Friday, March 29, 2013

Shades of Grey

(No, not the naughty book).

There are moments since Samuel died, when I get a small flash of who I once was. Maybe it's a picture that brings back memories, maybe it's having a conversation with a friend who brings out the "old me" for a moment, maybe it's my desire to have back the carefree life I once had. Whatever it is, it's like a flash of color in a very grey world.

Ever since he died, my world is dark and grey. Things don't feel special, food tastes bland, music sounds empty. I look around and only see, and feel, grey.

When I have those moments of the "old me", it's like this little spark of color, dashed in with the grey. Maybe, it's hope. Maybe it's a bit of healing. Maybe it's just a little glimmer of the happiness that's so far buried under the massive pile of grief. I really don't know.

In the early months, when I would feel a bit of peace, I would immediately feel like I was betraying Samuel. I didn't fight it, but my mind immediately went down a path of guilt. "Well, I guess I didn't love him, I guess I'm over his death, I guess I'm a horrible mother".

Now, I know so well that those moments/days of "calm" are really just a small gift. A day of  much needed respite, before the next wave comes crashing over me. Now, I take the calm and cherish it. Samuel is so love, he was so wanted, that he can never be out of my heart. It would be impossible. Now that I completely understand that, I no longer feel guilty when I have days of calmness.

I've had some completely awful days in the past few weeks. Days where the pain was so intense, I was right back in the thick of my grief. Right back to wanted  to just be done, forever. To escape this life that I did not chose, and do not want.

I let it come. I faced it head on. I cried and screamed and sat in a closet. I looked at his pictures and his special things and I deeply felt the lack of him in our lives. My world had turned a darker shad of grey...almost black...but I didn't fight it. I let it come.

This weekend is Easter. Last year, Easter morning was the first of the many times I would be in the hospital, in labor. I guess it's because Easter is not falling on the same date as last year, but I really don't have any strong emotions about it (as of yet). It feels like any other weekend.

I absolutely wish I could be buying my little man a tiny little suit. (This one here is pretty darn cute! or, heaven sakes! this one. ) I imagine he would be taking steps. I imagine him holding his new Easter Basket, in his dapper new suit looking around for his Easter eggs at Gramma's house. It would have be so special. 

Instead, we did what we could for him. Bryan and I normally exchange Easter Baskets (my family tradition was to hide them and each person had to find it Easter morning.) but this year, instead, we just filled Samuel's.

Samuel's Easter Basket. The first Easter card and blue bunny are from Gramma Carlson. The brown beanie bunny is from: Beanie 4 a Baby.

the adorable Samuel beanie <3

 I also made an Easter Egg Tree for the babies from the group I run for mother's who continued their pregnancies after a fatal diagnosis (see the Facebook page to find more information)..These are Samuel's friends in heaven <3

It's when I do things for him, that I see the spark of color. I feel a bit of purpose again. That's when I feel a twinge of hope, that maybe we'll find a way to do this.

Maybe, at some point, the world will be filled with color again.

For now though, it's just another weekend of our grey lives. We sure are missing our little Easter Bunny <3.
Samuel Evan <3

Monday, March 25, 2013


Sometimes I have things bubbling up inside and I can't seem to get the out into words. I just experienced one of those moments.

I was looking through pinterst and I saw something about Disney World. Harmless, yes. Huge emotional response from me, yes.

It's so hard to find the words to express this feeling I have. I guess the closest word would be cheated.

I've been cheated. I am absolutely Samuel's mother and I always will be. But I don't get to mother him. I don't get to have the experiences a typical mother does. I did what every other mother does to get her child here. Death had stolen what is rightfully mine.

I want to bring him to Disney World. I want our family to be happy and have fun together.

I want to post photos of us in Micky ears and in lines for rides.

Why don't I deserve that?

Like I said, cheated is not quite the right word. It's not full enough. It doesn't go deep enough. It doesn't describe the deep hollow inside me well enough. It doesn't conjure up the image of injustice that I feel so intensely.

Mostly, I want my family to be whole again. That can never be.

So what's the word for times when you're reminded of what you should be able to do, but have no possible way to ever because something "fluke" happened and now your life is in shambles all while people all around you get what you had but for some unknown reason they got to keep theirs while yours was stolen for no reason?

