This evening, I found myself seated on the hallway floor outside my son’s room, phone in hand, wearing pajamas and sporting a messy bun, as I patiently waited for my lively 2-year-old, Jake, to stop his giggling and finally drift off to sleep. Technically, I “should” have taught him to fall asleep independently by now, but let’s be real—“should haves” have become a constant theme in my life lately.
After an hour of playful antics, he finally dozed off, and I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I stood there, my eyes fell on my weary reflection. I was a woman staring back at me, yet I often feel like a child navigating through a chaotic world, desperately trying to understand it all. My gaze settled on the sink drain, where I noticed some mildew forming from the water flow.
“I can’t seem to manage anything these days,” I sighed.
I wasn’t always like this. In the past, my life and parenting were dictated by rules and checklists, ensuring I adhered to the “right” way of doing things. That was my definition of being a good person, a good mom—following the guidelines without fail. But then came the transformative nine months that introduced me to a series of “should haves” and “good enoughs.”
My life shifted dramatically during the pregnancies and births of my two sons. There’s a profound bending and breaking that occurs during this time, followed by the emergence of new life and hope. However, sometimes nine months can bear a heavier burden. Just last year, I held my youngest son, Max, as he passed away, and nine months later, I found myself in a courtroom finalizing the end of my marriage—a necessary but painful conclusion.
Over the past year, I’ve become intimately familiar with the weight of grief. Some mornings, I wake up enveloped in exhaustion, feeling as if I’ve been hit by a thick fog. I navigate through the heaviness of my days, only for it to dissipate into restless thoughts that keep me awake into the early hours. If I could spend every day in my pajamas, binge-watching Netflix, I would. The thought of having meals delivered or hiring someone to tidy up my chaotic space feels like a dream.
But I don’t have the luxury of slacking off. I can’t afford to abandon my responsibilities or retreat from my life. I have a sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy who climbs into my bed each morning, whispering, “Mommy snuggle,” and moments later, he tugs on my hand, saying it’s time for breakfast. With some effort, I plant my feet on the ground, and he looks up at me, requesting, “Mommy, carry me like a baby.” I slowly lift his 35-pound frame into my arms, reminding myself that there will soon come a day when he’ll be too big for this. As I breathe in the scent of his hair while he rests on my shoulder, I am reminded of how fleeting these moments truly are.
No matter how little sleep I’ve had or the challenges that await me, it doesn’t matter. My love for him overcomes any pain or fatigue. He is my reason to persevere, even on days when hiding from reality seems more appealing. I won’t give in. Yes, I am tired, and yes, I would love to stay in bed a little longer, but when morning arrives, he relies on me, and I depend on him to motivate me to rise.
This past year has heightened my awareness of life’s fragility. While life can be incredibly challenging, it can also be filled with beauty, hope, and sweetness. The tough moments—when it feels like I can’t catch my breath—pale in comparison to the tender times, like when we cuddle in his toddler bed, singing a lullaby, and he leans over to wrap his little arms around me, whispering, “Mommy, I love you.”
Amid all my “should haves” and “good enoughs,” I realize that, ultimately, love is what truly matters. This challenging season will pass, and while the scars may remain, we will continue to take our next breaths together. Thanks to love, we will endure.
For those considering at-home options for family-building, resources like Make a Mom and ACOG provide valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination.