Having another baby changed my perspective on motherhood in ways I never expected. Noah did not just bring a new baby season into our home. He gave me a softer view of time, my older children, the mother I used to be, and the mother I am today. This is not a post about why everyone should have another baby. It is simply a reflection on the lessons this precious baby has taught me about grace, regret, community, and what it really means to be a good mom.
My last post here was about selling our home of 10 years, and making changes for our family. Little did I know, three days later I’d find out I was pregnant with a baby my doctor had told me was impossible to conceive.
I was shocked, flabbergasted, overwhelmed with joy, and terrified all at once.
After our ectopic pregnancy loss in December of 2022, I lost one fallopian tube and nearly lost my life. Later, testing showed that my remaining tube was completely blocked. I was told that if we wanted to safely conceive again, IVF would be our only path forward.
And yet, in the summer of 2024, God had other plans for us.
On one hot July day, I stood staring at a positive pregnancy test, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I was carrying our third baby boy. I felt joy that we might get to welcome another child, but also fear that the pregnancy could be dangerous, or that we could face another heartbreaking loss.
A few days later, we made our way to the hospital for an ultrasound. I held my breath as the doctor searched for what we desperately needed to see. And then there he was. Our baby was in my uterus. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
I let out a shriek of joy that startled the doctors and brought smiles to the nurses who knew what it had taken for us to get there.
At first, I thought whenever I wrote about Noah’s story it would be mostly about faith, miracles, and new beginnings. And in many ways, it is.
But as the months passed and I found myself back in the familiar rhythm of diapers, night wakings, nursing sessions, nap schedules, baby proofing, and tiny hands reaching for me, another lesson began to rise to the surface.
Having another baby did not just remind me how precious the baby years are. It reminded me how hard they are.
Slowly, almost unexpectedly, it softened the way I saw the younger version of myself — the mother I had spent years judging.
But it did something else, too. It changed the way I see myself now.
I am quicker to recognize when I am doing too much. I am slower to believe the lie that a messy house means I am failing. I am more willing to rest, ask for help, let the laundry sit, and choose connection over perfection. I do not hold myself to the same impossible standard I once did, because I can finally see how much invisible work motherhood requires.
Having Noah has taught me to give grace not only to the mother I used to be, but also to the mother I am today.
For so long, I had looked back on my early years of motherhood with regret. I wondered if I had held my babies enough. Played enough. Slowed down enough. Paid enough attention. But mothering Noah has given me a chance to see those years with clearer eyes.
I was already a great mom.
I’ve learned a lot about parenting and child psychology since my first baby was born 13 years ago. That gives a mother a lot of time to reflect on her younger years of parenting, and how many things she could have done better. I have often thought that I didn’t hold him enough, or play with him enough, or look into his eyes enough. “I shouldn’t have cleaned as much,” I’d think to myself, my mind convincing me that I spent his toddler years picking up toys instead of picking him up.
Having Noah, our now 1-year-old baby, has taught me that I was doing a great job in those early years of parenting. Of course I was picking my baby up — along with 27 other toys that were on the floor. Of course I looked into his eyes… I also planned and prepared meals, took care of a home, packed lunches, and worked a full-time job. As I shuffle between playing with Noah, homeschooling my older kids, taking care of cooking, cleaning, and everything else you can think of, I realize the reality of my earliest years of mothering. I was 13 years younger, not as wise, with even more responsibilities. My younger self wasn’t only parenting well — she was a freaking rockstar.
While the baby years are beautiful, they are also hard.
The idea that I had of what mothering Noah as a 1-year-old is much different than our reality. As he grows, I remember these milestones vividly — the pinching and foot in the face while he’s nursing, trying to climb up the stairs any moment he has the chance, being tied to nap time like it’s our livelihood, moving everything in our home to higher ground that we don’t want eaten, broken, or hidden. Now, I remember why we didn’t have aesthetic coffee table decor when my children were little; our tables (which were expected to be destroyed) were reserved for coloring, eating, and playing. I also remember why all of our plants lived on tall shelves or countertops. Are these years wonderful, fulfilling and precious? Of course they are. They are also hard.
You were never meant to mother alone.
