To truly know our family, I must acknowledge a member perhaps unnoticed in our family photographs but deeply entwined in our lives and story - our firstborn, the little boy who ushered me into motherhood. If you have ever noticed the small blue ceramic heart we all take turns holding, that is our sweet baby boy. He was the child of our dreams, the embodiment of a name we'd playfully chosen during one of our earliest dates
-our beloved Oatley Vernon.
At 18 weeks, had a special sneak peek appointment, unveiling the gender of our baby. Our plan was to coincide with an end-of-summer and gender reveal celebration, a grand affair for which we spared no effort. Kevin took charge of the grill, coaxing out the smoky flavors of briquet and meats. Meanwhile, I immersed myself in the world of Pinterest for months, crafting an array of decorations, activities, charming chalkboards, and all those delightful 'Pinteresty' embellishments to ensure the day remained etched in everyones memory as something truly extraordinary.
On the day of the party, however, misfortune struck. Our air conditioner chose that sweltering August day to malfunction, leaving our guests sweating it out under tents in our driveway and front yard. Our dear Aunt suffered an unfortunate tumble, breaking her elbow, and swarms of mosquitoes descended upon us. Yet, in my eyes, the day was nothing short of perfection.
As I hosted that party, a profound sense of motherly joy washed over me for the first time in my life. I felt immensely loved, profoundly at peace, and brimming with excitement for the future our child would bring. It was as if all my life's dreams had converged into one beautiful moment. Little did I know, at my very next doctor's appointment, at 21 weeks gestation, our world would come crashing down. We learned that our sweet baby boy had severe complications stemming from a sizable tumor growing in his abdomen, and his chances of survival were bleak.
Our hearts and souls shattered that day, and in the days that followed, we faced heart-wrenching decisions, mountains of fears, and overwhelming sadness. Ultimately, we chose to carry our baby to term, for as long as his fragile heart would permit. Weekly appointments became our reality. Each week we held our breath, as tears of relief flowed freely down our cheeks as we heard his strong heartbeat echo through the sonogram speakers. Hope began to bloom as our doctor marveled at the inexplicable resilience of our little miracle. In their medical view, our boy's survival was nothing short of extraordinary. We began to hope that maybe, just maybe the doctors were wrong and our little boy would survive. For eleven weeks, we held on to the sound of that strong heartbeat. For eleven weeks, we cherished every moment we had with him, and we 
desperately hoped and prayed that he would come home in our arms.
At 31 weeks, on November 18, 2017, we said both hello and goodbye to our precious son. Carrying a baby with such a dire diagnosis transformed our lives irrevocably. Leaving the hospital with empty arms and broken hearts reshaped us as individuals, as partners, and as parents - forever.
But I share this story not for your pity. I share it as an offering of solace to those who may walk a similar path. Please be a safe place for others to land in a time of need. If you share a story similar to mine please know that I am here for you and would be happy to lend a listening ear, share a cup of coffee, or a hug. You are not alone.

The Story of our

Oatley Vernon