Totally and utterly, inexplicably, senselessly, and meaninglessly cheated.

How nice for everyone else.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

The dreaded weekends...

If you know me in person, or if you've been following along for a while, you probably know that Fridays and Saturdays are my worst days. I seem to have the largest number of breakdowns on those days, and I tend to want to crawl into a hole beginning Thursday night and ending Monday morning (we might as well throw Sunday in there too). I try really hard to have something planned for these days, to distract myself, but it's no use.

These days were the worst in terms of his story. Friday is the day I was sent home from the good hospital (i.e. the hospital what would have given my the opportunity to hold him for as long as I wanted), thus totally changing the story, and Saturday is the day of all the trauma (surgery, birth, him leaving me, the phone call he died, the news I couldn't' be with him, etc, etc.).

Every time they roll around again (weekly) I can imagine myself right back there. It's rough.

They are also hard because they should be family time. We should be having so much fun together, the three of us. I can clearly picture all the fun things we'd be doing. Simple things like staying in our PJs all day, playing with toys, and just being together. Or, maybe heading to the children's museum to watch him learn and explore. I always have so many ideas, but no little guy to do them with.

When you add in the fact that his birthday is so close, and the older he gets in my mind the more I know we'd be having fun together, it leads to a very sad and hurt mama.

Yesterday, Bryan and I took out his hand molds and spent time looking at them. Oh my goodness, do I miss this little guy <3
All three (his hand mold was smooshed a bit during the hardening, but it's still darling to me)

my boys, hand in hand <3

little foot, tiny piggies <3
We keep them in a fire box in the closet becuase my new worst fear is that we'll have a fire and they'll burn up. So I feel better knowing they are safe in the box and I can pull them out when I need to.

After we spent time with them, I went into the closet to put them back. We have an old craftsman-style home and the closet has a wooden bench built into it. I sat down to set the molds away and I remembered something. When I was growing up, my parents bedroom had a small closet with blankets stored at the bottom. As a little girl, when I was sad, I would climb into the closet, snuggle into the blankets and shut the door. I always liked that. I hadn't remembered that in a long time. As I closed the top of the firebox and sat down on the bench, it all came flooding back. I pulled the door shut and sat in the total darkness for a while and cried. I'm just so sad. I miss him so much and my heart is just completely broken.

I'm sure Bryan thought I'd lost my mind, and maybe I have, but I actually felt better in there. I guess now I have another safe place to go when I just can't handle it all anymore.

I'm sure, come his birthday, that is where you'll find me.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

I can't do this.

Baby Finley's first birthday in heaven is today. His mama just wrote about the clock ticking over to midnight and his birthday beginning. I read those words and immediately began crying my eyes out for her, and for me. I know Samuel's day is coming soon and I can't do it.

I can't believe it's been this long. I have no idea what on earth is going on. How did this happen? My sweet baby is gone and I don't get to celebrate his birthday with him. I can't do this. There has to be a way to keep it from happening. What on earth am I going to do without him for the rest of my life? There must be a way out of this.

I've been an emotional wreck since his 11 month birthday. It can't believe this is my life. I can't believe I have to do this for the rest of my life. I can't do it. There has to be a way out.

I just sit here crying my eyes out, searching for him, searching for a way to just be done with this mess. I wonder what it's like to never have to lose a baby. What on earth is it like to think that baby loss just happens to "some people". What's it like to just get pregnant, complain about weight gain and sore backs and swollen feet,  blissfully buy baby thing and have showers, then go into labor,  have a baby and bring them home??? What's it like to plan your baby's birthday and actually get to have them there???

I have no idea. All that was stolen from me for no reason, what-so-ever. Just because "these things happen" and, apparently, God was busy that day.

How on earth can it be possible that I have to hurt this much, while other people never know this pain? How on earth can anyone think a person would be "done" grieving after such a short time?? How on earth can I be sitting here in this madness and despair while even our own families just keep on living as if nothing happened?? How on earth can it be true that my baby died for no reason while there are people killing their perfectly healthy babies right at this moment??
Every once in a while, I get a glimpse of how life is just going on the same for everyone around us. It deeply offends me that while we sit here in the middle of our worst nightmare, our hearts broken and our lives shattered, the rest of the world moves on as if nothing happened. I guess everyone's  just relieved it didn't happen to them instead. It must be so nice to only hear of a story like ours, instead of living it every moment of every day.

