To Our Son Cannon: You are loved, believed in, protected, and supported more than you could ever imagine. Why? Just for being you, no strings, no conditions, no stipulations. You and you alone will always be enough. It's been a bit since I sat down to write, and well, for good reason. A lot has changed in the past five months since I last posted an entry. Our son was born a few months ago, and he has changed our priorities and the amount of time and effort we have to dedicate to other things, and rightfully so. I am not sure if this post will be inspirational, helpful, or motivational for anyone in any way. In all honesty, it might serve as a dumping ground for some of the thoughts and feelings that have been sitting on my chest, spewed out onto the keys in a very “all over the place” manner. But it is real, and it's raw, much like I have found motherhood to be. My son was delivered via scheduled C-section. He was measuring quite large, and the doctors were growing concerned with his size and delivery as well as shoulder dystocia. Aka, they were concerned that he would be stuck in the birth canal, leading to an emergency c-section, or, as I was told, they could try to “gently break his clavicle to get him out.” I don't know about you, but I refuse to “gently” break a bone in my kid so I can have the “badge of honor” of a vaginal birth. I am not saying a vaginal birth isn't worth celebrating, but becoming a mom is hard in any fashion; none of it is ever easy. I am saying I would never allow my son to suffer so I could have bragging rights. I know some people don't view a C-section as “birth,” but I can assure you it is. When you are pulled into that room without your partner, practically naked, terrified, and surrounded by people who are just experiencing another day at work, just to be numbed, restrained, and cut into while you are awake, praying the whole time that you survive, it's not easy. Its birth. It's love. It's motherhood. Being that I was scheduled to have my son, unlike the birth experience where I always imagined some dramatic water breaking moment and scrambling to the hospital like in the movies, it was pretty simple. Call the doctor, schedule the appointment, prepare for surgery, walk in, and have a baby. Each way has its pros and cons, but it was nice to be able to know when he was coming. Although the night before he was born was worse than any night before Christmas or the first day of school that I ever had as a kid, or even the night before my wedding. The anticipation was insane. I was feeling so much excitement to meet my son, but also so much fear that both he and I would be okay the next day. I spent most of the night writing letters to my family members in the event that I didn't survive the next day. The morning of my son's birth, as we gathered the last-minute items to go to the hospital, I told my husband, “If I don't make it, both my will and my letters to my loved ones are on my Google Drive.” I told him I didn't want to ruin the mood of the day with my fear, but I never wanted to leave him unsure of what to do, and from then on, we just didn't talk about it. We drove to the hospital, and we had our son. Later that day, I asked him if he would want to read what I wrote to him the night before, and he said he never wanted to read the letter, and he still hasn’t. In fact, he was, until this moment, the only one who knew they were written. I have never seen that man look more terrified than when I was on the operating table and more relieved than when both our son and I were safe. I truly could not have done it without him, and I am grateful for him and love him even more every day. Preparing for a C-section was terrifying. I knew the risks were higher, I knew what was going to happen to me, I knew the recovery would be worse, and I walked into that room head held high and determined to leave it alive. I am very lucky. I had an incredible medical team who made the process so smooth for me that I am so happy I chose to do a C-section. Our son was born with the cord around his neck, and his head and shoulders measured more than 10 cm around, confirming he most likely would have been stuck and unable to breathe. Resulting in an emergency C-section anyway and a whole other litany of potential complications and risks. But we made the choice ahead of time, and it was the right one. God’s plan is always the best way. Postpartum was like nothing I had ever experienced. At the time, I just wanted the pain and sleepless nights to end. But now, as my son sleeps through the night and I feel just a tad more normal, I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it. I never thought I would miss that hospital room when I walked out of it. But as he continues to grow, learn, and change right before my very eyes, a part of me longs for the hours/days old baby who wailed and the parents who had no clue how to make it stop. It's hard to remember a place and time that we can never go back to. It feels like just yesterday, but also a lifetime ago. I love the person he is, and miss the person he was, and I am excited for the person he will be all at the same time. It's such a complicated feeling to describe, but I am sure that every parent out there can relate. I have always loved kids. From a very young age, I have always wanted to be a mom. I taught many children over the years, from my first Preschoolers I ever worked with in 2012 to the last class in 2018. I have babysat and nannied for countless families and kids. If you know my story, then you know I was a step-mother to a sweet girl as well for almost the first year of her life. I have always LOVED kids. After over a year of trying, I can honestly say there was a point when I was afraid I would never get to have one of my own and have the family I always dreamed of. Every child is a blessing, but in our eyes, our miracle baby takes the cake. When you struggle and almost lose hope for so long, the light at the end of the tunnel shines just a little brighter. To those out there in any form of fertility struggle, loss, or challenge, as it involves kids, trying to conceive, external pressures from people who have no idea what you are going through, or the unspeakable grief of losing a child, I see you. If you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open. My heart is with you. As I become more of Morgan the person again and a little less of Morgan the mom, I am starting to do the things that I love to do. Dusting off the books, the crochet hooks, and most importantly, the laptop keys. I hope to get back into all things blog and writing because I miss it. As this is my 54th entry, one can assume I have a lot to say, and holding it all in for months, you can only imagine how full my head is. But it is not nearly as full as my heart or my arms are nowadays. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Love you more, Morgan Cannon’s Mom Check this out Corner: Baby Einstein's Free Spotify Playlist If you have kids or even if you don't, classical music is great for everyone. As said in the Disney Pixar Movie The Incredibles, “Who is ready for some neurological stimulation?”
