“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.” ― William Shakespeare
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?”
For most of my life, I thought being available to everyone made me a good person. I said yes to more than I could carry Yes to extra work when I was already tired Yes to conversations I wasn’t emotionally ready for Yes to plans that drained me more than they filled me. I overextended, overcommitted, and overcompensated . I wanted to be dependable, kind, and easy to love. And somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that setting boundaries was the opposite of all of that. I didn’t realize then that every “yes” I gave out of guilt or fear came at the cost of myself. This all has gotten much, much worse as pregnancy has gone on. All that extra energy that I was allocating for giving of myself to others has now been allocated to growing femurs, creating eyeballs, and an endocrine system (and obviously much, much more). While that may not sound like a lot, it's exhausting. Pregnancy is the equivalent metabolically of running a marathon every single day for 10 months. If any Karen out there feels like that's “ not that bad ,” please let me know where I can watch you run 7969.1754 miles. I’ll bring the snacks and my opinions. While my situation in life changed and became more draining physically and emotionally, the requirements of me by others did not. If anything, somehow people seem to need more of me. Honestly, it's crazy to me how that was even possible cause I was pretty stretched thin before. It’s one of the negatives of handling things well; people think you just have it all under control. They don’t see the boiling pressure underneath. Cue Luisa from Encanto singing Surface Pressure. It didn’t look dramatic from the outside. It rarely does. It was more like a quiet depletion. The kind that builds slowly—through little resentments, subtle burnout, and the aching feeling that you’re constantly showing up for others, but rarely for yourself. Or that they rarely show up for you . I was tired, but I didn’t feel like I had permission to rest. I was overwhelmed, but I didn’t know how to ask for space. I kept pushing past my limits because I didn’t want to be seen as difficult or selfish. But boundaries, I’ve learned, are not selfish. They’re essential. And learning to set them has been one of the most transformative parts of my growth . The person out there telling me that I need to take a step back the most and the loudest, my wonderful husband and partner. It has gotten to the point where he has asked to say no to people on my behalf. It’s funny that it takes him, calm, level-headed, and rational , to be upset at the circumstances to remind me that my feelings about it have been valid the whole time . It becomes much easier to see these kinds of things sometimes with the outside perspective. Knowing that we have a little one on the way who depends on us not just to give him time, energy, resources, etc., but also to teach him how to handle these situations, establish boundaries, and navigate stresses in life also puts this into perspective for me. I never want my son to feel like he has to make his life harder to make others' lives easier. I never want my son to be used by people, and think it is okay in the ways that I have. I want my son to be able to learn from us these mistakes and save the headaches we endured. While the idea of boundaries sounds complicated and the idea of setting them seems overwhelming, what surprised me most was how simple it started. Not easy—but simple. It looked like turning off my notifications and letting the message wait. It looked like choosing to stay home on a night I really needed stillness, even if someone else was disappointed. It looked like saying, “I can’t take that on right now,” without over-explaining or apologizing. Each small decision felt shaky at first. But over time, it started to feel like coming home to myself. In relationships, it meant choosing mutuality over one-sided effort. It meant stepping back from dynamics that left me feeling small, drained, or unseen. And it meant trusting that the people meant for me would not require me to shrink to keep their love. In rest, it meant letting myself pause—without guilt. That one was especially hard. Because somewhere along the way, I picked up the belief that rest had to be earned. That if I wasn’t constantly doing, I was somehow failing. I’m unlearning that now I’m remembering that I can rest just because I need to. Just because I’m human. And that’s really the heart of it: boundaries remind me I’m human. They bring me back to the truth that I can’t do it all, be it all, or give it all—at least not without slowly losing myself in the process. I’m still learning. I still have moments where I over-explain my no, or second-guess a decision I made to protect my peace. But I’m trying to meet those moments with grace. Because this isn’t about perfection—it’s about practice. And every time I honor my limits with honesty and compassion, I get a little closer to the kind of life I actually want to live. So if you’re navigating this too—learning to draw lines, speak up, or pull back—I want you to know you’re not alone . It takes courage to choose yourself in a world that rewards over-functioning. But you deserve a life that includes you in it. Fully. Tenderly. Without apology. Boundaries aren’t about building walls. They’re about creating spaces where you can thrive. Where love can exist without depletion. Where rest isn’t a luxury, but a rhythm. You are allowed to protect your peace. You are allowed to take up space. And you are allowed to be both kind and clear. That’s not selfish. That’s wholeness. Love you more, Morgan Check This Out Corner: Encanto. This movie is not only incredible visually and musically, but the song Surface Pressure made me cry the first time I watched it.