The Year My Husband Stole Christmas

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Five years ago, there was no tree, no stockings, and no cheesy Christmas card. I remember the pictures we took that season. I forced every smile.

To be honest, our marriage had crumbled. Sure, every friend and family member who was happily anchored offered sound advice:

“Never go to bed angry.”

“Always say I love you.”

And my personal favorite, “You’ll always have each other.”

But a miscarriage ruined everything. I wanted to keep trying. My husband wanted to finish his PhD. And it seemed we were in pursuit of different children.

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The Sweet Enemy

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I am a mother. I have two young children. And every birthday party I attend feels like one giant lie.

To be honest, I am one who has always prided herself on control.

I maintained two very healthy pregnancies.

I lost the baby weight.

I prioritize exercise.

But, deep within, there is a secret: I have a toxic relationship with sugar. And – when no one is watching – I binge.

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The Wait of 30

The Wait of 30

“If you want to have children, you should have them by 30.”

When you are 26-years-old and enthralled in exciting research as a graduate student, one of the last things you want to hear is that your biological clock is not only ticking, it’s pounding.

I think every woman who desires to have children dreams about the magic of their first pregnancy – what those first kicks will be like and how the warmth of their baby bump will fill their heart with indescribable joy. I am willing to bet that few, if any, consider the physical and emotional pain that can accompany the loss of your first child through miscarriage. I certainly didn’t.

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