My oldest is now 5 (wow!) and my baby is 3.

Most moms admit that once the kids get out of diapers and into school, it’s tempting to think, “Maybe we should just have one more…?”

There’s something about having a baby in the house. Yes, it’s exhausting and you’re doing so much laundry and so little sleeping. But it’s a magical time. I’ve been having “baby cravings” for a couple months now, and while I think it might have something to do with my daughter starting school, I think it might have to do with something else entirely: I’d get another shot to excel as a Mom right out the gate.

I feel like I’ve learned so much now. When my daughter came home, I was a blubbering mess and didn’t have a clue as to how to proceed. I fumbled with breastfeeding, with patience, with nightly feedings, with everything until finally one day….I got it.

But on the other hand…three kids? I just can’t see it. I know plenty of moms have more than two kids and some even have a sizeable age range. They manage to make it look at least doable. My husband has officially put his, um, junk in retirement and wouldn’t have another kid if you paid him. He just keeps on praying for the Mirena and does a little happy dance when I get my friendly “not pregnant” reminder every month.

It’s not that I really want another kid. My two keep me busy all days of the night. But I do miss that baby stage. What I wouldn’t give for a whiff of that newborn smell. Ahh…

Let’s talk baby fever. Who has it, besides me? 

I’ve been trying to think of what my “word” for 2012 should be. Last year I declared that 2011 was going to be the year of focus and for the most part it was. My relentless push in all areas resulted in a pretty darn good year.

But I’m realizing I spent a lot of time in 2011 saying yes to everything. When I say everything, I mean it.

“Who wants to bake cookies for the kindergartners?” Sure, I’ll do it.

“Who wants to go first in presenting your curriculum to the class?” Hey, why not me?

“Who wants to edit this manuscript? It’s 300 pages and it’s due in three days.” Oh, let’s see if I can.

It drove me crazy. You know how they say we only use 10% of our brains? Well, it felt like I was closing in on 90%. All the while I’m thinking to myself, “Why am I doing this? What is the point?” Most of the time I was tired for what felt like no reason, and my self-care plummeted. (As my friend Aja wisely noted once, “It’s almost impossible for me to try to be rich and skinny in the same week.”)

So as I’ve been mulling it over, I think 2012 will be the year of “purpose.”

What does that mean? I dunno. What I think it means is that I won’t be doing anything just ’cause. I want to do things that have meaning, that improve my life, that increase the number in my bank account, that give my kids new experiences.  Of course, life throws us curveballs and we must adapt and sometimes do things we don’t want to do.

But I want to 2012 to be more guided. More introspective. More calming. As I approach the end of grad school, I’m almost certain some days the goal is going to be “Just try not to pass out.” But I can do it. And so can you.

What is your goal for 2012?

I said that 2011 was all about “focus.” Well, somewhere in the shuffle my focus got lost and I found myself “yes, yes, yes”ing to everything that came my way. Part of that was because I’m self-employed now and turning down an opportunity means my kids might not eat next month. I was ripping and running my way through the days and nights and feeling run down almost every single day.

2011 was rough. I had a lot of accomplishments, yes, but it was exhausting.

In 2012, my goal is to work smarter, not harder and do something I’ve been threatening to do for years: Cut myself some doggone slack.

I am my own worst critic and now that I’m my own boss, the pressure is 10 times greater. But I realize that I give 1000% in everything I do so I can’t be mad. I’m giving myself a reality check in the form of a performance review.

In the past year I:

• managed to pay all my bills on time. Yes, the big ones AND the little ones.
• got a 3.7 in graduate school.
• volunteered on six field trips (since August).
• baked cookies for my daughter’s class twice.
• made four meals for my husband’s work potlucks.
• juggled 5-6 freelance clients at a time.
• (somehow) managed to stick to a $50 a week grocery budget.
• raised money for a young mother to get a book scholarship.

As I type this, it’s about four days before my son starts preschool. It will be the first time in a full year that he will be someplace other than just with me all day.

I tried to do the superwoman thing and make $50K a year while working from home, with no babysitter, and write books, and run two or three successful blogs, be a super responsive social media consultant, edit manuscripts, make delicious dinners, keep a clean house, and maintain my 3.7 GPA. The hell? 

To give myself credit, I did manage all that for a full year. But I was dead-ass tired every night. Like, I’d wake up in the morning not knowing what happened in the minutes before I went to bed. It was just, “Oh, I guess I went to sleep,” each morning. No clue if I dragged myself to bed or if my husband was peeling me off the computer and carrying me to bed. I dunno.