I can't do this. I'm freaking out. I'm not ready.

I'm not okay that it's been this long, or that it's not going to end.

I'm not okay with this, but I have no choice. I didn't get a say in what happened to us.

How on earth am I going to keep doing this for the rest of my life?

I can't believe he's gone forever.

My life is a nightmare. I miss my baby.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

And the walls came crumbling down

Well, I believe it's finally happened. The complete nervous breakdown that's been looming is now pouncing upon me.

After a very sad afternoon, missing him so much I didn't know what to do, I decided to just go to bed. So, Bryan came home from work and I said my hellos and then quickly folowed it with goodnight. (Sometimes, there is nothing else you can do but simply go to bed). I woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat and immediately felt panicked. I had a horrible nightmare about Samuel.

I don't dream about him often. I wish I could have happy dreams about him in heaven, all perfect and wonderful, but I don't.

This dream was terrorizing.

In my dream, we had to go to the hospital to talk to the doctors about something. When the nurse came in the room, she was holding Samuel - all wrapped up in a blanket - and I immediately asked to hold him. She said, "I don't recommend that" and faced me. As she turned towards me, I suddenly started screaming loudly as I realized he was not the Samuel I remembered, but instead a very bad version of him. I screamed and screamed,  "Why is he still here!? It's been almost a year! Why is he still here?" I turned to Bryan and begged, "If he's here than what do we have in his little box of ashes at home??"

Everyone just stood there while I screamed in horror.

Suddenly, we were back home and I was in our room. I waked past the chair next to our bed and looked down. The bad version of Samuel was there, wrapped up in a towel. I screamed again and ran down stairs.

All I can remember is horrible screams over and over again.

I can still feel them. Terrorizing.

I woke up and went down to Bryan, shaking and sobbing as I told him about it. I almost opened the seal on his little box of ashes just to make sure they were in there!

Apparently, my brain is trying to figure out where he is. I just keep thinking, "it's okay, he's happy and safe", over and over. But I can't shake this gross, dark feeling I've had since I woke up.

The trauma of his birth and death is starting to show. We're too close to the anniversary of the start of labor and the long, hard week of his birth. Then, it's his birthday. Then, it's the anniversary of his death. Then the anniverary of the day I held him. Then, his funeral.

Oh. my. goodness. 

Heaven help me for the next month...

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Thinking back

Last year at this time, we were outside in the unseasonably warm weather, taking pregnancy photos. The three of us together; our happy little family. The only pictures we will ever have of our complete family.

This year, it's snowy and super cold. We're tucked inside; one missing and two broken.

Here it is, the first day of spring. The time of rebirth and new life. The time of sun and growth. The precursor to summer.

Samuel was supposed to be born in May. He was going to be our little spring baby. Spring brings to mind what should have been. This year, he would be having so much fun, learning to walk and talk, exploring the outside world, a busy little  guy on the go. From this time on, there would have been no stopping him. I think this spring/summer would have been so much fun for our little family.

Instead, it's just more of the same. Another empty day, turning into an empty week, turning into an empty month. No joy, only sadness. No rebirth, only death. No new life, just old memories.

I find myself constantly wanting to do something for him. To buy him things, to make him things, to do things in his name. I have so much pent up mothering energy for him. There is no good place to put it. There are only so many thing I can buy, make or do before it all comes crashing down again...he's not here and none of this matters. What a fragile life I lead.

I can feel his first birthday looming near. I can feel the pressure to not be in bed all day, crying my eyes out. To make it something special for him. I can feel the urge to just skip that day all together.

Bryan and I have been going around and around on what we should do on that actual day. We have a Plan A and a Plan B. Now we just have to decided which one (or secret Plan C do just sleep all day) to use.

I can't believe it's almost been a year. Where on earth have I been? What has my life become? How on earth did this happen?

Sometime I have this feeling like I must have made the whole thing up. This can't possibly have happened like this. It can't possibly be true that our son had died!

But then I see his sweet little face in the pictures and I know, he's real.

He is our son and he died. We will never be the same again.

I miss him <3.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Samuel's Birthday Invite

We cant' believe it's been so long since we said hello and goodbye.

Samuel’s first birthday in heaven is Sunday, April 14th, 2013.

