The birth story of Ellis Vincent Parsons. Fair warning, babies come out of vaginas so there may be some graphic bits in here. #sorrynotsorry


On Monday morning (day two of maternity leave and OMG just come already kid) I woke up to cramps and blood and thought THANK GOD THIS IS HAPPENING! Back in bed I pushed Mark and said in a cartoon voice “I’m having this baby”, a little joke phrase we had been throwing around for weeks, only this time I wasn’t joking. The midwives had pounded into our heads that when labor starts what you want/NEED to do is rest. Little did I know just how right they were. So I stayed in bed a while longer before getting up to call one of the midwives. We went over the plan and I thought I would be calling her later that night to come get this baby out of me. The whole day was filled with the Bradley Methods eat-drink-walk-bath-nap series. Mark had to run some work errands that morning so I went for a walk solo. It was a picture book spring day and I felt hyper aware of everything blooming. I told Ellis what a beautiful day it was, that I imagined him coming on a rainy day but today would be nice too. The contraction got closer together as the day wore on, more intense. But then sometimes they would space out again or I would barely feel them. I was even able to get a solid nap in. Mark made dinner and I watched the sun set on this potential birth day. It only took a half a glass of wine and a hot bath to put me to bed. Ok I guess this will happen tomorrow?


We decided Mark would start his paternity leave today. We ate breakfast and took a walk around the neighborhood. It was another gorgeous day and everyone was out jogging. It felt like a weird time to be self conscience but I was wearing the same pajama-esque outfit for days. I’m huge and contracting and my hair is a mess. So yea, was feeling a little self conscience. That evening my friend turned doula Sara stopped in after work. We went for another long walk and she timed my contractions. They were about 5 minutes apart but also I felt a pressure for them to be so. At times I felt like I was forcing them on. Eventually I told Sara to leave and another half a glass of wine later I went to bed. I guess this will happen tomorrow?


Another gorgeous day! Mark and I went for a morning walk and I watched the cartoon clouds floating through the sky. My midwife came to check on me and I was still barely dilated. But our heart rates were normal and my blood pressure still low. Mark was getting restless. He kept cleaning and making me food despite the fact that I was barely eating anything. His restlessness was making me restless. As any good doula would, Sara was diligent with her check ins. She was at work but from the amount of texting she did that day I doubt she got much done. Her texts were interrupted with other ones from random friends with well intentioned messages: “thinking of you”, “I just have this feeling your in labor”, “sending you good vibes”. Every one of them infuriated me. The contractions remained consistently inconsistent and with every passing hour the weight of everyone waiting pressed on me. As the sun began it’s journey to the horizon I lost my fucking mind. I sent Mark out of the house and told him that he was going back to work tomorrow. I texted Sara a not-so-polite “Don’t call me I’ll call you” message. And I rolled around on a birthing ball sobbing while watching planet earth and doing painful spinning baby exercises every couple of contractions. The midwife checked on us and found our vitals normal and the progress zilch. She asked if I wanted to go to the hospital for induction and I was surprised at how sure I was when I said no. There was no wine that night and barely any sleep.


Around 4am, the showers just couldn’t cut through the pain. I woke Mark up to let him know that I was just kidding about going back to work and to fill up the birth tub please. The water was barely shin deep when I plunked into it. They are often described as “midwives epidural”. Pre-birth I thought that description was cute at best. Post-birth I’m here to tell you that they are worth their weight in gold and they weigh approximately 1,250 lbs so you should probably double check the strength of your floor joists.

My midwife confirmed that morning that I was indeed in active labor and came to stay for good around noon. I toggled between the tub and episodes of Louis CK. In the tub the view of a picturesque spring day distracted me as I floated from contraction to contraction. And mid punch line on a Louis show my water broke. It felt like sitting on a huge water balloon and I couldn’t stop laughing over how ridiculous it was. I broke my silence to Sara and soon I was in the tub focusing only on relaxing between contraction and getting plenty of water. Everyone had told me that pushing was the best part. They said that you finally feel like you are doing something. A relief. BAHAHAHAHAHA. The pushing contractions were disturbingly intense and oh so painful. Once they started I had no idea how long they would last. And unfortunately for everyone I found that I could control them from coming on. Time has a funny way of warping when you are in labor. My midwives had enough and encouraged me to get out of the tub and on a birthing stool. I remember them instructing Sara to feed me honey for energy. This confused me because I did not feel tired. And when they predicted that I would push him out at 7:10pm “Just 10 more minutes” I, not realizing that I had been pushing for hours, thought “fuck that shit” and pushed him out in one go at 6:58pm.

