Motherhood is a blessing, a gift, and not for the faint of heart.

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I always wanted to be a mother alongside a partner with the same desire. Growing up with a sister meant I had a playmate, so I knew I wanted more than one child. While I never expected the path my journey to motherhood took, I’m grateful for the experience not all are given and for a love greater than I imagined.

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Insta-Mom (as in INSTANT-mom) overnight or, as I prefer, a Bonus Mom.

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Raising a non-biological child is heart-wrenching. I love him as my own and call him my son. Others lessen my role, referring to me as “stepmother” as though I were “less than” a person who supplied the egg. As a non-biological parent, I cannot legally ask for, make, or participate in important medical or educational decisions in their best interest. It means potentially arguing with his biological family for his best interest, trying to get everyone on the same page (or at least the same book), and hoping he finds his way despite two homes, different sets of rules or expectations, and all of us learning to parent and co-parent for the first time.

 

Raising a non-biological child is also rewarding. I am his bonus mom. At bedtime, my magical breath blew away the monsters under the bed; then we prayed to angels to keep loved ones safe. I support and cheer from the sidelines, but my love and pride do not. He is my first kiddo—my Little Man. He got the best (and youngest) version of me. As this child (now, an adult) calls with exciting news or for advice, I know I must have done something right—that he knows my love is unconditional, that I am a soft and loving place to land, and that we have both grown into better people because our journeys united—as I promised in the ‘Sands of Time’ ceremony when I married his father.

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Count your blessings, not your pregnancies.​

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​I wanted him to have a sibling (and he wanted one too), but sometimes life presents a different plan. After losing two pregnancies, going through inconclusive fertility testing, and having a surgical procedure to (potentially) help, I had a third miscarriage. It's disheartening. I wondered, ‘What's wrong with me?’ Each pregnancy came with hope, while miscarriages crushed my spirit. Stifling panic kicks in when the pregnancy sticks test positive, and my thoughts nag, ‘Am I going to lose this one too?’ I wouldn’t allow myself to enjoy a pregnancy, and that leaves immense guilt when a miracle rainbow baby (a baby born following a pregnancy loss) enters the world.

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Throughout this fourth pregnancy, I told my unborn daughter she is a warrior, with the spirits of three lost siblings, and that she can do this — we can do this... and, alas, we did. That two-week-late, stubborn little girl continues to hold me to those words in her teenage years. Her attitude is a force I often battle, which two little birds—my parents—remind me of how she is my Mini. Yes, she is, I agree—only she is a better version, I say. In my heart, I am grateful that she stands stronger than I ever did at that age, and I pray that nothing, and no one, breaks that--even, and especially, me.

 

She holds me accountable and calls me out on my bull$h!t when no one else will. She also reminds me to breathe, hugs me when I’m dysregulated, and shows me grace when I apologize for my outburst. And then I realize she is parenting me as I do for her, but that’s NOT her role—and she raises the ante in this awareness because I don’t want to create a mother wound. I step up my growth and healing. I do better for her, me, our ancestors, and future generations. She is undoubtedly a better, stronger, and spicier version of the women who came before her. I’m grateful this Little Lady chose me, and for the continuous lessons she brings.

 

​We’re not raising two “only children.”

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An eight-year age gap is significant. Having a child after losing three pregnancies gives false hope that the worst is behind you. It’s a big part of why the fourth miscarriage (fifth pregnancy, if you’re keeping track) was the most difficult for me, along with many reasons that I won't go into here. If the saying, "I'm not okay," was around then... it would have been my mantra.

My sixth pregnancy was deemed my last, if not for how miserable I felt throughout, for the traumatic delivery that left my body shaking uncontrollably. I feared I would drop him, was afraid I would somehow transfer my high emotions and physical responses, and ultimately, refused to hold this precious boy who entered the world two weeks early. I can’t undo the deep-seated mom guilt from that day, and I still struggle to forgive myself. My broken body felt irreparable, and I felt old AF at forty with a newborn. This was not the plan I had envisioned for motherhood. ‘I must be a failure.’ Perhaps someone should have considered postpartum depression.

 

But let me tell you, the light this little boy brings with his smile and humorous personality, it’s easy to forget the challenges and think, maybe I would have another… if I were MUCH younger. He is the Littlest Man, but mighty. He is wild and busy and keeps us on our toes. He is also sweet and sensitive—and I’m reminded to hold his feelings and emotions with love and tenderness because that is what needs healing in me and our generational cycle—allowing this little version of me to have big feelings, acknowledge that it’s okay, and that it’s safe to express them… even the ones that don’t feel good, so we work together to handle them properly.

 

Whose plan is it really?

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​This is part of a plan greater than me or what I could hope for or imagine. I wanted children, and I have three amazing kids, all of whom are unique. They aren't just adding gray hair to my head; they're filling my heart with so much love and pride for who they are and strive to be. They don't just drive me crazy or keep me running the mom-taxi; they also make me laugh until my stomach hurts and my eyes tear. I am in awe of them. They are my oxygen. They are my light in the darkness. They are the reason I choose to heal.

 

​I think sometimes we're tested. How bad do you want this? And in that moment, when you're about to lose your $h!t for the umpteenth time that day because they're not listening, can you pause and remember the begging and pleading you did for a viable pregnancy? It’s challenging to pull back and consider this perspective when I am overwhelmed, stressed, and dysregulated, but I must take that step back. I must take a deep breath, pause, and think of the times when I cried myself to sleep, and be grateful that I was one of the lucky ones who delivered two rainbow babies--a privilege some are not given.

 

I am blessed. My heart is whole. Our family is complete.

 

It’s 2025 at the time of this writing. I just turned 50; our kids are 21, 13, and 10. Our lives may not be perfect, nor is my parenting, but I try like hell to be the best mom I can be for these kids. No one said motherhood would be easy, but it's the most rewarding.

 

My family… My love... My heart.