For the past five years, I’ve had the joy of sharing my biggest adventures with you, our faithful readers, and you’ve been gracious enough to read along, laugh at my missteps, and cheer for the wins. But now I get to share a different kind of story. The biggest one yet.
It all started quite romantically, with a date. March 26, 2018. I asked out a quiet, slightly awkward coworker because he had good taste in music. He was shy, reserved, but endlessly kind. I knew from the beginning that he was someone special. What I didn’t know was that I’d one day marry this quiet guy... and that I would be the one to propose because, well, I’m impatient and couldn’t wait around for him to get there first.
We got married on October 10, 2020, and started trying to grow our family soon after. But life, and my body, had other plans. Thanks to Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), we knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
Cue the years of doctor appointments, ovulation tracking, lifestyle changes, dietary adjustments, vitamins with names I still can’t pronounce, and enough hope to power a small city. For five years, every pregnancy test had one lonely little line. Each month, our hearts broke just a little more.
By August 2024, we let go. We were at peace. We had each other. We had our dogs (who, let’s be honest, have always believed they were our children anyway). We loved our life just the two of us.
In October, we found new excitement: we bought our first home. We were packing up to move when I found a leftover pregnancy test under the bathroom sink. I almost tossed it. But something in me, maybe curiosity, maybe habit said, “Eh, why not?”
Two. Blue. Lines. I stared at it. Blinked. Showed my husband. Blinked again. Then we both decided we were definitely hallucinating and called the doctor immediately. Our family doctor confirmed what we could barely believe: we were going to have a baby.
Nine months later, after what felt like the longest, most dramatic third act of a movie, our son made his grand entrance.
After 62 hours of labor (yes that says sixty-two), a whole lot of walking, some pool therapy, and one unplanned C-section later... at 10:17 a.m. on June 30, 2025, Jamison Prater arrived. Ten perfect fingers. Ten perfect toes. 6.6 pounds of miracle with a full head of hair and a set of lungs that definitely work.
I could not be more thankful to the nurses and staff at Stillwater Medical Center who were so kind and caring throughout the three days I was there, and I definitely owe my sanity to my OB, Dr. Taguchi who put up with my crazy pregnant self for nine months and safely delivered my baby boy.
Jamison is everything we ever dreamed of, wrapped in a swaddle and smelling like heaven and baby lotion.
The past month has been a blur of snuggles, midnight feedings, diapers (so many diapers), and trying to remember the last time we ate something that wasn’t from a takeout box. But more than anything, it’s been pure magic. Skyler and I are soaking up every tiny coo, every gummy smile, every little moment that reminds us how lucky we are.
Jamison already loves snuggling on dad’s chest after a warm bottle, kicking his little legs like he’s training for the Olympics, making weird (and frankly hilarious) faces when he hears the dogs bark, listening to lullabies... but only if they’re sung slightly offkey, sleeping all day and pretending 2 a.m. is party time.
And we love him more than we ever knew was possible.
So to all of you who’ve followed my adventures over the years, thank you. This one’s not just another story. This one’s a chapter that begins with love, patience, and a whole lot of faith. And it’s just getting started.
We can’t wait to see what’s next, but right now, I’ve got a baby in one arm, a burp cloth on my shoulder, and a heart that has never been so full.
From our little family to yours, we are so grateful.
Be kind to your neighbors Be kind to your pets And be kind to the new parents who now consider three hours sleep a full nights rest.