Many Things All At Once

In the age of social media and insta-moms I think it’s important to remember we are all many things at once.

This means that yes, we can post authentic pictures of our children- adorable, happy, smiling- and love them with every fiber of our being. This also means that yes, we can whisper “what the f*ck” under our breath as our toddler has a twenty minute meltdown over not opening the front door herself (you might guess I speak from personal experience.😛)

This is just a friendly reminder that because a person’s Instagram profile or Facebook page don’t include the hard moments does not mean they aren’t happening.

“Your kids are so happy!” That’s true! But they are also human, and obviously have their struggles. I choose to write about my struggles because I don’t ever want anyone to feel alone or isolated, especially in parenthood. We are all in this together!

We are amazing multilayered and complicated human beings. We are having a human experience which is sometimes joyful sometimes painful and most times a messy mix of joy and pain. I never felt that more than when I became a mom. Just because a person’s life appears one way on their social media feeds does not mean that’s how it is day to day.

I think you know this already but just thought I’d remind you. 💜

Ryan John’s Birth Story

The birth of my son Ryan John was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. The chaos of settling into life with three year old and newborn baby have made it hard to process it all, but I’d like to try my best to put it down in words.

My daughter was a scheduled c-section due to her breech position. That birth was not what I had originally hoped for but ended up being an absolutely beautiful experience. I heard my daughter’s cry before I saw her, and as my husband carried her over to me. We touched foreheads and she immediately stopped crying. In that moment I felt the connection that only a mother and child can have, and my heart forever expanded.

For my second birth, I wasn’t sure if I’d schedule a repeat c-section or if I’d attempt a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Once I became pregnant and gathered all of the facts and opinions, I decided I’d try for the VBAC. I wanted to try for the experience of it, but also because I really hoped to avoid the c-section recovery. It was very difficult the first time around and I hoped not to have to go through it again with a three year old at home.

I did what I could to optimize my chances of having a vaginal delivery. To encourage optimal fetal position I went to a chiropractor weekly in my last trimester, did yoga every evening, and was conscious of my posture. (Thank you Prenatal Yoga Center for teaching me about all these techniques!) When it became evident he was in an ideal head down position near the end of my pregnancy I knew we had a chance.

I had a supportive practice of doctors who felt it wasn’t safe for me to be induced after having a previous caesarean, but I could go up to ten days past my due date. So, I hoped and prayed I’d go into labor on my own. Having that ten day cushion sure helped ease my mind.

By forty weeks pregnant I was so ready! I had convinced myself baby would be born in March and when my due date 3/30 came and went it looked like that wasn’t happening. My husband Steve and I joked about how funny it would be to have an April Fool’s Baby.

At forty weeks and a day I took my daughter to a birthday party and walked a good distance to get there. Once we got home I told my husband I had to lay down. I was having severe cramping. I wasn’t convinced this was the start of labor though because I had had cramping for almost a week so I didn’t get my hopes up.

That evening I went to go to sleep and as soon as I laid down I had a contraction. Now this wasn’t the early contraction I had heard about. It was strong, and full body. I couldn’t ignore it or go back to sleep.

I told my husband Steve I was going to go in the living room and for him to go to sleep. I figured it would be a while.  I put on Good Will Hunting, a favorite and familiar movie for me, and began keeping track of my contractions. Like clockwork they came every five minutes. After an hour of this I decided to call my doctor. I had a contraction over the phone and she said I seemed very uncomfortable and she recommended if I wanted an epidural I should come in about an hour.

At this point I woke up Steve and told him I was in labor. I told him I was not in a rush to get to the hospital as I hoped to labor as long as possible at home.

We agreed I should call my dad and step mom to let them know as they were planning to come and stay with Emmy whenever I went into labor. I gave my dad a call and it went straight to voicemail which was strange. I tried again. It rang but there was no answer. I wasn’t worried because I felt like we had time. 

