Mary Jo Bernard- Parenting After Loss

15/06/2024

lol🥴

02/06/2024

some of my fav parts of may 🌸

26/05/2024

when he comes with sisters that tolerate you >>>> strong on the instagram vs reality photos this year apparently

23/04/2024

this is why our doors stay locked 🤣🤪 and if you show up unannounced you will *only* be speaking to me through the doorbell cam lol

09/04/2024

working mom status: reactivated 🥹🥲 I am gonna miss this part of life- being home with them- so much.

06/04/2024

not even 30 and eating too many cruciferous vegetables in one day leaves me feeling like I’ve been stomped on by my toddlers over and over again OUCH

why must I be a part of the sensitive stomach girly gang 😫

04/04/2024

want to know something I miss since having kids??

the small carts at the grocery store.

•can’t put the kids in ‘em
•too small for all the food I buy so the kids can throw it on the floor

😭

18/03/2024

what’s it like living with a toddler?

bear paws have been a fav food for as long as she’s been eating real food lol but now she has suddenly decided that she can *only* eat the little fingers (or whatever those are LOL). the rest is, apparently, not edible ❌

exhilarating.

18/03/2024

wanna know what’s caused me a lot of headaches since having kids? cups. finding a flackin cup that doesn’t either:

-leak
-break
-crack
-let liquid go flying when it’s tossed
-grow mold because it’s hard to clean
-SUCK
-cost the same as college tuition

THAT’S ALL

05/03/2024

01/03/2024

a (mostly) February mini dump ❤️ moms first night (two nights!!!) away from the girlies. I felt like sh*t over leaving them but it was so, sooo much fun and very needed. loved celebrating .richard22 and turning 30 🎉🍺 spring time (and longer days 😭😭😭) are upon us, I can smell it

12/02/2024

😌

12/02/2024

they can sense it 😆😅

10/01/2024

late sharing, but a little dump of some of my fav moments that wrapped up 2023 ♥️ looking forward to another legendary year with my fav people.

17/12/2023

trying so hard to slow down this holiday season and just “be” ♥️ 🧑‍🎄

11/12/2023

😤 no you’re not (they are lol)

03/12/2023

team faux plants 😅

19/11/2023

1 💜 I’ve never had time pass as quickly as it did this past year.

07/11/2023

The holiday season can be tough & triggering for a lot of us for so many reasons.

For me, it adds an extra layer to grieving my daughter- i spend extra time wondering what she would be up to if she was here.

Try (easier said than done, I know, I promise) to do something for you this season; a walk in the snow, an extra hot chocolate, a movie night with loved ones or by yourself… something that makes you happy and helps you feel peace.

I’m rating my mental health right now as mostly good!

01/11/2023

Swipe for the realistic shot 🤪

as good as it gets in a strangers’ driveway on Halloween in the rain 😆👻 happy Halloween from baby shark and Stitch!

25/10/2023

late posting, but I did take the photo on time 🤪 kennedy is still the happiest and her mischievous, adorable little personality is one of the brightest parts of each day. She started standing on her own, so things are about to get even more chaotic 😅 her sissy is her BFF. We can’t wait to soon celebrate her big first birthday!

20/10/2023

“yOu’lL mISS tHIs”
probably but I’m also sick of stepping on crumbs, so

03/10/2023

Fall stuff 🍂 🎃 🍎 in the same week make september a tough month to beat

29/09/2023

🥲🙃

21/08/2023

This is either gonna make me feel better about myself or worse LOL. Entertain me… how many photos are in your “recents” album? Or whatever the android equivalent is.
*I added mine to the comments

16/08/2023

💜

15/08/2023

I can’t be the only mom who is panicking & feeling guilty because summer is almost over and I haven’t “done enough” for/with the kids 😅🥲 (it’s all in our heads because we are all great moms) like why did no one warm me that THIS is what mom guilt is like!?

