Miracles For Our Bébé

12/25/2025

I open up Facebook and it asks what’s on my mind…so much this Christmas. Christmas Eve is my Teakie’s 1st birthday-he made it, quite literally mean that. He survived. I can’t help but be so emotional in the most joyful and grateful way. Thank you to everyone that wished him the bestest birthday and spoke of the value of his life. Him and Olen will always be the best gifts to me, from Our God who we celebrate so fervently. I sit in miracles. Looking at him and Olen together, being home this Christmas I don’t take any of it for granted. You can’t explain living in a hospital and the difference a year can make and the gravity of what our God can do and has done. On this 23rd of December I got to return to Children's of Alabama with my thriving boy Teakie; returned there with him alive and out of the CVICU. It’s a moment I dreamt of coming to fruition. This time I came with him to deliver cards that Olen and his classmates specifically and so sweetly made for the CVICU. I have to be honest, while there I was not going to go into the unit with Teaks, I was going to stay in the heart lobby and pass the cards along to those as they came through and my sweet friend, family, our Auntie Stephanie McBride Jacobs encouraged me to go press that button and go into the CVICU with Teakie in his well state to rewalk those halls with him and love on our family in there with him laughing rather than fighting for his life; I felt fear going back in-the floor brought so much trauma, so much joy, but so much flashback to hopelessness and helplessness, exhaustion, sobbing. This time in there it was joy over and over non stop, he did it, God did it, standing in completely different place in our souls. I can’t explain it. I needed to rewalk those halls with him and receive the hugs and love that he survived. I can’t explain the greatfulness I feel. I haven’t had my phone much today to intentionally soak everything in. I’m so glad God let me keep Teaks. I’m so glad God blessed me and chose me to be Olen and Teaks mama. I’m so glad our Savior came into this earth to save us. This Christmas truly is magical. I can’t even tell how much God is in the works heavily in these moments. We started off Teaks birthday at Waffle House in Oneonta. He ate the best he ever has sitting up in the high chair for the whole meal and one of his waiters was a sweet young lady who also is a fellow heart warrior and recently had an ASD repair. So many fighters in the path and all around us. So many beautiful and messy roads. The Waffle House staff in Oneonta asked to take our picture and thanked us tearfully for allowing them to witness a Christmas miracle. Miracles. So many miracles. Pray continually. Without ceasing. Praise continually. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday Jesus, Happy Birthday Teaks, and the deepest gratitude of being with my Olen and Teaks.

12/21/2025

If Taylor Swift ever sees this, I want to thank her, and her to know she was my Teaks’ very first concert! And that moment meant more than anyone could possibly imagine. We watched from home, him curled into me the way only he can, while I sang, we swayed, and he let out those soft little giggles that feel like pure grace.
I held him and felt that overwhelming, soul‑deep gratitude that only comes from knowing how close we came to losing him. My little heart warrior has spent over half his life in the CVICU. Months of surgeries, setbacks, miracles, and nights where all I could do was pray over his tiny body. He has fought for every heartbeat, every breath, every moment he gets on this earth.
So tonight just music, love, and my Teakie safe in my arms, and this is not just sweet. It is sacred. A moment I once feared I’d never get.
Every second with him is significant. Every second is a gift I will never take for granted. Go hug your babies and spend the most time wrapping them in your arms.

12/09/2025

Nothing else matters but them. My boys. Two lives that carry the whole of me. I look at them now side by side, alive, breathing, laughing, and I feel undone. The world could fall away, the noise could vanish, and still this would be enough. Their voices rising like music, their joy spilling into every corner, their presence filling the air with light. I don’t see gifts or lists or things, I see them. I see the miracle of now.
Both had to fight in their own way to be here with me. Both journeys carved themselves into my soul. And now, together, they are the gift. Not wrapped, not bought, not measured-alive, radiant, mine.
I pause and gratitude floods me. Joy breaks me open. They are are holy reminders. Reminders that love is everything, that life itself is the rarest treasure.
Merry Christmas. May you look at the ones you love and feel it too, the wonder, the joy, the miracle of presence. May you remember, as I do, that nothing else matters but them.