So I’ve been doing a heck of a lot of…inspirational stuff lately. Make it happen, get yours, go to school, rise above, get inspired….all that stuff is well and good, but man, I just want a sleep session. Like, could someone give me 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep (make it 12) and promise me that no work would pile up while I was unconscious? Please?

I knew this—the life I’ve chosen—was going to be stressful. I mean, I don’t even want to list all the things that are on my plate or I might just fling that imaginary plate into the wall. I even tried to make peace with the fact that I am going to be insanely tired for the foreseeable future.

I just want to know that this hard work means something. That someone is taking notice. That the plans are lining up as they should. That when I’m 30 or 40 or 50, I will be able to look back at this time and say, “Yup, this is where it all started.” And give my 20something self a high five for busting her hump so my 50something self can be straight chillin’ in Hawaii somewhere.

So I’m not complaining. Really. Eventually this will pay off. I’m sure of it. It’s just hard to keep up the pace when you’re pulled in 70 different directions and your bank account is not quite showing the fruits of your labor. But I’m getting there. We’re all getting there. And it will be glorious.

I discovered I was pregnant my junior year of college. At the time, I had a roommate and we lived in the “cool” dorms.

So that summer I went to New York and had a roommate there as part of the internship program I was completing. Then when I came back home to Ohio from the internship, I moved in with my boyfriend and we have been living together ever since.

As a result, I have never (ever) lived on my own.

I wonder about this sometimes, when the noise levels in my house rise and I want nothing more than for my husband to take the kids outside (anywhere) to give me a moment to be home by myself. Just by myself.

My husband is good (sometimes) at knowing when I need a break and quietly suggesting that I go out to the movies or the mall. But sometimes, I just want to be by myself in my own home, that I bust my butt every month to pay the mortgage on.

I just want to lie across my bed and feel the breeze from the ceiling fan without having to get up and bust up the fight that my two kids are surely having.

I want to put on my pajamas and lounge on the couch and spend an entire Saturday watching Arrested Development on Netflix. I want to grab some takeout and eat it in bed. I want to clean up, if I chose, and have the house stay that way for more than 30 minutes. I want time to actually organize my closet, which has been in a state of haphazardness since 2005.

It’s hard to just “be” in the house when the little ones are there. I’m constantly on the move, making lunches, overseeing homework, making dinner, playing on the floor, fetching toys that roll under the couch. I’ve never come home from work and it was just me to worry about.

I wonder if I missed out on something. Don’t get me wrong – I love my kids and I love my husband and it’s cool that they’re there. I love living with them. But sometimes. Sometimes I wish I had some quiet. And peace.

Did you live on your own before having kids? Did you enjoy the experience? Do you remember that time fondly?

by Wynter Pitts

It’s one of the most memorable days of my life. I sat looking out of the window with a blank stare on my face and it felt like I was living inside of a silent movie scene, except it wasn’t quiet.   Somewhere in the distance I could hear a mixture of my husband’s voice, my two-year-old’s and five year-old girl’s giggles and the hum of my small SUV’s engine, but it all seemed to be getting drowned out by the news I had just received…

I was 28, a wife of six years, a mom of two girls, and I was finally beginning to fit comfortably into my jeans once again. My days were a mix of playdates, bibs, and vacuums. I was pretty settled into my life as “mommy” and I honestly felt like I had it all under control.  Life was good.

We had just gotten back from a family trip and our first stop was to the doctor’s office.  My husband waited in the car with sleeping kids while I ran in to grab some test results.  Little did I know but that stop at the doctor’s was going to literally flip my world upside down!

I don’t quite remember my journey from the office to the parking lot but I am guessing it happened very slowly.  My husband hopped out of the car with a puzzled look mirroring what he saw on my face.

I couldn’t speak.

As he got closer, I guess he could hear my mind spinning because he grabbed me and said, “Oh my goodness, you’re pregnant with twins!”

I still couldn’t speak.

Fast forward about 12 months and this is what my life looked like:

I am sitting in a rocking chair with each arm positioned to hold a football; Baby A is attached to my left side and Baby B attached to the right.  Between the babies is my three year old with one arm reaching over baby B, and her small hand playing with my earlobe.  My five year old is sprawled across my shoulders playing in my hair. I am not sure what was happening before, but at this moment, I knew I was a mom!