There were three things that kept me alive during my early postpartum days; my husband, muffins, and meals. Many friends from my local homeschool co-op, and family members brought me meals during my early postpartum days. They fed my entire family, for the sake of being kind human beings. These angels prepared gluten-free meals (so that I could eat them), and brought them over day, after day so that we’d be fed. Many friends also brought muffins along with their meals, which was an unexpected kindness. We often had so many muffins, that I had to freeze a bunch of them. Then, when a 2 a.m. nursing session was concluded and I was ravenous with hunger, I would tip-toe to the freezer and warm up one of those glorious muffins. With each bite I felt a sense of gratitude for the community that had come together to take care of me and my family. I would stand in the kitchen, dropping muffin crumbs on the counter, thinking of those dear friends that had made those meals and muffins. Wondering if they knew how precious their gifts were to me and my family. Now, whenever I see a muffin I can’t help but think of how loved my family is and how important community is.
Beyond the food, are the late night messages, mid-day phone calls, and regular check-ins that have kept me sane over the past year. Motherhood was not meant to be done alone, and I’m so grateful for the community of friends that I’ve built in this stage of my life. A community that I didn’t have in those early years of motherhood. This is something that I want to pass on to every mother possible; build a community. Cultivate quality friendships with those that have similar values and interests as you, nurture those friendships regularly, get involved in groups, show up to those groups (even when it’s hard), offer a hand to those when they need it, volunteer to help, bring a meal to someone — in order to have community, you have to be the community.
The laundry can wait, but this season will not.
If you walk into my home right now you will see 2 piles of unfolded laundry spilling over in my living room. I promise we will fold them sooner than later, but I’ve come to accept that they will be there most of the time. This time around, I’m okay with it. I seriously couldn’t care less if we have unfolded laundry. It does not make me anxious, or frustrated, or worried. But 10 years ago, I wouldn’t tell you the same. And if you look back to any photo of my living room from that time, you will find a basket or two of unfolded laundry. I regret the years I spent feeling overwhelmed by the inevitable, and I promised myself not to repeat it this time around. First of all, because I want to enjoy this season of my motherhood. Secondly, because I am much too tired and have too many real priorities to concern myself with unfolded laundry.
Older children need gentle mothering, too.
When you have a 13-year-old, 11-year-old, and 1-year-old, the big kids seem much, much older. They quickly become big helpers around the house and with the baby, responsible for more independent homeschool work, and you find yourself spending less one-on-one time with each of them. None of this is necessarily intentional; it’s just something that happens. I have found, however, that this larger sense of responsibility comes with an even larger need for quality attention. While I can’t give each child my undivided attention all day long, I can give them some undivided attention each day. I can listen when they have something to say, tuck them in each night and hear about their day, talk with them when we’re doing everyday chores, and be intentional about spending quality time with each when I can. Their needs may be expressed in the form of huffs, puffs, or sighs instead of cries and rubbing eyes — but they are equally as important.
You cannot mother from an empty well.
I could write all day about the beautiful lessons I’ve learned from having this precious baby, but I will leave you with one of the most valuable ones; you cannot give what you do not have. If you’re exhausted beyond measure, anxious, overwhelmed, overworked… It’s going to be impossible to be gentle, patient and calm with your children. This is something I experienced my first go around with motherhood. When my older children were babies, I worked a full-time career, while still making healthy meals, packing lunches, cleaning, and taking care of everyone including myself. My husband has always been an incredible help, but he was tired and overwhelmed too. This time around, I do not work a full-time job, but I am homeschooling my children, working part-time remotely and taking care of three children. And I will tell you that something has to give.
I always say, “I can do just about anything, but I can’t do everything well, all the time.” Instagram fails to show us, but there will be dirty bottles in the sink, mismatched furniture in the living room, piles of unfolded laundry on the floor, unfinished books and dust on the shelves. You’ll manage to get ahead in one area, only to fall behind on another. I’m here to remind you that it is okay to not have it all done. Manage your expectations. Spend your time where it matters, with whom matters, and trust that soon enough, you’ll be able to get to that laundry and those dusty shelves. Give yourself rest, make yourself a wholesome meal, snuggle with your babies, and prop your feet up on that unfolded laundry while you all read a book together.
Having Noah did not make me a better mother because I started over. It made me a softer one because I could finally see the truth more clearly. I was never failing as badly as I thought I was. I was tired, stretched, learning, growing, and loving my children with everything I had. And that’s been one of the greatest gifts to accompany the birth of our sweet, new baby: not just getting to mother Noah, but getting to look back at the mother I used to be and finally offer her grace.
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