12/02/2025

Update on Teaks 💙
It was a packed day for me and Teaks. We made our way to Children’s of Alabama early this morning after getting big brother Olen to school.
✨ At the end of September, Teaks received a G-tube (gastrostomy tube). This is a small button placed directly into his belly that allows us to connect his feeds straight to his stomach. It’s so much better now that the NG tube (the one that went through his nose) is off his beautiful smiling face.
Our first appointment was with general surgery to check on the G-tube. They told me, “Good job mama!” for keeping his site so clean—it made me feel proud for both me and Teaks. Today I was taught how to change the G-tube button (the little device that sits at the opening of the tube), and I got it right on my very first try! Because he’s growing, we had to size up his button, which is such a good sign. He was the smiliest baby, giggling and even flirting with the nurses, who called him a little flirt.
✨ Next stop was physical therapy. I love PT at Children’s—they are gentle but they make him work hard. We’re working on helping him push up to sit and hold himself without falling back. He thinks it’s funny to just let himself flop backwards, and he tries to pout his way out of working. He screamed quite a bit today, but when I held him he calmed down. The PT reminded him that his pout face won’t stop the hard work of mastering motor skills.
He can hold his breath when he cries, but I’ve learned to trust my mama instinct—I know exactly when he’ll take that breath again. When he does, his skin turns a healthy red, showing good perfusion (that means his blood is flowing well and oxygen is reaching his tissues).
At one point, the PT set up a rope with toys to encourage him to sit up and reach. Teaks, being clever, looped his arm through the rope to hold himself steady while playing with the other hand. The PT laughed and said, “You’re just too smart!” I’ll take that as a compliment.
He’s improving—standing with weight on his legs, sitting, rolling side to side, though tummy time is still not his favorite. It’s such a blessing to see him working hard after months of lying sedated in the CVICU bed. My little fighter is pushing through to grow.
✨ After PT, we went straight to gastroenterology. I shared that he’s eating at least 3 ounces of baby food mixed with cereal and whole milk—praise the Lord, no milk allergy! He’s now off Famotidine and Lanzoprazole, since the vomiting has stopped. We’re down to only two medications—from three pages worth before! That’s huge.
We also got the okay to drop his midnight feed, so now he’s down to six feeds a day. He’ll soon transition from his old formula to Pediasure after his birthday, which means more variety and even flavors like strawberry or chocolate when he’s ready.
By the end of the gastro appointment, Teaks fell asleep in my arms. Then we picked up the best big brother from school.
✨ Teaks now weighs 18.8 pounds! From a tiny 5-pound premature baby to this strong, joyful boy—I feel the weight of his growth and I am immensely thankful. I praise God he is not so sick anymore. We get to live at home, sleep here, and be together.
You’d never know what he has endured unless you saw his zipper scars. Mamas in the hospital right now—please know there is hope. There are hard days, but be present in the good ones. Stare at your baby, soak in every moment. I cry now at his joy instead of his struggle to breathe.
He is amazing. He has tasted Heaven, and I feel it in his bones. We are truly blessed that the Lord let us keep him here to enjoy life together.
Thank you for your continued prayers. You are loved. 💙

11/28/2025

11 Months! My sweet Teaks is the most joyful baby, and his smile lights up every single room he’s in. At just 11 months old, he’s already been through so much, but he keeps fighting and growing stronger every day. He may have half a heart with HLHS, but you’d never know it! He shines with so much joy and love that it overflows into everyone around him. He’s babbling away, saying “bubba” and “paw-paw,” and even giving me some “mama” moments that I hold onto with everything in me. I’m always on him to say it more, because hearing it fills me up. 😊
He’s learning to eat by mouth more and more, and it’s been such a fun adventure. He’s tried baby foods, blended meals with us, twizzlers, carrots, dips off chips, even a baby bottle pop. He’s figuring out what he likes and doesn’t, and every bite feels like a victory. He can sit up now, and he’s working hard toward sitting for longer stretches on his own, even though he’s a little silly goose and likes to tip over without putting his hand out to catch himself. His feet now touch the floor in his walker, and he loves showing off grabbing his toes.
Teaks loves Ms. Rachel, and he bobs his head to dance, using his little moves to tell us how happy he is. His personality shines through in every laugh, every smile, every playful moment. He even had his first Starbucks treat—a little cup with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle—and of course it was a hit, he is like his mama. ☺️
Now we’re getting closer to December, and that means his very first birthday cake. It won’t just be a celebration of turning one—it’ll be a celebration of his life, his strength, and the love and prayers that have carried him here. To everyone who has prayed for him and fought alongside us, thank you. My boy is living! Yes, him is! And he’s thriving, showing the world that even with half a heart, he is full of joy, full of love, and full of life. Teakie! Teakie!

