen.

My recovery experience at Beth Israel was really positive. I know how lucky we are to have a healthy baby despite a somewhat tricky labor and delivery. I am grateful that I gave birth at BI.

heading home! some would say we overpacked but I was happy with everything we brought. As we got in the elevator to leave the nurse said…”see you next year!!” haha! I don’t think so!

What also helped was I didn’t go in with a strict birth plan. I had filled out this questionnaire (designed by Earth Mama Organics) that gave me a good sense of some considerations but I had decided long ago there was no use to go in with a plan because like many things, I knew I wouldn’t have control over this situation. I was somewhat upset I ended up with a c-section, but it wasn’t as bad because I went in telling myself “you just don’t know what will happen” and in the back of my mind a c-section was always a possibility. Especially because I was induced. The probability of a c section is higher when you are induced.

My advice would be – let go of any master plans or big expectations. Also, no two birth experiences are the same so don’t get too caught up on other people’s stories. It was really only so helpful to read / hear other people’s stories. Some people freaked me out while others made it seem so easy.

And that’s Ellie’s birth story. I can’t believe it’s been 7 week since then. If you have any questions – ask me in the message section. I’m happy to share more content on this/related topics! fitness during pregnancy? c-section recovery? what to pack in your hospital bag? you name it!