Much of who we are is made up from where we’ve been. Some people grow up in the TV-style homes filled with joy and laughter. If you close your eyes you can picture it: a mom and dad dusting the couch in a tidy home, surrounded by clean children who sit quietly while the day’s plans are announced. When the plan is made, everyone jumps to it and does what they are asked with little to no complaints.

This was not my experience.

Long before I can remember, my parents divorced, and it was just my mom, my brother, and me living in a small town doing our best. My mom worked hard to provide for us, but I know her life never looked the way she imagined. My brother has a rare blood disorder and, from my perspective, he required a lot of my mother’s time and attention. I learned early what signs to watch for and how to encourage my brother to drink water.

I learned independence and resilience early on. I can’t speak for others in my family, so I’ll reiterate that this is my story. Growing up with a brother who had frequent hospital stays and doctor visits, all juggled by a single working mother, taught me how to listen to my instincts and advocate-often fiercely-for the people around me. I learned the power women carry as I watched my mom provide for us. I learned that even when we feel like we’re standing alone and shouldering most of the burdens, there is always space to find joy and happiness in simplicity.

Having watched all my mom did on her own, I knew the importance of choosing someone who wasn’t just going to be my husband but a partner in all the things we would face together. I didn’t want a husband who was only physically present; I wanted someone emotionally and mentally available for me and our future children. I wanted a best friend-someone I genuinely enjoyed being around.

I had many examples of love growing up, and I took mental notes of the things I admired and the things I didn’t. I knew I’d be ok with either being a working mom or staying home; after all, my mother worked and I went to daycare, and I never felt that meant she loved me any less than my friends whose mothers stayed home.

I knew I wanted to be a kind and loving wife and mother-someone who was slow to anger and quick to forgive. Someone who could apologize openly when I inevitably lost my temper or handled a situation “incorrectly”. I held some pretty high standards for what I thought my motherhood journey would like.

When the time came in the spring of 2016 for my husband and I to start our family, we couldn’t have imagined the struggle ahead in reaching what seemed like an “easy goal.” This was my first experience as an adult where my life didn’t go as planned. You see, I am someone who knows God and knows He is aware of me. So when I felt He was prompting us to begin our family, I truly believed that meant He would have our backs and help us get there quickly. But his timing didn’t match mine, and after a few miscarriages, we finally saw a positive pregnancy test the day after Thanksgiving Day in 2019. And this time, it was going to stick.

Pregnancy for me wasn’t easy or idealistic. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom, unable to keep anything down. This led to many ER visits for fluids, and the sickness continued through my entire pregnancy-I never got the second-trimester reprieve everyone talks about. Looking back now, I realize that the constant daily sickness became its own kind of reassurance. I hadn’t felt sick in my previous pregnancies, so being sick this time helped ease the fear of losing this baby.

Being pregnant is not my favorite thing to do, but I do love the knowledge that my body can carry a baby and bring them into this world. I love the feeling of connection to God as I prepare a place in my life, my home, and my family for a new baby.

Around 35 weeks, I went in for a routine appointment and learned that my normally low blood pressure was suddenly reading as “normal.’ My nurse and doctor ordered tests for preeclampsia and sure enough-another thing I wasn’t expecting. This meant bed rest and no longer working. It also meant navigating appointments during COVID, which left me going in alone while my husband waited in the car.

One Sunday, I got a severe headache and started seeing stars. We called the doctor’s office and they told me to come in. It was bad.

We arrived at the hospital, and they immediately hooked me up to all the usual monitors for mom and baby. My blood pressure was high-medically, frighteningly high. Suddenly, a nurse appeared in the triage room with a wheelchair, calmly assuring us that everything would be ok but that things were going to move quickly for a bit. Within minutes, we were in another room where they started magnesium. Once that was running, it became a waiting game for it to take effect before we could begin the induction process.

Thankfully, the hospital was allowing each mother to have one support person, so I was able to have my husband with me. Leading up to this, I had been incredibly anxious that I might have to go through labor and delivery for the first time completely alone due to COVID policies. I know for many people, having their own mother in the room would be comforting-and I can’t say it wouldn’t have been for me- but I feel deeply grateful that this was something Ryan and I experienced “alone.” He was amazing. Attentive, curious, strong, willing to feed me ice chips- everything you’d hope for in a moment like that.

When we finally began the induction, it turned into a long process. The medication used to lower blood pressure can also lessen the effectiveness of the induction medication, so my body was working overtime. But eventually, everything aligned, and at around 5:45 in the morning on June 30, 2020, our first beautiful baby girl was born. Other than needing to pass a hospital-required newborn car seat test-because she was exactly one day premature- she was healthy and perfect.

Bringing home a new baby is scary. I remember leaving the hospital with a stack of papers about lactation consultants, reminders not to shake the baby when overwhelmed or frustrated, and warnings to not let people “spit” on her. I left in an adult diaper, more sore than I ever imagined, and ready to surprise my mom with her first grandbaby. We told her that Ryan was just coming home to grab something I needed and that we weren’t being discharged yet. When she heard how high my blood pressure had been, she rushed to us anyway, even though we told her to wait since she couldn’t come inside the hospital. That’s what moms do-they come, because being 500 miles closer is all that mattered to her. She cleaned the house and made sure we had everything we needed for whenever we came home. The first night was rough. Trying to keep such a tiny baby warm was surprisingly difficult. I remember barely sleeping, and my mom did her best to let us figure things out on our own. Eventually she took over holding the baby so Ryan and I could sleep, and it was so needed. I had decided early on not to stress about breastfeeding, so I tried it, hated it, and we chose formula. It was our first parenting decision that wasn’t widely accepted by some of the people around us, but it worked well for us.

A few days after my mom left, I called Ryan at work, crying because the baby was crying. He came home gabbed the baby, the diaper bag, and a bottle and took her for a drive so I could sleep. We slowly found a rhythm that worked: I handled most of the overnight care, and he did the 6:00 am feeding before leaving for work, which gave me about seven-ish hours of sleep. I did my best to get outside everyday. We lived in a basement apartment, so getting fresh air and sunlight was important for my mental health and for the baby’s development. Sometimes we would go for a walk, sometimes for a drive, and sometimes I’d just sit on our landlords front porch and watch cars go by. I only got six weeks at home before needing to return to work. In early September, about a week before I went back, a friend told us about a duplex opening up, and we moved. It felt good to be above ground again and have natural light. The adjustment back to work was hard, but we were fortunate-my mother-in-law was watching the baby, and because of COVID, I was working from a room in their home. I could see baby girl when I grabbed water, at lunch, or just because I needed to. She was, all around, a “good” baby. She would eat, sleep and smile. And she made our house feel magical.

Once baby girl was about a year old, we felt it was time to try for another baby. Up to this point, I don’t know that we were consciously “parenting” yet. She didn’t have any out-of-the-ordinary needs, and as an only child she wasn’t needing a lot of active guidance around sharing or social skills. We mostly made sure she was fed, clothed, and happy as often as possible. Around this time, I decided to change jobs to something less corporate and more family-friendly, which allowed me more time with her before and after work.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before we were blessed with another pregnancy. This pregnancy was similar to the first-lots of sickness, lots of fluids- but still we felt so lucky to be preparing to welcome baby girl number two.