11/10/2025

& We Made It, Together
We’re finally out of the hospital.
I’ve said it. I’ve written it. I’ve whispered it to myself in the quiet—but it still doesn’t feel real. After months of living in a place where time stood still, where every breath felt borrowed, we’re out. We’re home. We’re together.
I had to leave Olen so many times. And there were stretches where I didn’t leave the hospital at all. My body stayed in one place, but my heart was constantly torn—racing between children’s hospital and the few precious hours I had with Olen. We were scattered. Fragmented. Trying to hold on to each other through the chaos and the ache.
There were days I stood in the hallway and let my dreams quietly shatter. I had imagined us outside those walls, laughing, traveling, just being. I wanted so badly to believe we’d get there. But I was afraid to hope too much. One foot in the dream, one foot in the real. Would we ever take a trip together? Would we laugh freely again? Would we ever stand somewhere—anywhere—outside a hospital, all of us, whole?
And now we have. We did.
But it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t clean. It was survival. It was trauma. It was sobbing in waiting rooms and conference rooms, screaming at God driving and throughout the hospital, collapsing into myself while somehow still standing. I was out of my body and inside everything all at once—every monitor, every update, every decision. How do you describe a mama so terrified of losing her baby that her soul feels like it’s unraveling? I had no control. No control over what was happening to Teaks. No control over not being able to hold both Teaks and Olen at the same time. No control when Teaks couldn’t be held at all.
And I had no control the days Teaks died. Twice. His heart stopped. Two separate codes, each running over 45 minutes. I still don’t know how to carry that. I still don’t know how to hold the truth of it. That my baby’s body was lifeless. That teams of people fought with everything they had to bring him back. That I was helpless watching the world collapse around me.
But I know this: he saw heaven. I believe that with everything in me. I believe he got a glimpse of glory—of peace, of light, of love. And I believe a crowd of angels surrounded him and said, “You have to go back. They still need you.” And somehow, he did. Twice. And I know heaven is hard to come back from. But he did. And I thank God with every breath I take. For the miracle. For the mercy. For the joy in his eyes and the life in his laugh. For the chance to keep loving him here.
The trauma doesn’t vanish just because we made it out. It’s woven into us now. It lives in the way I flinch at certain sounds. In the way I scan my children’s faces for signs of something wrong. In the way I hold them tighter, kiss them more, whisper prayers over their heads while they sleep.
This trip wasn’t just a vacation. It was a resurrection. A moment that said: we lived. We made it. We’re not just surviving—we’re together. These photos aren’t just beach pictures. They’re proof. Proof that both our children are alive. Healthy. Laughing. Loving us. That we’re not standing on the edge of goodbye anymore.
I look at these photos and I cry. Deep, aching cries. Because I remember what it cost to get here. I remember the nights I didn’t sleep. The prayers I yelled and whispered through my tears. The fear that sat in my chest like a stone. And I remember the grace. The miracles. The love that held us up when we couldn’t stand.
And the people—our people. We learned who really sees us. Who really cares. Who shows up when everything is falling apart. Some people surprised us with their presence. Some surprised us with their absence. But the ones who stayed—who carried us then and still carry us now—you are the reason we’re standing. You are the reason we didn’t fall apart completely. You held us in hospital rooms, in text messages and calls, in the quiet moments when we didn’t even have words. You still do. And we still need you.
Even strangers became part of our story. People who recognize us now and say, “We prayed for you.” People who cry when they see Teaks in my arms. People who followed our journey from afar and carried us in prayer when we couldn’t carry ourselves. That kind of love is holy. That kind of support is why we’re still standing.
And the medical staff—our warriors, our angels, our family. You let us love through wires and codes and machines. You kept Teaks on his healing road. You fought harder when it didn’t look good. You love him like he is yours. You loved us like we mattered. And you do. You matter so much. We love you. You are forever part of our family. You didn’t just do your jobs—you carried our hearts. You fought beside us. You stayed when it was hard. You made space for our love to live in the middle of the fight. We will never forget it.
Prayer is why he’s here. Why we’re here. Why we’re able to breathe and laugh and cry and keep going. We wouldn’t be here without it. I believe that with everything in me.
We weep for the families who didn’t get this chapter. We carry them in our hearts. And we hold our babies tighter. We kiss them again and again.
We made it. But we’re still making it. Every day.
And I’m thankful. For every breath. Every laugh. Every step forward. This is a God story. A story of survival, of grace, of love that refuses to give up.
We’re here. And we’re not done.
There’s so much more to say—so many life updates to share. I’ll start speaking about those soon. But for now, just know: we’re still here, still healing, still held. And we’re so grateful.

Thank you to Tallie McLean Photography for capturing our story, just free and wild and playing on the beach.