As the years have progressed, life has only gotten more interesting. I was a mom of two girls but now as I sort through 8 ruffled socks and 4 fleece jackets, load my mini-van with Capri Suns and fruit snacks, plop Elmo into the DVD player and head to soccer practice, there is no doubt in my mind that I am somebody’s Momma!!

Wife and mother of 4 girls, Wynter Pitts resides in Dallas, TX, and is the founder and editor of For Girls Like You Magazine (www.forgirlslikeyou.com).

by Franchesca Lane-Warren

I remember like it was yesterday. I was locked in a stall in my dorm bathroom anxiously awaiting the results of my pregnancy test. As I closed my eyes I thought, “Could I really be going through this?”

Just months earlier, I had left my small town as the first person in my family to receive a scholarship to college. I remembered my parents beaming with pride as they left me at college full of their dreams and aspirations for me. I was going to make a difference.  As I opened my eyes my life changed forever…..the test read positive…I was pregnant.

Everything after that was a blur from how many tears I cried. My boyfriend (husband now) was supportive but we really had no idea what to do. We considered an abortion but neither one of us could go through with it…I wanted to keep our baby.  After making that decision there was a whirlwind of activity: I had to find a place to live, get a job and tell my parents that I was pregnant and that I was keeping the baby. My mom cried and my father was silent…dead silent. After about a month they recovered from the news after I vowed to stay in school and still “make something out of myself.”

Nine months later my son was born, but instead of life being easier it got harder—even unbearable at times. Here I was a full time student, part time worker, who still had dreams, aspirations and a baby.  Being the strategist I am, I decided that I had to make this work. I moved into campus family housing, got government assistance, and decided to live by the mantra, “Hard times don’t last always.” During those hard times I learned five important lessons that have stuck with me as my family has grown and has allowed me to be a great mother despite obstacles.

1. When you have children, their interests are first. PERIOD. POINT.BLANK. This was hard for me. I was so used to doing what was good for me that at times I forgot I had a baby who needed me to do what was good for him. This took a lot of sacrifice….there were times I could not go out and socialize because my son needed me. I had to spend quality time with him, work on his homework with him, or just be there because he wanted me. Whenever I was offered a new opportunity or job I had to consider how the hours, stress, pay, etc., would affect him. This caused me to turn down some opportunities while embracing others..,
2. Spend time and love your children and everything else will fall in place. While I was pregnant I read every website and book I could find about raising a child. When he was born, I tried to institute everything I read and I almost had a nervous breakdown. My mother saw the toil trying to be “perfect” took on me that she gave some advice that only she could, “Love him, spend time with him…everything else will fall in place.” Living by that mantra has allowed me cover any mistakes I’ve made with him (buying him a skateboard to early, etc) with love. When he is an adult he will remember the love and time I spent with him not the petty mistakes (giving him whole milk too early, etc) that I would “beat myself” up about.
3. Some friends will not understand nor respect  that you are a mother—discard of them immediately. I was 19 when I got pregnant (20when I had my son) so I was the first of my friends to have a child. Some of them understood, but there were some who did not understand nor respect I was a mother. There were friends who got mad at me because I refused to leave him with random people to go out on the town with them—I stayed away from them. The friends who realized I was not as mobile as I had once been were priceless to me. Sometime they helped me when I needed a sitter or when I was about to fall to pieces but  for them I will be forever grateful.
4. Every mother needs a support system, small or large. For the first couple of months I was a mother I thought I was superwoman. I changed all diapers, gave all feedings, soothed every tear and then I almost had a breakdown. My boyfriend would jokingly say that I never slept a wink because I needed to do it all.  I needed help and since my parents lived 500 miles away I had to make a choice. Accept some help or go back to my hometown with my baby. I chose the first option and life got better. If someone I trusted asked to babysit I allowed them. Other times I needed to get  advice, a homemade  dinner or a word of encouragement—all of these things helped keep me sane.
5. “Me” time is vital for your (and others around you) sanity. I learned that not every minute can be spent with your family—no matter how much you love them. So some days I would just go to the library, take a walk or go to the mall and spend time with me and learn what I liked to do without baby. Don’t underestimate the power of being alone; it’s during this time you find yourself with no distractions.

Fast forward to eleven years later, and I am a mom of 3 children (11, 3, 2) who graduated from college, got a Master’s Degree (working on my PhD) and am a pretty awesome wife to my college sweetheart. As I look back during those times I can smile because my son helped me become a better (more responsible person).

What are some lessons you learned when becoming a young parent?