By midnight I had called and texted both my dad and stepmom and wasn’t getting an answer. They did not have service on their phones so we had to figure out what to do.

In the meantime, I was getting strong contractions every five minutes. I decided I’d call up our babysitter Cordelia who lives on our block and see if she could come over and stay until my dad and stepmom were able to come.

I called Cordelia who answered on the second ring. “I’m so sorry to wake you. I’m in labor and my dad isn’t answering his phone.” Without hesitation she said, “I’ll be there in two minutes.” And, that she did!

Steve was calling his parents in NJ to see if they could come. Luckily they woke up and headed over. I was vaguely aware of what was happening but tried to remain focused on my labor. I surrendered to the fact that our plan for Emmy was going to be different than we talked about and that was okay. Steve was on top of it, I had to take care of myself and baby boy.

I decided I didn’t want to go to the hospital yet, and Cordelia stepped up and acted like a doula. It was amazing! She began timing my contractions, giving me a shoulder rub, and massaging my feet. It was so wonderful to have that feminine support at this time and I was able to stay calm and present with her help. She was able to tend to me while Steve tended to the logistics of getting us to the hospital and care for Emmy.

Around 1:45am my mother in law and father in law arrived at our apartment. At this point I had no sense of time and was just rolling with each contraction. I was able to breathe through them but had to pause, stand up and bend over with my hands on a table or on the wall each time a surge came. I remember them walking through the door and having a contraction as they came in. I thought I’d stay home a bit longer, but when I went to the bathroom there was some blood and I got a strong contraction so I told Steve I wanted to go to the hospital.

At 2:00am we took an Uber to the hospital and I had a few contractions during the ride. When the driver dropped us off he said, “Have a nice night!” and I laughed. I wondered if he realized we were about to have a baby!

We signed some forms and checked in, and I was admitted to triage where they would monitor me for an hour. This was tough because I had to lay flat in a bed throughout the contractions and I really wanted to be standing!

The night before we had watched the documentary Free Solo about a professional rock climber working towards doing the first free solo climb of El Capitan. I remember through each contraction I was imagining myself climbing a mountain as the pain was increasing. I’d tell myself once I reached the peek it would get better. I used deep breathing and visualization (and lots of squeezing of Steve’s hand!) to get through these contractions.

A doctor came to check on me and said I was contracting regularly and was 100% effaced but only two centimeters dilated. She asked if I wanted to walk around a bit and I said yes.

The next thing I knew, a nurse came and told us they had a delivery room for us. Great! So she set us up in there and said they wanted to just monitor me and baby for 20 minutes to be sure we were good and then I was free to walk.

I asked Steve to put on a playlist I had made for labor. I had been adding songs and listening to it throughout my pregnancy when I practiced yoga at night. I also asked him to hand me my Gentle Baby essential oil for me to rub on my wrists. I was finding that music and scents were helping me get some relief through my discomfort and pain.

At around 4:00am while being monitored for 20 minutes the contractions began to get stronger. The nurse informed me that there was one point when baby’s heart rate had dropped a bit so they wanted to monitor me for 20 more minutes. It was nothing to worry about, they just wanted to be safe.

Then, I felt something start to gush out and told the nurse I thought my water broke. Contractions were getting stronger and stronger. I could no longer see use visualization and breath to get through the contractions. Instead, I had to let out some vocalizations to get through each one. I also continued to reach out to Steve and he held my hand through each contraction. I’m not sure how hard I was squeezing but it was probably pretty hard! The next time the nurse came I told her I wanted the epidural.

A doctor checked me and said my water had indeed broken and I was now 3cm dilated. The nurse said progressing a centimeter in one hour was great. I was glad for the encouragement.

At 5:30am the anesthesiologist came and administered the epidural, pausing a few times while I had contractions. The nurse was so helpful telling me I was doing great and helping me breathe through them.

I remember at this point Bon Iver’s “Skinny Love” was playing and she said “This is a great song.” “It is!” I said. I was amazed that for a split second music took me outside of my pain.