Will you help us celebrate and remember his beautiful life?

However you’d like, in big or small ways, please take a moment between now and his birthday to remember our little Samuel by creating his name in a special way. Then send us the items you made, or a photo. You can send it to our home, email us at, or post to this page.

SEF, Samuel, Samuel Evan, or Samuel Evan Fredrickson… however you say it, he’s our little love ♥

Blocks, crayons, pencils, pens, markers, food, toys, coins, beads, chalk, snow, sand, grass, branches, etc. The list of ways to create his name is endless.

*Don’t think you’re creative enough? Then simply grab the closest pen and paper, write down his name and send us the photo.

Need ideas? Look here:

Thank you for helping make this day special for us, as we dearly miss our little guy on his first birthday <3

Thursday, March 14, 2013

I'm - officially - Still Standing

For those who don't know, Still Standing Magazine is an online magazine written for families dealing with infertility and babyloss. I've been reading their articles since Samuel died and have found great comfort  and validation from reading the stories of others who have walked this terrible path before us. I realized I'm not alone in my feelings and thoughts.

For a while, I've had this crazy idea that maybe someday I could write for them. I had this idea of sharing my story and heart with others like me, and I hoped someday I could make it happen.

When I read a few weeks ago they had opened up submissions for guest posts, I immediatly began forming the words in my head. I sat down and let them flow from my heart.

I had no idea what would happen when I hit send, but I felt like I had at least taken the first step.

A few days later I got my answer.

Yes, my words would be published! Better still, it would go live on his 11-month birthday! I was overwhelmed with gratitude and anticipation. I feel absolutely honored to be a part of something so influential in breaking the silence of these extremely heartbreaking, yet commonly experienced, topics.

How special that I can share a little bit of our story - and, most importantly, our little Samuel <3 - with this community.

My mama's heart is filled with pride that so many will read about and see our little love.

It's empowering to know my words will be heard.

So, without further ado, here is my guest post, The Memory Keeper.

My endless thanks to Franchesca Cox and the entire team at the magazine for allowing me to share my heart <3.

11 Months

Today our little guy would be 11 months old. He should be babbling and playing, practicing first steps and exploring this big world. I miss him so much!

Yesterday was really rough. I cried a lot of the day. Sometimes, it's all I can do. I just miss him.

Today is not as bad, I'm just  very lonely for him. He would be my big boy! and we'd be having lots of fun together. I think I would have taken him to the Children's Museum today. That would have been fun. 

Bryan and I talked about him a lot last night. What he'd be doing, what we are missing about him (everything) and what we think he might be doing in heaven. It's so hard to imagine a place you don't understand. We don't know how old he is, what he looks like or what it's like for him. So we just guess and try to be okay with our idea of the beautiful life he is living. I wish I could go too.

These past 11 months have gone by in a blur. I honestly can't account for most of it. I believe my brain is working on auto-pilot most of the time. How on earth has it been this long? How on earth have we survived? I don't know. We lean on each other. We take it one day at a time.

Before we knew he was sick, I bought him a super cute wooden rocking car. It's bright red and has a bench seat so he could sit inside to play driving. (I would put a photo of it here, but it's packed away in the storage room, like so many of his unused things). I imagine him playing in his car now.  I think he would have loved it.

His special Easter basket we ordered came in the mail today. My mom got it for him. I love it!

I wish with all my heart he could be here to wear a cute little suit and go hunting for eggs. I can't believe he's not.

Today marks the countdown to his first birthday. I'm not okay with that. But I have no choice. I guess it's one day closer to seeing him again.

We miss you so much, sweet boy! You would be getting to big! I wonder if you might be holding yourself up and practicing steps for daddy. I bet you would have loved spending time with him after work. I know we are missing out on some amazing moment with you, as you learn and grown. We love you forever, little man <3 
Mama and Daddy


On a side note, later today, I have something special to if you're reading this, check back tonight.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

All I can do

Sometimes, I wish I could just disappear. I wish I could close my eyes and just slip away, never to return; to be done with this mess forever. 

Life can go on without me. I can see that it does for everyone around us. I could just be done forever and life would keep on going for the rest of the world, just as it does now. Only I wouldn't have to see it.

