After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
After McCoy died, sharing my sorrow with you all helped. Grieving out loud helped me name my feelings and confront them. Like a monster under the bed, they felt less scary in the daylight. Like maybe they couldn’t drag me down and eat me alive if I kept them well lit. So I hung my heart out for all to see, and swept exactly none of the muck under any damn rugs. Fuck a rug; I wanted to feel it all. And then, when I found out I was pregnant with Vaughn, I quietly unfurled all the rugs. I lined every inch of my life with their insulating padding. I quit my job. I ignored phone calls and texts. I didn’t leave my house unless I had to (thanks Covid). I didn’t share our news with anyone that didn’t need to know. And when I did share, it sounded like I was telling them “I have ulcers.” It was not a joyous celebration. It was a painstaking and brutal admission: “I’m at risk for another heart-shattering catastrophe.” I was cocooned in a world of pain and did my best to shield myself from as many landmines as possible. I wanted to keep our joy private. I stuck my head in the sand and just prayed to God that our baby would live – even though I reminded myself every day that he might not. Maybe what the all-knowing “they” say about time is true, though. Because THIS time, we want to celebrate every second we have with this soul. We told the kids the day we got the positive test. Decker tells every person willing to listen that she’s the oldest of four kids as she lovingly strokes my belly. The joy spills out of her; she can’t wait to tell the world about Baby “Four.” I’ve clawed my way on board with Decker for her sake, and Vaughn’s, and McCoy’s. It SHOULD be a happy occasion that they’re getting another sibling. For me, there’s just a cautious reluctance to let the excitement fully absorb. But I can’t deny that it feels right that those that have sat with us on our grieving bench should have a seat in our joyous swings too. So, for that reason (and because Decker and her grandmother @jeanakeough can’t keep a secret for shit), I’m proud and scared as hell to announce Baby Bosworth #4 – due in November. 📸:@meredith.black
You would have been two months old today. You’d have found your favorite pacifier by now, and I’d be grateful that I was finally able to get those first (beautiful) 6 hour stretches of sleep that make me feel like a Disney Princess with birds tweeting above my head. Instead, I’m clocking in 12 hours every night because sleeping is decidedly easier than my waking hours. We should be cleaning up your blowouts, instead we’re dealing with our own shit. At this point, you would be finding your voice – squawking and squealing and making our hearts explode. Our hearts have still detonated, but for different reasons. I should be looking at your face for most of my day, instead I have to search for you elsewhere. I see you in songs, in the sky, in the sea, in your sister’s face, in your daddy’s arms. I’ll keep looking for you for as long as I live. Being without you is hard, but being your mom is one of my favorite things about myself. I love you, McCoy Casey.
A happy heavenly happy birthday to our sweet baby boy.
🎼: Highlands (Song of Ascent) by @hillsongunited
📷: @8.08photography
Stetsy Lou Who
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
Sunday Funday courtesy of @alexmorgan13 & @raisingcanes