“If the numbers we see in domestic violence were applied to terrorism or gang violence, the entire country would be up in arms, and it would be the lead story on the news every night." - Mark Green
There's a song going viral right now on TikTok by the artist Jenna Raine. The song called “Who Am I” has lyrics that state “The girl I used to be in 2017 Honestly, I hardly recognize.” Although the trend is lighthearted and usually just two pictures mostly highlighting physical changes, the trend hit me deep and hard like a Mack Truck. In 2017 : I was escaping my abuser, forced to step away from school, leaving a baby in a bad situation I had loved for her whole life because I had no rights to her, and truly thinking that it could never get better. In 2025: I am married to the love of my life, in my third trimester with my miracle baby, and living a life I never thought I of all people could be lucky enough to live. I used to think growth would feel like fireworks. A grand "aha!" moment followed by clarity and purpose. But more often than not, it feels like confusion. Doubt. Small steps. Getting it wrong. Then getting it a little less wrong. Then realizing you’re already somewhere new—and you didn’t even notice the moment you crossed over. Change—whether it’s a new season of life, a shift in relationships, or the slow unraveling of plans we thought were certain—has a way of shaking us . Sometimes it feels like loss . Other times, it feels like freedom . But most of the time? It just feels uncomfortable. There was a time when the thought of change made me feel like I was standing at the edge of a cliff. Unsteady. Unsure. And absolutely not ready to jump . Honestly, even after all the changes that I have experienced I still wouldn't say that I have ever become “ready” to jump. It's not as much about the “being ready” as it is about doing it anyway. What I’ve come to learn is that discomfort isn’t a sign that something is wrong. It’s often a sign that something is growing. We tend to hold on tightly to what’s familiar . Even when it no longer serves us. Even when it quietly drains our joy. Why? Because we confuse comfort with safety. And to our nervous systems, safety is everything. But comfort zones can be cages. Soft, cozy, padded ones—but cages nonetheless. The hardest part of change is not the change itself. It’s the releasing of what we thought we needed. I've had to let go of versions of myself that once made perfect sense—habits, routines, even people. And in doing so, I realized: we can grieve the past and still look forward to what’s next. Those things are not mutually exclusive. Most of the time change will happen even if we resist it. Resisting just makes the inevitable much harder. I think that this has become very evident to me recently while being pregnant with my first child. Although there are some things that stay the same, most of the things in my life have been changing, myself and body included. It feels very much like the montage in Toy Story when “Strange Things” plays and Woody glances around at Andy’s Room and all the changes that have been happening. No matter how much you would like to fight it, sometimes you just know it will be fruitless. Like expecting your stomach not to grow and your boobs not to get bigger, good luck with that . It's going to happen if you fight it or not. But it has been so gradual that each day I feel the same, until I look back and I realize just how much has happened. Not just with pregnancy, but with life. Bringing a child that you have always dreamed of into the world makes you realize just how much time in your life is behind you. Change doesn’t always announce itself with bold signs. Sometimes, it whispers: You’re not who you were a year ago. And that’s a quiet kind of victory. Let me just say: I see you. And I know how hard it is to keep moving when the path isn’t clear. But keep moving anyway. You are not meant to stay the same. And that’s not a threat—it’s a gift. Growth isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were all along, beneath the fear . So here’s to change—the scary, sacred, slow kind. May we learn to meet it not with resistance, but with curiosity. Love You More, Morgan Check This Out Corner: Toy Story. If you haven’t seen it, where is the rock you live under? Not only is it great at highlighting changes and overcoming hardships (not limited to Space Ranger challenges) but it is totally Andy Vixen approved (If you KNOW you know.)