Franchesca is the owner and head writer of lifestyle blog, www.bossygirl1980.com and lifewiththreekids.wordpress.com. You can find her on twitter @Bossygirl1980 reliving the good, bad and strange world of parenting. 

What about you? Are you tired?

Do you curse your alarm clock when it goes off in the morning? Do you hate the fact that you have to wake up when it’s still so dark outside?

Do you promise yourself that THIS will be the night you go to bed early, but then you drag yourself in the bed post-midnight once again?

Would you give your left arm for a decent night’s sleep that you wake up rested from?

Even though there’s a Starbucks on every corner, do you still wish there was one, like, on your block? Or that they delivered?

Do you love your kids more than life itself, but you also acknowledge the fact that they are energy vampires?

Do you find yourself annoying people with your “I’m so tired!” proclamations every day?

If you find yourself answering “Yes” to three or more of these questions, then you may just be….me.

Okay, so I’m asking honestly: How do you get energy? What’s your secret? 

My kitchen is always dirty. Always. No matter if I clean as I go while I’m cooking dinner, or if I put the dishes in the dishwasher before I go to bed, or if I clear off the counter before I start cooking. It just stays a mess.

And I’ve given up, really, trying to keep it pristine. I think it’s a waste of my energy at this point.

Right now, I’m focused on many other things. I’m appreciating where I am right now in life, and how much everything has changed in just five short years. We’re growing as a family, but most importantly, we’re growing stronger. It’s beautiful, really.

I realized that my family will either sink or swim based on me. They follow my lead. If Mama is sad or overwhelmed, they feel it. If I’m happy and content, they are as well.

So I’ve been making a conscious effort to be patient and to view all my so-called “issues” as blessings. For example…

If my living room is a mess, that means my kids love to play.

If my bedroom is a mess, I’m grateful that I have a decent sized bedroom and lots of clothes.

When I see dirty dishes in the sink, instead of sighing and cursing the fact that we are forever running the dishwasher, I will be grateful that we have a dishwasher. Dirty dishes mean we eat regularly.

If I feel exhausted, I will try to remember that this is what building a legacy is about. Long hours, big projects.

When my kids drive me crazy with their 1,563th request for something, I will admire their persistence instead of fussing under my breath.

If I chose to look at everything through a more positive lens, then eventually, it will become habit. And then those daily annoyances will instead be small reminders of how good life actually is.

This is why I love the YML community. One of the fabulous mamas left this video on the Facebook page (join the conversation if you haven't already!) In it, a vlogger gets a question from a viewer who wants to know if she should keep her baby, at 19 and pregnant. Check out her response below:  

As I sat in class yesterday, I took the opportunity to jot down a quick to-do list to get stuff off my mind and onto paper so I could focus on the discussion we were having about work-life balance (ironic, yes).

We were discussing the fact that so many people are striving for work-life balance but what does that mean? I argued that it doesn’t.mean.anything.

All this time I’ve been trying to “balance” all the facets of my life. And it just doesn’t work. There has never been a time when I felt like all cylinders were clicking at one time.

But you know what? That’s okay.

I’ve since learned to accept that I give my best to my children every day, and I embrace the good days and learn from the bad. If I really stop to think about it, I’m a much better mother than I even give myself credit for.

My kids are kind and smart and inquisitive. They love to read and they’re learning to share. They will try new foods and they laugh a lot. They’re cute and cuddly and they show me lots of love. They love to help me around the house. They are great kids. And I’m not just saying that because they’re mine.

So often, I’m focused on what I can’t do or don’t do for my kids. I don’t have them signed up for every conceivable arts or music program. I’m not a stickler for them keeping their rooms clean. They might eat candy or takeout much more than I’d like. I might not play on the floor with them like I want to. But they are not suffering as a result of being my children. They are thriving.

I’ve often felt like I’ve had to be an even better mother to make up for the fact that I had my children young. But guess what? They don’t know how old I’m “supposed to be.” All they know is that I’m their mother and that I love them more than life. In their eyes, I could be 20, or 15, or 45. They don’t know and they don’t care. I wish I had spent more time reflecting on that than being so self-conscious about my young mother status.

As I scrambled to get to class last week, I finally realized that what I am attempting—the Superwoman, Superstudent, Superwife routine— just is not working. Add in Superparent now that my daughter has started school and I’m literally jumping from one thing to the other, with little time to catch my breath.

