Marin Pregnancy Clinic

07/10/2025

Ah so very sweet

A boy and his mama . . .

Are connected at heart.

He’ll search the room to find her.

She’s carried him from the start.

Mama tells him “I love you” more times than he can count.

She whispers it in each lullaby . . .

Each happy ending . . .

Each prayer at night.

He knows she tries her best.

She cheers the loudest.

She’ll be so proud of the man he becomes.

But she’ll still see her baby bear . . .

And remember each cuddle and hug . . .

And all the giants they’ve overcome.

There’s just something so sweet . . .

So special about that great big love . . .

Between a boy and his mama.

Shared with permission from Mommys15Minutes by Jaclyn Warren

07/10/2025

This says so much about how our hearts are caring, loving, and also shattered as parents.

It felt strange to do the usual busy Monday in July things with my kids today.

Dental appointments. Rec sports practice. Open gym.

Because not so far from my Midwest home, there are mothers with shattered hearts who will never do those routine activities with their babies again.

The horror of it makes my chest ache.

I have an 8-year-old daughter—the same tender age as so many of the Camp Mystic flood victims in Texas.

She climbed into the car after tennis class this morning, pink cheeked and chatty. “I’m hungry, Mom,” she said.

“Can we make turkey sandwiches?” her 11-year-old sister piped up from the back.

I thought about those girls in Texas as I assembled turkey and cheese at the kitchen counter for lunch. What did they love? How did their laughter sound? Are little brothers and sisters waiting expectantly for their favorite playmates to come home?

There’s a uniquely human part of grief that lingers in such a confounding way when tragedy strikes.

The world keeps spinning.
Kids still get hungry.
The dog still needs to go out.

But a piece of our hearts stays in the before, never to return.

I don’t pretend to understand the searing loss so many families in Texas are feeling today. It is unfathomable.

But I won’t avoid the empathy they so desperately need either.

I’ve lived long enough to know that grief is isolating, by definition. No matter the circumstances of your loss, it feels like falling into a chasm. And when we’re there, we need to know there is still light up there—somewhere—sending beams of hope, however small.

There is no good answer this side of heaven as to why those precious lives were taken. An answer wouldn’t quell the grief anyway.

But the hurting need hands to hold through their darkest valley, and we can extend them.

Offer yours today.

-Her View From Home

06/25/2025

Ha ha.

06/24/2025

If you've lost any children due to miscarriage or some other difficult loss(es) you might want to read this short article about your rainbow baby.

When you have a rainbow baby, it's good to stop and celebrate the joy of their arrival, even after the storm and pain of the road to get here.

06/24/2025

This is true for so many of us!

When you’re young, you chase the shiny things.
More money. A better job. A bigger house.
You think if you just have that, you’ll feel like you’ve made it.
Like you’ll finally be enough.

But as the years pass, something shifts.

You realize it’s not the things that fill your heart.
It’s the people.
The ones around your table.
The ones who know your laugh and your worst days and show up anyway.

And you never have as much time with them as you think you will.
Parents pass away.
Children grow up.
Friendships fade.

So you start to hold your people closer.
You pause to listen.
You say “I love you” out loud.
You show up while you still can.

Because in the end, a beautiful life isn’t built with things.
It’s built with love.

-Her View From Home

06/16/2025

We can’t give them the latest and greatest toys or clothes with designer labels.

We can’t give them a swimming pool in the backyard or a home gym in the garage.

We can’t give them a brand new car at 16 or take them on European vacations.

But we can give them a childhood filled with laughter and togetherness and honesty and forgiveness.

We can give them messy counters and microwave popcorn at 10 o’clock on a warm summer night, hand-me-down clothes from a big sister, and a loyal family dog.

We can give them rules they don’t always like and grace they don’t always deserve.

We can give them a lawn to mow and a hammock to dream in, books to read and a church to grow in.

We can give them a soft place to land when the world is unfair and people are unkind. We can bandage scrapes and remind them every day how kind and strong and loved they are.

We can give them the security of parents who love them unconditionally while pushing them beyond our four walls gently but purposefully.

Selfishly, we wish we could give them everything. We wish we could smooth their way, point them to shortcuts and less resistance for what lies ahead.

But this is our messy, modest, doing-our-best life. This is an average family navigating monthly bills and inflation and 17 years of mortgage payments yet to come.

And against all odds, it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because we’re raising kids who are generous and helpful and kind. They’re learning empathy, humility, and the value of hard work. They’re funny and smart and curious.

They’re not perfect—they’re not meant to be.

We’re not perfect parents—we’re not meant to be.

But we are a family rich beyond measure, in unseen, simple ways that shape our hearts and fill them with love.

There’s nothing better we can give them.

✍ Carolyn Moore for Her View From Home

06/16/2025

Check the mom's face....

06/06/2025

To all of our nurses at Marin Pregnancy Clinic, we say THANK YOU!

❤