Fifteen months


Our miracle boy.

Fourteen months


We are a bit late with this post...
You had your first haircut, your mom almost didn't make it but the hairdresser was awesome about it. She really did a great job: she came out to our house to do it while you played. On the same day you also met Simfox, your granddad's horse. He is a lovely soul and has a velvet-soft nose. You were really infatuated. Your world is getting bigger and bigger my sweet boy.

Thirteen months


Look at you, beautiful boy! You can say a few words like "ta-ta" and "daar's hy (da-dy)". You love talking on the phone, anything that resembles a phone goes to your ear...
Mommy loves your curls and she does not want your hair to be cut until you are at least five.

One Year


Sweetest boy, you are ONE. I really have no words for how this past year have been - we had some of the best and some of the worst times. You took everything in your stride and you've never been difficult without reason. We love you for all that you are. May there be much much more of you.

Eleven Months


One of the most beautiful things in this world is to have you in my arms when you fall asleep. To watch you surrender to the tiredness and to feel your breath changing and to see you suckle without anything in your little mouth makes all the wrongs right in my life. It saddens me to think that this is only temporary and that one day (too soon) you will be too big for this. In the meantime I will just soak up all of you in these precious moments.

Ten Months


Whaaaaaaat?!? Eish I cannot believe...You are ten months old, babe! Look at you - you have six teeth, you are crawling like a little machine and you are so curious about this world. I still have moments where I am left breathless by your beauty. We cannot get enough of you, Finn.

I'm still here


I scheduled this post - by the time it is published I will hopefully be sound asleep in my hospital bed, with my newly reconstructed boobs. I will have had a double mastectomy and reconstruction - one of the last big hurdles to overcome in my personal fight against this disease.
I want to share a poem that I've been carrying with me for a few years, a poem that tells it like it is, that sums up the loss, the bitter fight, the pain, the scars. Beauty - yes, it exists in the eye of the beholder. It was written by Jen Hoffman in 2008. Unfortunately lost her battle with cancer a few months after this was written.

like a marred and tattered canvas - i stand
as if an unfortunate embodiment of an artist's satire
formerly known as youth and beauty

a road map of scars marks the long and winding roads of a journey
each one telling unspoken tales
and serving as a reminder of an uncertain future

the left breast - perfectly sized and eternally perky
nearly flawless but for the absent nipple
and the faded scar sweeping diagonally upwards

accompanied by tiny, nearly indiscernible circles
along the left side of the body where drains once existed
each mark whispering softly of a girl in her twenties

who had made mistakes - lost her way
and endeavored desperately to find meaning and hope
in what turned out to be the wrong places

the taut yet never impeccably flat abdomen seems a figment of the imagination
replaced by the still fresh marks left after removing traces of the demon
and the assurance of children never to be conceived

perpetual souvenirs of the ironically life-saving masses
that screamed for attention and started the whirlwind
that tested the body and soul once again

murmurs of a girl in the twilight of her thirties
who had taken the road less traveled still learning to heal scars deeper
than those able to be captured by a photograph or a paintbrush

untimely evolution of metabolism and elasticity
potentially unseen by observers
all too apparent to the soul that resides in the metamorphosis of the body

the alternate voice of these wordless tales spoken by the corporeal road map
tells of skin tougher than an ancient elephant's hide and
brass bound resolve to emerge the victor of each battle

only the closest observation exposes the eternal flame of hope
burning in the eyes that have seen more than they have ever wanted
sharing the quietly thunderous roar of faith and life and love with the willing beholder