While I’ve always talked about putting yourself first, it’s just now hitting me that I need to start practicing what I preach. 2011 has been a monumental year for me, but not without challenges. I’m more tired than I’ve ever been, major unexpected home repairs ($8K on a new furnace/AC unit? Sure, why not? It’s not like I’m self-employed now. Ugh.) put a damper in the budget, and my husband and I are still hashing out our roles and how we’re going to manage everything.

I needed some other ways to alleviate some of this workload, to make it so I’m not constantly wiped out no matter how much (or how little) sleep I get. I did some thinking and took some baby steps to get my sanity back:

1) Wake up, sweetheart, and get yourself ready. We’re working on my daughter picking out her own clothes and getting herself ready in the morning. We’ve been working to get her eczema under control so I still lather her up in her special oils (cocoa butter, olive oil and tea tree oil, if you’re wondering) but she’ll do the rest.

2) Snacks are on the bottom shelf—help yourself. I don’t know what took so long for me to figure this out, but I finally did. Being a work-at-home mom is very difficult because of the start-stop nature of my work. I’ll check my email, then make my son some breakfast. Go to the store, then come home and edit an article or write a quick blog post. Play with my son for a bit, then start dinner and do some research for class. But the most frequent request was always “Can I have some yogurt/a juice box/an apple, etc?” I would stop, grab the item they requested and then try to get back to my work. But now they ask for something and after I say yes, they can get it themselves. Encourages independence and gives Mommy an extra 20 minutes a day.

3) Dinner has to be done in 30 minutes or it’s a no-go. My favorite meal to prepare is crab cakes. But my method is pretty labor intensive: First I have to saute the veggies I plan to put in there. Let those cool. Add the seasoning, mix it with the crab meat, roll into patties. Let the patties firm up in the refrigerator for about 30 minutes, then melt some butter and brush it over the patties. Pop it in a 400 degree oven for 30 minutes. See what I mean? I don’t have time for all that. Now, we might have some pancakes and applesauce for dinner. I have to be realistic. I’m a graduate student, a small business owner, a blogger, a wife, a mother—I can not make a great meal every night. Just not going to happen.

4) Chore chart time! I bought a small dry-erase board and wrote three simple chores on it:

• Put plates in the sink after dinner.
• Pick up toys off living room floor before you head upstairs
• Pick out pajamas and change clothes

I’m writing this on a Thursday night, and I swear it feels like Friday. Or maybe I just wish it was.

My body aches, and my brain has turned to mush. This week actually kicked off this weekend, when I had to rush my daughter to the ER on Saturday for an asthma attack that wouldn’t respond to her inhaler or nebulizer. Spent the rest of the holiday weekend nursing her back to health and getting her lungs to act right.

Then I had class and all that entails. Which apparently makes me so scatterbrained that I locked my keys in the car. At 9 p.m. So I had to call my husband (who was at home and had just put the kids to bed – oops!) and ask him to bring my spare keys.

Then my daughter had a follow-up doctor’s appointment. I had to bring her brother along and trying to wrangle a boisterous three-year-old (who didn’t get a nap) while setting up an action plan for my daughter’s asthma, just wasn’t my idea of a good time.

After weeks like this, all I can do is pray for Saturday morning which I can usually wring an additional 30 minutes in bed. And maybe Sunday morning too if I’m lucky.

I love my kids with all my heart but some weeks, the constant race of motherhood weighs me down and gets me feeling like I will permanently tired. Like, forever.

In my Parent-Child Relationships class last semester, my professor had two little ones of her own and she tried telling the class (mostly single and childless) how demanding it was.

But then she said, “That’s the thing about motherhood, though: the days are long but the years are short.”

And that pretty much sums it up. The days will wear you down. Cleaning up the messes, making the meals, bathing the kids, breaking up fights, washing clothes, sorting clothes, putting clothes away, sweeping crumbs off the table, paying bills, scheduling doctor’s appointments—it’s an exhausting dance.

But then your kid’s birthday rolls around and you’re like, “How the heck are you (insert age here) already?” My daughter will be 5 in two months and my son just turned 3. I no longer have babies in the house.

Soon I will no longer have a toddler in the house. Or an elementary school student. They just keep growing. That’s what kids do.

I already have serious regret about not embracing my pregnancy. I don’t want to regret not embracing this messy, exhausting, trying period of motherhood, either.

Dear Princess, 

Girl, your mother is worn out! We’re coming up on week three of kindergarten (KINDERGARTEN!) and I’m just adjusting. Yes, I’m still adjusting, whereas you seem to have taken to school like a fish to water. You get up in the morning without complaint, pull on your favorite navy blue jumper (which you insist on wearing every day), toss your bookbag on your back, and bounce out the door with your pigtails swinging. 