After the epidural kicked in all I can say is I felt like I was in heaven. Suddenly I was feeling relief from the 7 hours of contractions I had been enduring. I couldn’t feel any pain, but could still feel my legs well enough to shift side to side. I asked for an extra pillow to put between my knees to keep my pelvis open. The nurse could only provide some extra sheets but I rolled them up and that did the job.

I think of this next part of my labor as the blissful, fun part! Once the epidural was kicked in Steve and I rested. He took a mini snooze and then went out to get coffee, and I texted with the grandparents caring for Emmy. My sister in law had been texting me every day the past few weeks saying “39 weeks!” or “39 weeks 6 days!” I got a text from her saying “40 weeks 2 days!” and I texted back a picture of smiling in the hospital bed.

At 7am the doctors switched shifts and I was thrilled to see my favorite doctor come in to greet me. She asked me to catch her up on what had happened that morning as she had came to check on me right away. We both agreed that since labor had begun to slow down once I got the epidural (this was to be expected) that it was a good idea to get Pitocin.

Once I got the Pitocin labor picked up again, and I didn’t feel one bit of pain. Because my water had broke, the doctor didn’t want to do an internal check until four hours later to reduce the risk of any infection.

For a moment, I felt my calm thoughts drift into panic. What if getting the epidural was a huge mistake? What if I had screwed myself over? What if the Pitocin led into the cascade of interventions I was always hearing about and I’d end up with an emergency c-section?


I continued to listen to my music, calmed my mind with the only phrase that kept coming to me “Praise God.” Now let me mention here, I absolutely believe in a greater power that many call God, but saying “Praise God” is not something I think I’ve ever done. It’s what I heard then though, and that mantra comforted me so greatly I flowed with it.

When the doctor came back to check me around 11am I prayed that I’d be at least five centimeters dilated. When she said, “You’re 8 centimeters” I was elated!

“Really??” I gasped. “I was hoping for just 5!” She told me she was too and we were both pleasantly surprised.“I think you’re going to be able to push in about two hours.” She said. Steve and I looked at each other and just smiled. Wow! We were going to meet our baby boy so soon!

“Pushing is like running a marathon”, she said, “So for the next two hours I want you to just try to sleep and rest.

And that’s what we did. At this point I put away my phone and knew I wasn’t going to check it anymore. I went totally inside myself and listened to the calming familiar music that continued to play. I breathed in the smell of the Gentle Baby essential oil. I rested.

It felt like I drifted into this alternative peaceful place that was in between being awake and asleep. I felt total peace. I saw a vision of this adorable baby boy with a little curl in the back of his head. I breathed slowly. I smiled a lot.

I also was very conscious of continuing to shift and move from side to side. I circled my hips often to encourage baby to keep moving down. I also pressed that epidural button whenever I could!

About two hours later I told Steve to change the playlist to the upbeat “Baby Boy” one to inspire me for pushing! Our April Fools baby was coming soon. We also took out the Orange oil I had brought and each put some on our wrists. It smelled so good and was immediately invigorating.

When doctor came to check me she said, “It smells good in here. What is that?” We told her we had both just put some Orange oil. She laughed and said that was great because it rarely smelled good in that room!

Then she checked me and said “Baby is really low and you’re ready to push!”

At this point I wasn’t pressing the epidural button anymore so was feeling just enough to be able to feel baby was low, and to be able to feel when contractions were coming, but I was in zero pain. It was absolutely incredible.

Only my doctor, a nurse and Steve were in the room with me as I began to push. About ten minutes into pushing my doctor told the nurse to call the pediatrician on duty because it looked like baby was going to be born any minute! Five minutes later Ryan John was born and took his first breath. I remember seeing his tiny toes and thinking “there they are!” The song “Kodachrome” by Simon & Garfunkel was playing as he entered the world.