I keep trying to push ahead. I keep trying to fit back in. Little by little. Every time I do, I just end up right back where I started, but slightly worse off. I think, "it'll be okay to be around people with babies/kids". Nope, it's too painful and I end up resenting everyone I see. "It'll be okay to make plans with friends". Nope, massive anxiety attack.

Today would be a good day to just be done forever.

I didn't want this. I don't want to run babyloss groups and write a blog about babyloss. I don't want to be in the babyloss world. I don't want to feel like it's my purpose in life to keep his memory alive. I just wanted to be a mommy, not a crusader. I just wanted to raise him, not awareness. I don't want to only have friends who have lost babies.

But I don't fit in anywhere else.

Today, I'm just really tired. I'm worn out. I'm done.

Somehow, despite the many, many times I've wanted to quit, I just keep pulling myself up, again and again. Somehow, I keep going even though I'm so worn out.

The other day, I read a nasty comment someone left on another loss mother's FB page. The mother was lamenting about being without her daughter on her birthday. The ugly commenter said (I'm paraphrasing her ridiculously ignorant, rude, hurtful, and long comment) "I'm tired of you being sad...yes, it's a nightmare that [your baby] died, but at some point you need to wake up from that nightmare and move on with your life".

First, I freaked out and corrected her for being a moron. Second, I thought about what she said. I'm sure people who have never lost a child think it's a choice that we feel this way. I'm sure everyone gets fed up with hearing about our pain. I'm sure it's seems like there should be a time-limit.

But here's the ugly truth: You can't just wake up. You can't "decide" to not feel sad anymore. It comes straight from your broken heart. You think you're fed up with hearing about it? We're fed up with living it!

Believe me, no one on this earth wants to feel like this all the time. No one on this planet would choose to feel this badly! But there is no escape. You can't wake up. You can't run, you can't hide. It's always right there with you. There is no "choice".

Sometimes I just want to scream when I hear people adding pain to already hurting people. Why anyone does this is beyond me. If someone is grieving, shut your mouth and listen. Hold them, help them, and listen. That's all. NOTHING you can say will take away the immense pain they are feeling.

I wonder what would happen if, instead of adding to people's hurt, people surrounded those who are hurting and held them up. Instead of saying "move on", they could say, "take all the time you need", and "how can I help make your life easier while you work through this tragedy?" I think we would all be better for it. Maybe people would feel safe to share their hearts and hurts, instead of wondering if they are going to be judged. Maybe everyone would grow in compassion and love for other people. Maybe, we all wouldn't feel so alone.

There are lots of times when I've thought of ending this blog, leaving FB, and just keeping to myself. When you openly tell your story, you are opening your heart up for the hurt inflicted by people who don't understand. You are letting people into a very private place in your heart. Many times, I feel unheard and my pain unrecognized.

But every once in a while, I'll get a comment, or an email, from someone who has lost a baby and who reads my words. They say how reading our story has helped them and how it's given them a voice for their own pain. That's when I remember why it's worth it.

I don't write for my friends or family. I write for Samuel. I write for myself. I write for other parents who are living without a piece of their hearts. Parents who are struggling, weekly, daily, hourly, to make it in a world that no longer makes sense. Who feel torn between heaven and earth. Who would do anything to stop the hurt, but also embrace it because it speaks of the great love they have for their baby(ies).

When my days are empty, my life feels meaningless,  and my heart is about to burst from love and longing for Samuel, I turn to a blank page and let the words come. When I want to disappear but can't, I put it on the page and somehow find a new determination to keep going. When I wish to be raising my beautiful baby, but instead find myself alone all day, I open my heart and let it flow out in words.

Sometimes it's all I can do.

Sunday, March 10, 2013


My plan for today was to try and do something nice with Bryan. Maybe go out to eat and see a moive? That could be nice...

But Grief's plan for today is a sobbing-mess of anger and resentment.

Guess who's winning?

I woke up crying (that should have been my first clue about how this day was going to go). I had been dreaming about one of my SIL's and her baby. (Needless to say, it was not a good dream). Bryan and I got in an argument, I grumbled around for a while and finally ended up in the living room, sobbing my face off.

Wow. I have no say in my life at all anymore.

Bryan has been unable to sleep well for over a week now. I'm worried about him and I don't know how to help. It's really hard for him right now and I don't believe he knows how to handle the emotions he's feeling. He misses his little guy and has no outlet for those feelings.