13/08/2023

A mother never wishes her motherhood away.⁣
⁣
She may wish for space in the bed so she doesn't feel his tiny feet against her back all night.⁣
⁣
She may wish hours weren’t filled with tantrums, sibling fights, and too many tears.⁣
⁣
She may wish away the sick days that take so much out of her physically and emotionally or the too-exhausted-to-function days because she was up all night with a fussy baby.⁣
⁣
Because the truth is⁣
the expectation to “enjoy every second” that’s often brought to a mom’s attention by empty-nesters and grandparents alike isn't realistic.⁣
⁣
No matter how bittersweet it can feel, ⁣
a mother knows the alternative,⁣
an empty house.⁣
⁣
So she wants to freeze time with the feel of her tiny newborn snuggled onto her chest,⁣
that baby laugh that can fix any bad day,⁣
the way they look at her like she’s their entire world,⁣
how she can better their day with a simple kiss and hug,⁣
or how she always has her kids in the reach of her outstretched arms.⁣
⁣
A mom may wish moments, hours, days, and even weeks were less hard, frustrating, and exhausting—⁣
because she’s human.⁣
⁣
But she’ll 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 wish her motherhood away.⁣
⁣
✍️:
📸:

09/08/2023

😏

09/08/2023

wooooof 🥺🥹

I’m five. Maybe six. Dad says “It’s a school night. Time to get ready for bed.”

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m 11. I spent the night at my best friend's house. Six of us in total—sleeping bags lined up on the carpeted basement floor. There’s makeup, and giggles about boys, and silly tricks on the one who fell asleep first. My mother calls in the morning to tell me she’s on her way.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m 15. It’s a beautiful summer evening. I’m sitting on the beach in front of a bonfire with my best friends around me and a cute boy's hand in mine. It’s almost my curfew. I run to my friend's house to call my mom.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m 17. My mom is in a bed with four rails, in a hospital room that has been her home for three months now. I’m asked if I would like to be alone with her before she goes to Heaven. It’s now just her, and I, and a glowing light above her bed. The door creaks open and they ask if I’m done saying my goodbye.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m 21. I just hid in the bathroom and took a pregnancy test. Two little pink lines show up, just like it does in the movies. When I come out—my boyfriend asks what’s wrong.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m lying in a hospital bed, and am wearing a blue gown (that was worn by many before). Life is about to become separated into two parts—before motherhood, and after motherhood. They tell me that it’s time to push.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I am moving out of my childhood home, and am about to move into a house where I now pick out the throw cushions and am responsible for buying the toilet tissue and eggs. I’m standing in the entrance where my mom used to help me put on my shoes and would do up the buttons on my winter jacket. After taking out boxes filled with bits and pieces of my life, he says “C’mon, Sweetheart. The baby’s in the car. It’s time to go.”

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

It’s another month of trying—another month of looming disappointment. He comes home from work and asks if I had taken the test yet. I’m too tired to see another single line.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

There are three of them now, bouncing around downstairs and arguing over whose turn it is to choose the cartoon. One is still not walking, and is still being nursed. The bedroom door opens, and in walks the man who made me his wife, telling me that the baby seems hungry.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

After six years of having a child in the house, the baby of the family is putting a knapsack on his back, excited for his first day of school. Someone yells through the house “It’s time to go! He’s going to miss the bus!”

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

I’m standing in a cemetery. The leaves are turning shades of yellow, orange, and red. The air is cool. I’m stood by a dark brown casket, not yet ready to physically part ways with the man who loved me every day that I was on this earth. This is how it’s supposed to go (him before me) but the pain in my chest is not yet comforted by that fact. They tell me that it’s time to go.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

We wake up in a cabin, in the middle of the woods, where there is no cellphone service, but there is copious amounts of laughter, and red wine, and cream cheese-filled dips. We drink coffee out of vintage mugs, and someone says “I guess it’s time to head home, ladies. Back to reality.”

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

He and I have taken our children to a beachside escape. There were night swims, and pizza on the beach, and morning walks on the sand, and for one week it was just us. Just us. The bags are packed up in the entrance. Passports laid out on the table. I’m sitting on the deck looking over the ocean, when he slides open the door, and reminds me that the plane will be leaving in just a few short hours.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

We’ve packed our oldest up and have driven eight hours to the campus that he will now call home. I snuck a family photo into his luggage and place it on the shelf above his desk. I want to tell him that I printed off another one to keep on our fridge at home (as if this invisible string will hold us together while we’re apart) but the words will not come out. It’s getting late. We need to be at work the next day. It’s time to get on the road and drive away from here (away from him)—while trusting that the roots we’ve created will now grow into wings.

I ask for one more minute. I’m not quite ready.

To some it may be "just one more minute"—

But to me, it’s been the greatest pause—the last moment to savor it all, and to soak it all in.

To just be there. For that one more minute.

To wait until I was ready.

If someone asked me my advice for living a full, intentional life,

I would have to respond with:

Stop rushing.

Sit in what is.

Feel humbled to be here, for the good and the bad.
. . and never, ever be afraid to ask for one more minute 🤍

Shared with permission from Love Always, Heather

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