They placed him on my belly- he couldn’t quite reach my chest yet because the cord was so short! Steve and I marveled at this because Emmy had also had a super short cord which is why we think she couldn’t turn around in my womb. The doctor said, “I guess your babies just want to stay close to mama!” Once I delivered the placenta and the cord was cut, Ryan was finally on my chest. He stopped crying as I kissed his face over and over.

We remained in the delivery room for a while after, bonding with Ryan and informing family he had been born.

I cried tears of joy with him on my chest. I thought about the babies I had lost before him. I thought of how we had accomplished this VBAC together. I thought of how much love I had inside of me and how all these things had led me to him. I held him and was in bliss. Our baby boy had arrived and the experience better than I had ever dared myself to imagine. Now it was time to get to know him.

The Minutia of Motherhood

On a typical day I wake up around 6am. I meditate for twenty minutes, shower, get dressed, unload the dishwasher while eating my breakfast, pack up Emmy’s snacks, water bottle and cup of milk for school. I do all the things I need to do so that when she wakes up I can be there when she opens her door and says, “Mama, I waited for the light to turn green!”

You see Emmy has a special clock set for 7am. At this time it turns green signaling it’s time for her to get out of bed. That’s when our day together begins.

Emmy then picks out a pair of undies so she can change out of her night time pull up. I grab her Minnie Mouse cup full of milk and my coffee, and we head to the couch. Some mornings she’s grumpy and whiny, others she’s talkative and chatty, others she’s just quiet. Some mornings she protests changing out of her pull up. Others she does her famous joke.  Mimicking a line from a Mickey Mouse Christmas movie she holds onto her weighted pull up and says, “If I eat any more turkey, I’m gonna need new clothes!” We laugh and oftentimes daddy is there laughing too. She then happily changes into her big girl undies.

Always, always, we snuggle up together and she plays with my hair as she drinks her milk from her Minnie Mouse cup.

It’s not lost on me that she used to play with my hair as she nursed, and then as she bottle fed. Drinking milk and playing with mommy’s hair has been a consistent comfort for her whole life so far. As much as it sometimes tries my patience when I’m not in the mood for my hair to be tousled and pulled, I know it’s a precious ritual that I’ll one day look back on and miss. So, it continues on, day after day.

Some days we sit in silence snuggling together after she finishes her milk. Other days daddy is there too chatting with her. Most days “Momeo” (Romeo) our Rhodesian Ridgeback comes wandering out, plants himself in the same spot and stares, expecting his first scoop of food.

We often put on the TV or she asks for her “scream” (iPad) and she quietly enters the day. I wander away and continue doing all the things I need to do to keep our lives running smoothly. Feed the dog, pack up the stroller, make her breakfast, walk the dog. Oh, and somewhere in this all I take my first sip of coffee- always magical.

Every day, within all the minutia and chores, I am there- steady and consistent. I am the mama I always wanted to be.

I couldn’t sleep tonight because I began thinking that there may be a morning soon where mommy is at the hospital having baby brother, and I’m not there for the morning ritual. As much as I know that it’s okay- as much as I know she will be totally fine in the care of her loving grandparents- my heart hurts knowing I won’t be there with my hair as she drinks her milk.

And it’s more than that. It’s knowing so much won’t be the same once baby brother arrives. It just can’t be. So, I cry thinking of all the shifts about to occur. I cry because endings are hard no matter how beautiful the next beginning will be.

As a mom there are so many details. There is so much to be done. There are so many intricacies that make up my day. All of these things are mostly silent and unseen, but all are molded and centered around this one precious girl. Soon my attention will be divided into the details of two, and I wonder how that can be.

Tonight I mourn the loss of our endless time alone together. Our quiet and calm Minnie Mouse Cup mornings will soon take a shift as I recover from birth and nurse a new life.

While I mourn I also feel hopeful. Although our mornings may become very messy and chaotic for a while, eventually we will land at a new normal. We will find a new way to start the day that involves the two souls daddy and I love and dedicate ourselves to.

