This evening, I found myself seated on the hallway floor outside my son’s room, smartphone in hand, dressed in pajamas, and with my hair styled in a chaotic bun. I waited for my energetic 2-year-old, Oliver, to stop his giggling, call out, “Mommy, look at this,” and finally drift off to sleep. Technically, I “should” have instilled in him the ability to fall asleep independently by now, but let’s face it—those “should haves” seem to dominate my life at the moment.
After an hour of playful antics, he finally surrendered to slumber. I shuffled to the bathroom to brush my teeth, pausing to examine my weary reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was undeniably an adult; however, I often feel like a child lost in a chaotic world, struggling to find my way. My gaze fell to the sink drain, noticing a patch of mildew that had begun to form where the water flows.
“I can’t keep anything in order these days,” I thought.
This wasn’t always my reality. In the past, my life and parenting were dictated by strict rules and checklists, ensuring I adhered to a rigid standard of excellence. That was my definition of being a good person and a good mother. Then came the life-altering nine months of pregnancy that ushered in a cascade of “should haves” and “good enoughs.”
Those nine months transformed my existence—not once, but twice—with the births of my two sons. This journey has brought both bending and breaking, along with the blossoming of new life and hope. Yet, sometimes, nine months can carry a different weight. For instance, less than a year ago, I cradled my youngest son as he passed away. Nine months later, I found myself in a courtroom finalizing the end of my marriage—a necessary yet heartbreaking conclusion.
Throughout the past year, I have become intimately familiar with the monster of grief. Some mornings, exhaustion envelops me like a heavy fog as I awake. I navigate through the weight of it all, only to have my mind race with thoughts, reliving moments and planning for the future late into the night. If it were an option, I would gladly spend my days in a state of unwashed yoga pants, binge-watching Netflix. If I could have every meal prepared and delivered directly to me, it would be a dream come true. If I could hire someone to tidy up my chaotic life, I would not hesitate.
Yet, I know I can’t afford to slack off. I cannot abandon my life or opt out of my responsibilities. I have a sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy who climbs into my bed each morning, whispers, “Mommy snuggle,” and moments later, pulls me from my slumber, announcing it’s breakfast time. I plant my feet on the floor, one after the other. He looks at me, his eyes bright, and says, “Mommy, carry me like a baby.” With heavy eyelids, I rise, lifting his 35-pound frame into my arms, reminding him—and myself—that there will come a day when I can no longer lift him so easily. Breathing in the scent of his hair as he rests his head on my shoulder, I cherish this fleeting moment.
No matter how little sleep I’ve had, or what challenges the day may bring, it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the pain I endure or how thick the fog of exhaustion may be, my love for him is unwavering. Because of him, I have the motivation to continue, even when the thought of retreating to a quiet corner seems far more appealing than confronting my responsibilities. I cannot, and I will not. Yes, I am tired. Yes, I would relish five extra hours of sleep, but when morning arrives, I am all he has, and he is my reason to rise.
This past year has granted me profound insight into life’s fragility. Existence can be incredibly difficult, yet it can also be filled with beauty, hope, and sweetness. The challenging moments that leave me breathless and the chaotic instances that make me want to pull my hair out pale in comparison to the tender times, like when I snuggle beside him in his toddler bed, singing lullabies. He leans over, wraps his chubby arms around my neck, kisses my cheek, and whispers, “Mommy, I love you.”
In light of all my “should haves” and “good enoughs,” despite the things I’ve let slide during this tumultuous year, I’ve come to realize that, at the end of the day, love is what truly matters. This difficult season will eventually pass, and while the scars may remain, we will continue to take each breath together. Thanks to love, we will endure.
For those navigating similar journeys, you may find valuable insights in our blog post about couples’ fertility journeys for intracervical insemination here. For further guidance on pregnancy and home insemination, the Cleveland Clinic offers an excellent resource here.
In summary, love triumphs over the chaos of our lives, reminding us that despite our struggles and the pressures of “should haves,” the strength of our bonds drives us forward.
Keyphrase: Love in Parenthood
Tags: [“home insemination kit” “home insemination syringe” “self insemination”]