The image of his back and the gleaming pink and blue chord is forever etched in my memory. Beautiful. It is so beautiful. He is so beautiful.

That moment somehow longer in length than the rest of the evening. There were our check ups and my after birth sushi dinner, a tea bath, and stitches. The midwives cleaned it all up and tucked us into bed around midnight. My oath to never co-sleep was broken instantly. The only place where I felt he was safe was on my chest. The next morning I watched the sunrise with him right there on me. Never in my life had I felt more capable or beautiful.




Do other very pregnant women make New Years resolutions? I just can’t imagine. My expectation for the next year is survival. In an attempt to not be naive about what having a newborn is like I have managed to convince myself that I will never again enjoy a thing. That’s is the proper way to handle things, correct? To prepare for the worst possible outcome. Mark is forever huffy about my “pessimism” but I like to think of it as “realism”. Because it’s definitely realistic to imagine that all the worst things ever are going to happen to me.

As an effort to correct this personality flaw I have been practicing “enjoying the little things”, “living in the present”, “mindfullness”, blah blah blah. (What did we do before we had these catch phrases?)

There have been these moments since I found out that I was pregnant where everything feels eerily calm. My soul settled into this life of mine like a deeply rooted oak. Maybe it’s because I know that everything is about to change in a very big way.  I’ve embraced these moments without effort. The morning sunlight filtering through our jade plant before smacking into our dusty bookshelf. The shadows from the trees in the mid afternoon that dance along to the sound of birds and squirrels. Laying on the couch in the middle of a freshly cleaned apartment with the sound of Mark repeating the same five chords on his mandolin until the are juuuuuuust right. These things shouldn’t seem so special. They are the moments that string together the meaty beads of life. But this year I have snatched up these strings and balled them together. Just as precious to me as those bigger life events that you write in your Christmas card about.

So this resolution of sorts is a simple one. To continue embracing these moments after our little one is here. There will almost certainly be long sleepless nights, frustrating feedings, and endless poop but hopefully there will also be long staring contests and heart crushing finger holds to add to this memory bank of everyday moments.


**that was supposed to be the end of this post. But then today I met a lady and like most >40 yo women she was just THRILLED by the site of my big round belly. She asked me the usual questions. When are you due? Do you know what it is? Are you excited? I always answer that last one with “Yes! Also a little nervous” to make sure no one thinks I’m a naive first time mom that thinks having a baby is easy. But she cut me off and said exactly what I needed to hear “Having a newborn is just the most perfect thing. You just turn everything off and stare at them and it’s. just. so. wonderful.”

How to get pregnant (according to the internet)

IMG_2239Getting (and staying) pregnant was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. It’s a crazy physical and emotional roller coaster that starts all over again every 28 days. Lucky for us we have the internet to help us through it. Just take a deep breath and relax because all you have to do is:

* Don’t stress

* Take your temperature every morning as soon as you wake up before even opening your mouth.

* Said temperature is not accurate if you haven’t gotten at least three hours of uninterrupted sleep or have a fan going.

* POAS (that means pee on a stick for you amateurs) every morning from day 6 of your cycle until after ovulation.

* Don’t eat refined carbs

* Don’t eat grilled food

* Eat grapefruit every morning during your ovulation week

* Eat pineapple core every day from ovulation until you get a BFP or start your cycle over again

* Don’t eat too much fruit

* Take cough syrup a few day before ovulation

* Don’t take antihistamines

* Do fertility yoga

* Keep a regular exercise program

* Don’t exercise

* Don’t sit in a hot tub

* Take a DHEA supplement, not to be confused with DHA

* Alcolize your body by drinking a green smoothie every day

* Just relax. It will happen when it’s supposed to.

* Have a glass of wine to keep things spicy in the bedroom

* Don’t drink alcohol


* BD (stands for baby dance (stands for have intercourse)) every other day

* Don’t BD too much cause it will decrease sperm quality

* Stop “trying” (but still follow all of the above advice)

an impractical guide to dealing with infertility

Buy a Convertible (I did)

*DISCLAIMER* Infertility is seriously heavy stuff. I have only had to deal with trying to conceive/keep a pregnancy for twelve months and I completely understand that that’s nothing compared to what others have gone through. This post is not to make light the condition but rather a personal reprieve from all that heaviness.