10/31/2025

Dr. Dabal (Teaks heart surgeon) was up early ready to go see his patients and get consents! Got his Spider-Man compression socks on and his gray pull over jacket for this cold day! He also checked on Teaks this morning. ❤️His hair is sticking straight up as Dr. Dabal’s did once!
Happy Halloween! Happy Halloween to our Children's of Alabama family the OR, the CVICU, the CCU, to the multidisciplinary group of pediatric cardiologists, cardiothoracic surgeons, intensivists, nurses, Interventional Cardiac Team, Electrophysiology team, the Cardiac MRI/CTA, Heart Failure/Transplant, Fetal Cardiology, Pediatric Cardiovascular Anesthesia, and other specialists who provide comprehensive care for children with heart conditions! Happy Halloween to all our heart families, all the warriors! You are loved! ❤️

What an honor to want to be someone so inspiring. “I’m a doctor mama.”

10/15/2025

Where pumpkins wait to be chosen, I always choose my boys — heart wild beneath October skies, overflowing with love

10/13/2025

Beautifully said. Thankful for all those up at midnight with me 🤍🤍 thankful we GET to do this ❤️, thankful for life.

If you’re parenting a child with complex medical needs, I want you to hear this: you are not alone.

This life.

The appointments, the hospital stays, the endless coordination and constant worry

It’s a lot.

You’re doing the work of a whole team, often without pause, and it can feel like the world keeps spinning while yours stands still.

You live in a state of vigilance most people can’t imagine. Every sound from a monitor, every change in breathing, every late-night medication reminder keeps your mind on high alert. Rest doesn’t come easily when your child’s safety depends on your awareness.

And beneath the strength, there’s often a quiet grief. Not for your child, but for the life you thought you’d have. The one with fewer hospital visits and more carefree moments.

It’s okay to miss that life.

It’s okay to feel both gratitude and sadness in the same breath. You can love your child with your whole heart and still wish things were different.

There’s also the loneliness.

Friends may drift away, plans get canceled, and it can feel like no one really understands what your days look like.

You’re not imagining that.

This life is isolating. But somewhere out there are other parents awake at 3 a.m. doing tube feeds or medication schedules, feeling the same ache and the same fierce love.

And about that love. It’s something powerful.

It’s a love that pushes through exhaustion, fear, and heartbreak. It’s the kind of love that advocates, researches, and fights every single day. It’s the love that keeps your child’s world turning.

If you’re tired, if you’re grieving, if you’re hanging on by a thread, please know that doesn’t make you weak.

It makes you human.

And you’re doing an incredible job in circumstances most people couldn’t imagine.

You are seen.
You are not alone.
And your love. Quiet, steady, and relentless.

It Is changing the world for your child every single day.

10/10/2025

I’ll hold and rock them always. I love it, I don’t mind at all. Who they marry can sleep train them 🤭 For me these moments, they-are the best parts of me and of my life-and if you say I’m wrong about that then I don’t ever want to be right. 🤍

09/30/2025

💙❤️World Heart “Day”

Is to be celebrated not just today but everyday. Cardiovascular disease is the leading cause of death globally, and raising awareness about this everyday is important.

Tangible ways you can make each day heart day:
-Find healthy ways to manage stress as it significantly impacts your heart health.
-Educate Yourself and others. Stay informed about heart disease and share your knowledge!
-Encourage or bless a heart family/the patient!

Hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS) is one of the most lethal congenital heart defects, and remains clinically challenging. While surgical palliation allows most HLHS patients to survive their critical heart disease with a single-ventricle physiology, many die, and many will suffer heart failure, requiring heart transplantation as the only therapeutic course.

Our Teaks has a diagnosis of HLHS. HLHS stands for Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, which is a serious congenital heart defect where the left side of the heart is underdeveloped. It is a medical condition, NOT an identity, meaning HLHS describes his physical health problem rather than his personal characteristic or sense of self. ❤️ Yes, his diagnosis is HLHS but not WHO he is. 😉 He IS a little warrior and so much more, AND alive because of God, his fighter spirit, continued prayers, his beyond amazing medical team; because of research, medical advances, and humans who have passion and such care and beyond skills to heal and help!

Alabama has one of the nation's highest rates of heart disease-related deaths, with nearly 15,000 Alabamians dying from heart disease in 2022.

Our Teaks is a miracle, Olen is a miracle too, we are miracles and GET to live. I invite you to place your hand on your heart tonight, take an intentional breath, slowly breathe in and out, and give an intentional thanks for your life and those around you. Reflect on all the beauty and mess of it all.

09/22/2025

Teaks is RARE.

Went to genetics today. Let this sink in:

So About 1 in 10,000 live births are HLHS. Only about 900-1,000 babies born with it in a year. There about 134 million babies born each year.

🤯