I had been so nervous this whole summer. A million and one questions went through my mind: How would you like the teacher? Would the work be too challenging? Not challenging enough? Would you make friends? Would you miss me? Would the other kids be nice? 

Turns out, I shouldn’t have worried. You are doing a great job. Even when you came home with assignments that I wasn’t sure you could complete, you busted it out like the mini genius you are. 

I can’t even…express how proud of you I am. You make me beam every day when I pick you up from school. You run to me, and you pull all your papers out of your bookbag before I can even buckle you in your booster seat. You can’t stop talking about the fun things you’re doing in school, which lets me know that the financial sacrifice we’re making to send you to a private school is well worth it. 

Your teacher is amazing and so far your classmates sound amazing. All the parents at this school are super involved, and I’m still working my way around, learning the ins and outs of the school. You’ve got your first field trip coming up this week – it’s like you’re a real, live kid now. Not my baby anymore and that makes me sad. 

Sure, you still randomly hold out your arms and ask for a hug, and you will say, “I love you,” unprompted at least once a day. But I do miss when you were just my chunka-wunka, and I’d snuggle in your soft, chubby rolls of skin. But this little girl you’re growing up to be? I like her a whole lot. She’s funny and smart and she’s kind. 

You’re brilliant and I know, I know—you hear Mommy say this every day. But you just better get used to it because I will continue to tell you every day just how marvelous you are. Sometimes I can’t even look at you, because you shine so bright and I’m so overcome with emotion that I was chosen to be your mother. Sounds sappy, but oh my goodness is it true. 

So you just keep on doing you. Be yourself. Don’t worry about what other people say to you or about you. You are the sunshine of my life and I adore you so much. 

I love you to the moon and back, 

Mommy

If you didn’t know, I am probably the world’s number 1 Beyonce fan. (Okay,  maybe number two.) So when I found out she was pregnant I’m not ashamed to admit I was as happy for her as I would be for an actual family member.

This part right at here at the 4:21 mark? I lost it!

She looked so damn happy to be pregnant and when they panned to Jay-Z in the crowd, you could tell he felt the same way. They were both over the moon about their little one on the way, and I was happy for them.

It is amazing to see someone glow about their pregnancy and you can just see them shining from the inside out. Once my initial excitement faded, I realized that I never really had that with either of my pregnancies.

Baby #1 was unplanned, junior year, I was freaking about keeping my internship (which I needed to graduate). Joy wasn’t quite in the equation. I was president of a couple clubs, very active on campus, and I felt like my pregnancy was 10 steps back.

It wasn’t something to celebrate. It was something to get through.

I wore slightly bigger shirts to class and praised my luck when I made it through my second semester of junior year without really showing. Just looked like I really liked cheeseburgers.

But then I had to go on campus during the summer and I ran right into one of my professors, a man I greatly admire and respect. This man was Quincy Jones’ publicist, okay? He had pictures in his office of him and MJ, and Stevie Wonder, and everyone else who’s ever won a Lifetime Achievement Award of any sort. I wanted him to think the best of me and getting pregnant just didn’t seem like “the best” idea at the time.

I shifted a bit, and tried to “suck in” my belly, which you know is impossible at six months along. He looked at my belly and up at my face and I expected to see a hint of disappointment. Instead, I saw happiness.

“Congratulations!” he said, giving me a big hug. I followed his lead and smiled too.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked. Before I could answer, he just shook his head and held  up his hand. “Never mind. Just know that I’m truly excited for you.”

He kept walking toward his office, but before he went inside, he turned back around and looked at me once more.

“You’re going to make a great mom,” he said.

And then I lost it and started crying right there in the hallway.

All that time I was so scared of what people would think about me, being pregnant, in school, unmarried, no job, no insurance. I wasn’t even enjoying what was taking place, the fact that I was, at that moment, creating life. I was going to be a mother. This wasn’t a death sentence; this was the beginning of a beautiful journey. And I was missing it. 

I would love to say that I straightened up and embraced the remaining days of my pregnancy, but I didn’t. I let doubt and fear take hold and it took close to a year to shake it off.

To this day, it is my biggest regret. And I don’t regret much. But not embracing the joy that is inherent in every pregnancy – I wish I could turn back time and celebrate the occasion. Drop my mic and rub my tummy, so to speak.

I didn’t do it then, but I’m doing it now. I’m loving (mostly) every minute of motherhood and now I’m smiling from ear to ear.