It felt like yesterday that my second was born. The newborn haze in the initial stages of motherhood had lifted, and I sat alone—pumping, exhausted—while my toddler kept turning the pump off. I looked around the room, overwhelmed, and thought, How am I going to do this?

That question echoed in my mind. Motherhood had humbled me in ways I never expected. I had inherited the most precious gifts in the world, yet there was no rulebook, no feedback, no exit strategy. I had to figure it out in real time. And then, something shifted.

After weeks of feeling trapped at home with two under two, I realized the only way forward was to push past the fear and get out there. So I did. To the library, music class, the grocery store—anywhere that reminded me I was capable. Some days, I’d sit in the car and cry, feeling like I had failed. Other days, I’d smile through tears, amazed that I had done it.

Strangers would say, You have your hands full. They weren’t wrong, but they weren’t helpful. Then one day, a mother stopped me and said, “I applaud you. I was too scared to leave my house. Good job getting out today.” In that moment, I saw myself through her eyes—not as someone barely hanging on, but as someone showing up throughout the ups and downs of motherhood.

And that’s when it hit me. I could never imagine my life any other way. The exhaustion, the chaos, the love so deep it takes your breath away—I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Yes, the meltdowns will happen. The bone-losing tantrums will come. But when they do, just remember—you got this. And one day, you’ll look back and realize you wouldn’t change a thing.

In fact, you’ll miss it all.