Motherhood is the strangest contradiction I’ve ever lived.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, yet it’s also the thing I’d choose again without hesitation. When I talk to friends about a challenge or struggle, I often say, “It feels hard because it is hard.” It’s hard when your baby runs a 103-degree fever. It’s hard teaching a three-year-old how to be a little human. It’s hard not to lose your composure when your toddler is losing theirs.
It’s waking before the sun to the sound of little feet in the hallway. It’s making breakfast while someone cries over broken toast. It’s answering the same question twenty-seven times before lunch. It’s never really sitting down, never truly clocking out, and ending the day wondering what you actually accomplished.
Some days, motherhood feels invisible—no promotions, no performance reviews, no applause for the thousands of tiny things that keep a family running. Just another load of laundry, another snack, another bedtime story, another kiss on a scraped knee.
And yet… It’s also the most beautiful work I’ve ever been given.
It’s Tein’s tiny hands reaching for mine because I’m his safe place. It’s hearing Marlow yell, “Mama, watch this!” as she performs a trick on the trampoline. Nothing in this world makes my heart glow more than Tman’s giggles and Marlow’s spontaneous hugs.
Motherhood isn’t beautiful because it’s easy. It’s beautiful because love keeps showing up, even when you’re exhausted. And… gosh… I’m tired 🥱 On a typical night, I sleep in three different places, depending on where I’m needed. Tein’s favorite spot is in my arms, rocking in the chair. Sometimes we both doze off, and I jolt awake, blurry-eyed, realizing an hour has passed. I hold my breath as I slide him into his crib, instantly knowing if he’ll settle by the way he turns his head and snuggles into his lovey. As I tiptoe away, I glance at Marlow, who now shares Tman’s room, hoping she finds comfort from another heartbeat nearby. Sleep is what Marlow Girl needs, but her little body fights it like a teenager fights waking up for school. When she finally sleeps, she sleeps hard, often off her mattress in a ball on the floor. I pick her up and tuck her back in. Deep breath… both kids are asleep! I sink into my own sheets, positioning myself to see the monitor as my eyelids drop. I wake up with Marlow draped over me. “Mom, can you come rub my back?” It’s 11:45 p.m. I scoop her up, and we snuggle into her bed. Her breathing deepens. I must have fallen asleep because Tein wakes me, scraping his fingers along his crib at 2:38 a.m. He’s hungry.
I know this phase will pass. I know there will be a day when I’m not stealing sleep in three different locations each night. I know I will sleep more than three consecutive hours again. But right now, this is how it is, and that’s okay.
I am human, and when I’m running on empty, I have to pause and choose patience when Marlow insists on climbing into her car seat herself. I remind myself to choose gentleness when Tein fights his morning nap. The days are long and exhausting, but somehow the years already feel too short. One day, too soon, the toys scattered across my living room will be packed away. The fingerprints on my windows will disappear. The laundry piles will shrink. The house will grow quieter. I know I’ll miss things I can’t even imagine missing today. I’m learning not to rush this season.
Not because every moment is magical—it isn’t. Some moments are frustrating, overwhelming, and messy.
Marlow. From the day I knew of her existence, she has made me a better person. My pregnancy with Marlow taught me that some complications are out of your control, and they can be incredibly frightening. Her birth taught me that the only thing that really matters is a healthy baby and mom. I have no judgment on how anyone chooses to birth their child. Marlow’s first year showed me how stressful sickness can be, and how completely helpless you can feel. I don’t judge if you want to keep your newborn in a bubble that first year. Between ages one and two, she was dismissed from daycare more than 20 times for biting her friends. I won’t judge your social media post asking for advice when your child goes through the biting phase. Marlow turned three this summer. She is an incredible little human, but she’s also made me question every parenting strategy I’ve ever believed in. Most days, I feel like I’ve failed her because I have to pick my battles, and it feels like she gets away with a lot of nonsense. If I corrected every behavior, she’d be bruised from constant spankings or sitting in a ‘reset’ corner all day. In social settings, I find myself self-conscious, feeling eyes on me, people questioning, “Is she going to address that behavior?” Yes, I know that wasn’t appropriate, but this week we’re working on not taking toys from friends or interrupting adult conversations. As long as she’s safe and everyone around her is safe, I’m knowingly overlooking certain behaviors. Ask me a year ago, and I would’ve told you my kid would have absolutely been redirected in ALL of the situations I now watch play out before my eyes. We’ve decided to bend, to be patient, and to trust the process of instilling good morals over time. Marlow is loved by every adult who’s taken the time to know her spirited heart. She is exactly what I needed. She’s taught me how to be a fellow Mom with a heart open for empathy and understanding. Having Marlow Girl has been the most humbling experience of my life.
Deep Sigh…
Motherhood is difficult.
Motherhood is beautiful.
And somehow, those two truths don’t compete with each other.
They make each other possible.
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