I am the proud mommy of three amazingly behaved (most of the time) children—Caleb, Faith, and Jacob and my nephew son, Tyler. (See picture above) They really are the joys of my life. Truly, they are. They’ve made me laugh, cry, pray in the closet, and question my sanity on more than one occasion—but I wouldn’t trade a single second of this motherhood journey.
Let me take you back to the beginning…
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic. My childhood dream coming true. I had visions of glowy skin, cute maternity outfits, peaceful belly rubs, and daily moments of awe and wonder—just like those picture-perfect moms in Parenting magazine.
And then… week four hit.
Out of nowhere... my body started feeling as if it were invaded by something that decided it hated food, water, and the smell of basically anything. And it let me know, with awful morning sickness. Actually—scratch that. Whoever called it morning sickness clearly never met me. Mine was “morning-noon-night-and-don’t-you-dare-even-think-about-eating-a-saltine” sickness.
And so began what I affectionately called: For the Love of Toilets.
I was in a full-blown relationship with the porcelain throne. I spent so much time hugging porcelain, I half-expected to start getting complaint letters from the plumbing department.
Oh—and I was told that the sickness would pass by week 20.
That was a lie.
It didn’t pass. It packed a bag and moved in.
But God—being both funny and wise—decided to prep me during pregnancy with what I call LOS Syndrome (Lack Of Sleep). I was up every two hours to pee, which perfectly trained me for waking up every two hours with a newborn. Divine training program. No subscription required.
And let’s not forget the bonus features of pregnancy:
With Caleb, I passed out at Kmart. Just full-on fainted, like a damsel in distress in aisle seven.
With Faith, I was on bedrest for 10 weeks—which sounds restful until you’re trying to parent a 1 1/2 year old toddler while horizontal.
And with Jacob? Oh my. I was so sick I lost 24 pounds. I basically lived on one piece of Pizza Hut pepperoni pizza a day, a banana, and ice chips with root beer, and a side of desperation.
Now where was I? LOl!
Oh yeah……when Caleb was born, he didn’t just arrive. He announced himself.
At birth, he was 23 3/4 inches long with size 1 feet. Yes, size one. In the womb, he used those feet to rearrange my organs like he was doing home renovations. In my last four weeks of pregnancy, I’d place a Pepsi can on my belly, and he’d kick it off like he was training for the World Cup. That was the beginning of our “Do It Again” era—where babies do something hilarious and then repeat it until your brain starts twitching.
But let’s rewind just a tad to the night before Caleb was born.
I cooked a full Italian dinner. Garlic in everything. I mean everything. Spaghetti. Bread. Sauce. Salad. You name it—garlic was in it. Because why not? What could possibly go wrong?
Oh, I’ll tell you.
23½ hours of labor later, as I’m panting and pushing and living my best not-glamorous life, I hear my sister quietly mutter to someone across the room:
“Her breath smells like garlic…”
Glamorous, right? If only social media had been a thing then. But nope—no Facebook filters. No pretty reels. Just me, stinking like garlic and groaning through labor like a warrior woman who regretted dinner. bahahaha!
But when he finally arrived—when I heard that first cry (that sounded a little more like a hyena on helium than a sweet baby coo)—something in me cracked wide open with love. I looked at his wild red curls, his monster baby feet, and his squirmy little body and thought, He’s mine. All 35 pounds of my pregnancy weight, all the elephant trunk-sized ankles, all the waddling, the rib kicks, the bathroom runs, the tears, the wet-the-bed moments (which, for the record, happened again during Faith’s pregnancy—thanks, sweetheart)... it was all for this.
And then came Faith. And then Jacob.
And let me just say—by the time Jacob rolled in, I had seen it all. But he decided to take the parenting game to a new level. That boy did not sleep through the night his entire first year. I was up no less than six times a night. I don’t even remember parts of that season. I think I just floated through life powered by prayer and coffee.
And yet…
I was in my element.
Being a mom was everything I dreamed of as a little girl. The diaper bags, the lullabies, the laughter, the chaos, the moments when you want to cry but also laugh so hard you snort—it was all so me.
And now?
It’s quiet.
No tiny feet pounding through the house. No middle-of-the-night “Mooooom!” No chaos. Just me and my Edwin (my hubby)… finally catching up on sleep. (Sort of. Grandkids are a sweet thing now.)
But you know what I’ve learned?
The joy of motherhood doesn’t stop when the house gets quiet. It just echoes in new ways—through phone calls, texts, family visits, and those moments when your grown child hugs you out of nowhere and you realize… it was worth every single second.
Even the garlic breath.
Got a motherhood memory that makes you laugh or smile?
Drop it in the comments—I’d love to hear your unfiltered mom moments. Let’s celebrate the beauty, the mess, and the miracle of it all.
Elizabeth slept through the night onnce in her first year of life. I went in 3 times (during her normal feeding times) to make sure she was still breathing! By the time she did wake up, I was engorged. I didn't think to pump. Blonde moment...or zombie life from being up with a baby who had her days and nights mixed up and working a fulltime job during the day. Exhaustion became my norm, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm glad I wasn't the only one who had "morning sickness" from 6 weeks until the end of the pregnancy.