When my first daughter was born fourteen years ago, I felt invincible and prepared to embrace the world of motherhood. I envisioned myself standing triumphantly at the peak of this journey, planting my victory flag firmly in the ground, ready to savor each blissful moment. That vision, of course, hinged on one crucial factor: my little angel needed to start sleeping through the night.
At that time, everything else about motherhood seemed wonderful, but the sleep deprivation was brutal. Our sweet baby had an aversion to nighttime slumber. I figured that once she began to sleep for longer stretches, motherhood would be a breeze.
Eventually, she did sleep through the night, but then the real adventure began. She started crawling, then walking, and soon she was scooping up any random object from the floor and trying to taste it. Our nights became a bit easier, but the days transformed into a whirlwind of delightful chaos. I was convinced that once we navigated through the toddler phase—when I wouldn’t have to monitor her every move and she could articulate her needs clearly—life would settle into a more manageable rhythm.
We eventually reached that phase, and I was ready to claim my victory. But just then, we entered the treacherous world of potty training. I reassured myself that once that hurdle was crossed, everything would fall into place.
Then came baby number two, followed by a third. Each new child brought its own set of challenges, but I kept fixating on those “once” moments. Once I’m not pregnant with a preschooler. Once I finish breastfeeding. Once the kids are out of diapers. Once they can dress themselves. Once they can whip up a snack. There was always another milestone ahead that I felt would ease my journey.
I know it sounds naive, but I’m an eternal optimist. I embarked on a long quest for my perfect version of motherhood—a mythical time when all the trials of raising children would disappear, leaving only a smooth path ahead.
However, after fourteen years of motherhood, I’ve learned one of the most crucial lessons: it doesn’t get easier; it just presents new challenges. The so-called “holy grail” of motherhood doesn’t exist.
Motherhood resembles not a single mountain but rather a sprawling mountain range. Each summit reached reveals another peak to climb. If you think you’ve “arrived” each time you conquer a hill, you’ll only find disappointment; there’s always another ascent ahead, often steeper than the last. It can feel overwhelming and exhausting.
Yet, when you finally reach a summit, you gain a panoramic view of your journey—where you’ve been and where you’re headed. You can spot the mountains you’ve overcome and the hills still to come. Recognizing that motherhood is a continuous journey rather than a final destination allows you to find joy in the little moments. The trick is to pause at those peaks and appreciate the scenery before gearing up for the next climb. Treasure those brief moments of happiness; they are the real holy grail of motherhood. They may be fleeting, but they hold immense value. If you overlook them, you’ll miss the genuine treasures of this journey.
These days, I still carry my victory flag, but now I realize it’s not meant for some distant peak. Triumph is something we moms carry with us through each day, moment by moment. We may start out searching for the holy grail, only to discover it has been with us all along.
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