There will be soon new version of our Minnie Mouse cup mornings that involves the endless details that mothering two children brings, and at that point my heart will have multiplied in size and what is more beautiful than that?





To My Girl

To my girl,

Soon you’ll be a big sister. Not the only kid in the house anymore. Soon you’ll see lots of changes in your life. My heart aches knowing it won’t just be us anymore, but my heart also tingles knowing you’ll have a buddy and lifelong companion.


I want you to know you’ll always be my sunshine. You’ll always be the one who taught me how to be a mama. I suspect you’ll be good at this big sister thing. You’re a leader. You know what you want and aren’t afraid to express that. You’ve humbled me to my core and you’ve shown me beautiful parts of myself I didn’t know were even there. Thank you for teaching me new things every day, and for reminding me of how this life is one big miracle. I’ll love you forever and ever with every part of my heart.




Challenges and Beauty

It’s a challenging time.

I’m 37 weeks pregnant with lots emotions and physical pains. Meanwhile I’m caring for a three year with all of her emotions and processing about getting a new addition to our family. My husband’s working hard to support our family while also offering lots of support at home. Our dog Romeo seems to be responding to all the changes too! He’s been more destructive when we’re out so I’ve had to keep him in my bedroom when we leave.

We are all doing our best, but it’s hard!

I’m not looking for sympathy or advice. I just think people don’t talk about these hardships enough, which why I am sharing now.

Honestly, sometimes my best doesn’t look so great. Like yesterday when I was losing my patience trying to get Emmy and me out the door. I was surprised when Emmy responded to me by talking me through taking a balloon breath, something I do with her when she’s feeling big emotions.

“Mama, are you frustrated?” Emmy asked me.

“Yes I am. I’m very frustrated. I just want you to get on your coat and shoes so we can leave.” I told her.

“Don’t worry, mama. You just need to calm your body. Fill up your balloon. What color is it?”

I’m kind of taken aback. “Hm. It’s purple.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a purple balloon but here’s a red one.” She grabs a pretend balloon and places her hands on my belly. We take a deep breath together and let it out slowly like a balloon slowly releasing air.

“Thank you Emmy. I feel better now.” I really do actually.

We hug for a while. I tell her thank you. Then we get on her shoes and coat and are out the door.

There are lots and lots of chaotic moments. Loud moments. Frustrating ones. Ones I’m not proud of. Mixed messily within them are moments like this one. Where my three year old circles back and teaches me what I’m forgetting. And it’s during those moments that I remember again that it’s all worth it. It’s all beautiful. It’s motherhood.

Mom-ing 36 Weeks Pregnant

I am almost 36 weeks pregnant with my second baby and am home full time with my intelligent, persistent, vivacious, no-nonsense three year old, Emmy. I’ve never been so tired in my life.

Today I asked the babysitter to come over for a couple hours so I could lay down, and I passed out within 5 minutes. Now the sitter magically got Emmy to take a nap (something I have not done in over two weeks) and I find myself with a moment to myself. I haven’t written in a while and told myself I’m going to be interrupted shortly so why even bother? But then I remembered, real life is not perfect, manufactured and filtered like so many social media pages. Real life is messy and many things all at the same time. So I write, freely, without editing and cutting and pasting. I write what I feel.

I need to remind myself daily it’s okay to feel exactly what I’m feeling. I can be as tired as I’ve ever been and be as grateful as I’ve ever been. I can love my daughter so much that it hurts, and I can get so angry at her that I want to punch a wall. I can be excited to meet my baby boy and be terrified at the thought of raising a newborn and a toddler. I can be proud of what my body can do and also be put-off by the massiveness of my belly and the roundness of my current double chin. I can be happy and sad and angry and fulfilled and lonely and grateful all at the same time.