I can't believe this is our life.

I'm just a dark, empty, shell of who I was. His death has taken everything inside me and I'm hollow, like a black and echoing cavern.

I wake up every day to a life I don't want and emotions I'm sick and tired of having.

I've become such a fragile person. My heart just can't take anything anymore. I hear or see something upsetting and I'm just done.

We are way too far away from him and way too close to his first birthday.

I want to be done with this mess. Somewhere, in my head, there is this point in time when I'll be done feeling this way. I just keep saying to myself, just get "there". But there is no "there". I want to be done, but there is no "done". He's always missing and always should be here with us. There is nothing I can do to change it and my heart is always aware of his absence.

I keep trying to come up with something special to do for his first birthday, and all my attempts leave me a mess. This is not how it should be and I know it. Regardless of what we do,  I know in my heart its all for nothing.

It's almost his 11-month birthday. I guess that explains this melt-down.

We would have been so happy. 

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Samuel's Room, Revisited

Still Standing Magazine asked: What do you do with their room? Here are my thoughts.

Samuel's room is a beautiful and peaceful place. Although I can cry hundreds of tears when I think of how he should be using this room, I find it to be a safe place to go when I want to focus on him.

He and I spent lots of time together in his room. The love that was poured into the creation of his room is something you can feel when you enter. We spend so much time rocking together in the glider. I would read and he would listen to countless books throughout the week. Each night, after daddy time, I would wrap my tummy up in his blanket and we would rock to a CD of lullabies. It was my way of sending him off to a good nights sleep.

I use to spend lots of time in his room, dreaming of him and praying for his life. It's our place.

Now that he's gone, his room is a reminder of those special times together. Yes, it's painful, but it's also beautiful.

There have been people who suggested we put it all away. The very idea of that is heartbreaking. It's his room and I can't imagine our house without it.

A few months ago, I mustered up all my courage and went through his things. I packaged up all the diapers that were sitting open in the baskets. I looked at and held his things and I cried because he will never use them. In my mind, there are things that I will never use of his for any else. They are for him and him alone.

I suppose someday I'll have to put these things away somewhere else. I suppose there will be a day when this room can't be just for him. But for now, I see no reason to do so.

For now, it's Samuel's room and I love it.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

That should be us

I try to go to the store at obscure times, in the attempt to save my heart from the pain of seeing living, breathing, babbling babies.

Last night, Bryan and I went to get groceries at 9:45. We made it all the way to the check out without a single baby in sight.

But, of course, it was too much to ask to have a non-baby shopping experince. Just as we were trapped in the checkout, too far in to back out but not yet our turn, a couple with a baby about Samuel's age got in the line right next to ours.

I kid you not, it went like this.

Baby boy in his seat: "coo, coo, babble-babble" (happiest-baby-alive noises)
His mother: joyous laughter and cooing back to him.
Everyone one in line around us: "oh, he's so cute...oh, oh" (blah, blah, blah)

My heart: exploding noises

I probably looked like I wanted to kill everyone in line, because Bryan gave me a "yeah, I know" look.

I talked myself down. "It's okay. He's actually not a cute baby and that's sad for his family" (yep, when I need to try not to break down, I criticize the's what I do). "and who brings a baby to the store at 10pm?!?"(step two, criticize the parents).

Well, they quickly checked out and moved to the doors. We finished checking out and started walking towards them. For reasons unknown, they stood just cooing over their baby in the doorway until we walked past, then, right on cue, the walked out with us. (Seriously!?) And, guess what? They were parked right next to us! (In the entire world of the parking lot...right next to us.)

I angrily threw the groceries in the car and started driving home. About 2 minutes in, Bryan looked at me and just knew I wasn't okay. I guess I wasn't hiding it well.

He asked and I broke down. Huge sob-fest, right in the middle of the highway.

All I could squeak out was this:  "That should be us".

 What a mess.

Friday, March 1, 2013

The UTPAIL Newsletter

It's finally here!

I've been feeling anxious all day since I knew it was coming out today. I couldn't wait to see it and it wasn't showing up in my inbox. Thankfully, my friend Annie sent me a copy.

It looks really good. I'm so happy to share Samuel with the world <3

You can read it here. It's on pages 22 and 23.

Let me know what you think.

For our little Samuel <3