• Stay out as late as you want

• Sleep in as long as you like

• Go ahead purchase that $200 {insert something totally ridiculous} because if you did have a baby that wouldn’t even be a weeks worth of child care.

• Buy a convertible (see example above)

• Stay in the shower until the hot water runs out

• Then spend an hour doing your hair

• Then post those pictures of your awesome hair and pretend like “it was nothing”

• Celebrate every night with your partner as “date night”

• Go see a movie

• then just stay and see another one cause you can

• Put all your breakables in easy reach

• Travel abroad

• Make a signature cocktail for each day of the week (Moscow Mule Monday, Tequila Tuesday, etc.)

• Rub all of your friends pregnant bellies like they are good luck charms (with permission of course!)

Catching Up


IMG_2058I’ll make this quick.


I’m going to start blogging again. I’ve written a few posts over the past year but didn’t publish them because I wasn’t feeling it. I’m going to go ahead and publish those before I start writing new ones.


More to come.



For the past year Mark and I have been trying to get/stay pregnant. With that has come many emotions, thoughts, and revelations. Maybe too many to share. Certainly some that are almost impossible to explain in the four walls of a text box. I’ve started this post so many times. Stopped. Deleted. Mostly because who really cares? What does writing it down change? But in the end I just feel like I need to get it out. Even if I never actually hit “PUBLISH”. Although I probably will because, let’s face it, I’m an over sharer.

The regret. Every day I open that door. The one I KNOW I’m not suppose to. But it’s bright and it’s right there. Why did we wait so long? When I was 25 I thought I was pregnant. Mark and I decided that we would keep it and we were beaming. The best things are usually unplanned. But of course the day after floating on such a grand decision gravity pulled us back down with those first spots of my period. It took longer than I thought it would for us to get married. And then longer than I expected for us to decide to try to get pregnant. I didn’t want the start of our family to halt my occupational pursuit. But instead I let the opposite happen when really, it was unnecessary. I’m embarrassed and frankly really mad that I held this belief that a women with a growing belly and family was a wet blanket in the workplace. Now I’m approached 30 and It’s a pet peeve when people say things like “I have no regrets”. I have many and I accept them. This is one.

Early on I decided that I was not going to let other friends getting pregnant wreck me. Over and over again I read things like “allow yourself to be hurt” or “I was so angry when my best friend told me that she was pregnant that I hung up on her”, and “try to spend more time with your childless friends”. That’s just not me. I take great pride in being a good friend. Life has given me several chances to test just that. OF COURSE it stung when one of my dearest friends told me she was pregnant. And OF COURSE I wince every time I scroll past a sonogram on my feed. But I choose to think of every fertile soul that’s a part of my life as good luck. And so I smile through the pain and before I know it I’m smiling for realzies.

The idea that every bad situation has hidden blessings makes my eyes roll waaaay back into my head. Yet I can’t deny that this has been a big part of the journey. A year ago I would not have called Mark my best friend. I would not have found peace each morning through meditation. And I certainly would not have made orgasmic noises over the taste of runny egg yolk. The five weeks of pregnancy and the hard yolks that it brought with it gave me a new appreciation for my favorite breakfast food. Guided meditations (omg, the eye rolling), as ridiculous as it sounds, is what calmed my fiercest emotions. Through the sobbing I found a way to put my deepest insecurities into words to share with my partner. Something that would have come out before as just shear anger. I had to learn to lean on Mark and Mark alone for my support in this. He has proven to be pretty darn sturdy.

The waiting is the worst. This has been the longest year, the longest month, the longest day. It took eight months for a positive pregnancy test. Eight months of staring at a calendar. Logging every temperature, mood, and body fluid. Five long weeks of being pregnant. Feeling a fullness I never knew I was missing. Spending every spare moment and brain cell to plan for this little life inside me. Five long hours miscarrying that precious child. And now three long months of waiting until we can start it all over.

who done it

60s murder mystery boys

60s murder mystery

discussing head bands

birthday lady

Dressed as “Mary Quaint” I joined a small group of friends for a hilarious evening of murder speculations. We celebrated Ana’s birthday with a Beatles themed murder mystery dinner. Courses of home made Indian dishes partitioned are accusations. We took our lines as seriously as our fake chest hair and cast our votes while oogling over our friends new baby. In the end it doesn’t really matter who done it though because what I can’t stop thinking about it how incredible my friends are.