Just as I encourage my daughter to be unapologetically herself, I can be unapologetically me. So that’s what I do. Because I’m 36 weeks pregnant with a toddler, and there’s really no room for bullshitting. I just haven’t got the energy.

So despite my bone-deep exhaustion and many aches and pains. Despite a belly that feels it may burst and hormones that cause me to cry every day, it’s back to mom-ing I go.

I’ve never been so tired, and there’s no where I’d rather be then here- with my huge belly and double chin, glancing at my daughter as she sleeps so peacefully.

Miscarriage and Rainbow Babies

Prenatal Yoga Center in NYC has been monumental with my journey into and through motherhood. So, I was truly honored to be a guest on PYC owner Debra Flashenberg’s podcast Yoga Birth Babies.

In this podcast, Deb and I talked honestly about our experiences with miscarriage- something so many women go through. When I lost my twins in April I promised myself that I would always tell their story as a way of honoring them. I remember sobbing in the shower when I was in the depths of my grief and hearing the words “someday my pain will be something else.” This is the something else.

Listen here:

Medication & Meditation

August of last year I reached a crossroads. I was tired of struggling with depression and knew I had to make an active change. At the suggestion of my therapist at the time, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist to learn more about how medication may help rid me of the dark cloud that I couldn’t seem to escape out of on my own.

It just so happened that at this time I learned about Vedic meditation from Arden Martin. She described it as a simple meditation technique that required no effort and it sounded very appealing to me. I read up on the benefits of this Vedic meditation and got curious. Could it help me? So, the same week I met with the psychiatrist I also took a Vedic meditation course.

From the psychiatrist, I learned a lot about my options with medication. I felt comforted to know that I now had a doctor who knew my needs and whom I could contact if that was the route I wanted take. The following evening during my first Vedic meditation, I got in touch with an unfamiliar place inside myself that I can only describe as a nice warm hug.

I decided to experiment with daily meditation for a while and see where it went before pursuing medication. It has now been over a year and I can honestly say my meditation practice has changed my life.

I have risen out of the hole of depression and found a whole new perspective. On a (mostly) daily basis I dive into meditation and find that nice warm hug again and again. Not every meditation is blissful and some feel as if they go on forever, but if miss a day I crave it and always return back.

I don’t know what the future brings and I’m still open to the idea of medication if I need it. There’s no need to suffer and I think medication is a savior for so many people struggling with their mental health as I did. Today though, I reflect in gratitude about the meditation practice that changed my life.

Today I meditated in the chapel at my daughter’s school and these words came flooding through me. I share this all not to prove anything or preach anything but just to say, it IS possible to find light when you’re in the dark.  And who knows, you may find that light right inside of you.


Raisins Saved My Dog’s Life

A few weeks ago I brought my dog Romeo for his routine wellness visit. Besides the vet informing me he could switch to “senior” dog food now that he was seven years old (what? My baby isn’t a senior!) it seemed uneventful. They did test a small cyst in his backside but I wasn’t worried

However, a few days later I received a call that the cyst came back as mast cell cancer. We would need to do a chest x-ray to check if any other tumors had developed and bloodwork to be sure he was healthy enough to undergo surgery to remove the cyst. Thankfully, all came back clear so he had surgery. A few days later we received the good news that they were able to remove all the cancer and he was bound to live a long and healthy life. Relief.

Less than a week after his surgery, I left to go pick up my two year old daughter Emmy from school. Even though I almost always remember to close the kitchen gate-to prevent Romeo from stealing food off the counter- for some reason I forgot to close the gate that day. I came back from getting my daughter to see an empty 16 oz bag of raisins empty and shredded on the floor.

Shit! Raisins are poisonous for dogs.

I called his vet immediately and they said to bring him in so they an induce vomiting. I thought that would be it, but they informed me they would have to keep him overnight on an IV to flush out his kidneys. They would do bloodwork in the morning to check his liver levels to be sure he was okay. I cried right then and there. Again? We had to leave our first baby out of our care where he was scared? My husband, Steve, and I were both very upset.

The following morning we decided to get out of the city and distract ourselves. Steve had been on the lookout for a new bigger car for our growing family and he found a good one in New Jersey. We made the drive out and test drove the car. We really liked it and decided to move forward buying it.

While waiting at the dealership I got a call from the vet informing me that Romeo was doing well. He ate a bit and went for a few walks. She suggested they keep him one more night as they wanted to monitor him for 36 hours. Another night? Well, that sucked but I wanted to be sure he would be okay so I agreed.

About two hours had passed since we arrived at the dealership and Emmy was getting antsy. Steve and I decided I would take her home, and he would stay at the dealership to finish up all the paperwork.

We had a birthday party to get to later that afternoon so my plan was the find a parking spot near our apartment, hang out at home for an hour or so, and then head over to Westchester for the party. When we arrived back in the city there were no spots to be found even after I circled for about twenty minutes. I double parked in front of our building and ran upstairs to grab the presents for the birthday girl, Emilia. We would just drive over to Westchester early and maybe stop for lunch.

In the meantime, I warned Steve my phone was dying. I’d charge it when I got to the party.

About twenty minutes into my drive with 10% battery left on my phone and no charger, I got another call from the vet.

“We have some alarming news. We ran bloodwork and while Romeo’s liver levels look normal, his red blood cells came back extremely low. We did an abdominal ultrasound and found a mass in his stomach has ruptured and he’s internally bleeding. He needs to be transported to another hospital as soon as possible for surgery.”


I made a quick exit off the parkway. At this point Emmy was screaming in the back seat. “I want to go to Emilia’s party!” I have no idea where I am and I get lost. I call Steve to tell him what’s happening as my phone battery dwindles to less and less power.

My mind immediately starts racing. I have 8% battery.

I need to get directions to get home first. Then I need to figure out which hospital to bring Romeo to and where it is. I have to coordinate with Steve who is stuck without a car at the dealership while all the paperwork goes through.

I call my dad who lives in the city. I tell him what’s happening and say we need help. I’ll need help with Emmy when we get to the hospital. He’s away for the weekend but says he will call my stepmom Leslie.

5% battery.

I get the name of the hospital. I call my dad to tell him. I call Steve to tell him. Emmy is screaming, guttural screams. No doubt reacting to my high anxiety and stress. She’s confused. “I want to go Emilia’s party! NOW! I want to go NOW!”

My dad calls. “Are they bringing Romeo to the hospital or are do you have to.” I begin to say “I need to pick him up and…”

My phone dies.

Now we are on our own.

I’m on track getting back into the city. At this point Emmy is completely unhinged and trying to climb out of her car seat. I try to get her back in from the front seat but have to keep driving.

In a state of complete anxiety and panic we eventually make it to the vet. I double park in front and grab Emmy out of her seat. She has ripped of her socks and shoes. “I need hugs mama. I need hugs.” she says. My sweet girl is confused and scared. I am

too. I’m trying to breathe. I walk into the vet panicked with a thirty pound shoeless toddler in my arms.

Did I mention I’m also 18 weeks pregnant?

I manage to calm Emmy down with hugs, explanation and swaying. I get the address of the hospital from the front desk worker and within a few minutes Romeo is brought down to us. We give him huge hugs and kisses and I tell him it’s time to get in the car and go to the hospital. I tell him he’s going to be okay.

In the back of the car I have the birthday present for Emilia, who is Emmy’s age. To get Emmy back into the car I tell her she can open the presents and we can play with them at the vet. This is probably one of the biggest blessings in the shit storm we are in. Thank God for those much needed distractions at that time.

We get to the animal hospital and my stepmom Leslie is standing right at the front desk. “Is this Romeo?” the man at the desk asks. I tell him yes and within seconds they are bringing him downstairs to take a look at him. I hug Leslie. Seeing her there waiting brings me the first feeling of comfort I’ve felt since I got the call. Leslie sits with Emmy, opens the presents and they play.

The vet comes up to speak with me. “Romeo has a large mass on his spleen. It is most likely a very aggressive form of cancer. We are taking a look right now to determine the next steps. This kind of cancer typically leaves dogs 6 months to live.”

Shock. What??

Steve walks into the door minutes later. I tell him what’s happening.

We go to talk privately in another room and are in total shock. We are devastated.

The vet comes back.

“We took a look and it indeed a large tumor on his spleen. In 2/3 of cases a tumor of this size is an aggressive cancer. He could maybe have a month to live. We suggest going straight into surgery to remove it as he is bleeding internally. We will write up an estimate and bring it up as soon as possible.”

While she delivered this news with the utmost warmth and compassion it was a horrible horrible shock.

We asked the vet what she would do if it were her dog. “In this case, I would go forward with the surgery. I wish it weren’t this expensive but it is. I totally understand having a family and if this isn’t an option for you I would understand why you’d want to euthanize.”

We just bought a car. We just paid for another surgery but if there’s a chance he could survive this and we get more time, we had to move forward. We signed the paperwork. Do the surgery.

We eventually head home and wait for word that he’s prepped for surgery. He goes under and surgery goes forward. I get a call that he’s stable and awake, though very out of it.

The next day is the NYC Marathon. My sister in law is running in it. I want to see her at the finish line. Meanwhile we wait for word on Romeo. Can we pick him up?

We finally hear in the late afternoon after a brutal day of waiting that we can pick him up. The hospital is near the finish line of the marathon and there’s tons of traffic. I don’t care. I’m going to get my boy.

As I sit in traffic I track my sister in law on the NYC marathon app on my phone. She’s crossing the finish line as I park my car to pick up Romeo. I’ve got tears in my eyes of pride for her and fear for my boy.

He comes out with a huge cone on his head. Obviously confused and out of it but calm as always.

The first night and day home are the hardest. He’s in pain. He won’t eat. He won’t move. He lets our little whimpers every now and then. I feel so helpless watching him suffer.

With each day he improves a bit more until we see the normal Romeo again. The one who is within inches of you every time you have a snack. The one who quietly follows you around so he’s always unassumingly close by. Our sweet sweet boy.

It takes a few days, and a scare where his incision opens up a bit and bleeds bringing ANOTHER visit to the vet, but we eventually get back the results.

Romeo has beat the odds and his SOFTBALL

sized tumor has come back benign.

He is part of the 1/3 who survive this kind of thing. He is going to be okay.

After the emotional roller coaster of it all, we are left now digesting this traumatic and scary incident.

As I write this I wonder how the hell raisins managed to save his life. Had he not eaten those, his tumor would have eventually quietly burst inside of him and we would have never known. It would have been too late once we realized he was sick. We would have lost him.

I’ve not much more to say besides God works in mysterious mysterious ways. And what can look like an utter shitty and hopeless series of events can lead to a saved dog, a grateful family, and a whole lot of appreciation for this precious, fragile life.

There are so many of us.

In March, I learned I was pregnant, and at my first scan I learned it was with twins.

In April, I lost the babies.

Now I sit in my grief. Each day is a surprise. Sometimes I feel totally fine, and others I slip into despair. I wrote the following a few weeks after my D&C and wanted to share it here.

“I’ll never understand why they came to me to begin with- why they appeared as a possibility and the left, stopped.

I’ll never understand why I had to be alone that day when I learned it.

I’ll never understand why for only ten days, I had the privilege of feeling chosen. Being chosen to be a mommy to two souls born together.

Why the taste and then taking away?

Why the pain?

Why the loss?

Why the suffering?

I don’t know.

A comforting thought for me is that God isn’t a puppeteer who orchestrated this all. God cried first. Before I even knew.”

For anyone out there who has suffered a miscarriage, I sit in my grief with you. Please remember- you are NOT alone. There are so many of us.