At 19, I sat across from my future husband in a booth at Red Robin. We munched on fries and discussed all the “what-ifs” of our life.
The conversation turned to children and I nonchalantly mentioned that I thought I might like to have “I don’t know, maybe four or five?”
He didn’t miss and beat, “Oh, well, one at a time, right?”
And that’s exactly what we did
First one, then another. Followed by our little darlings, three and four. And that maybe fifth? Well, that’s still up in the air.
Back in that Red Robin booth, I had no idea what I was talking about, though. Four … OR FIVE? Like, for real?! I was still a teenager and could barely keep up with my part-time job and college classes. I slept all night long without interruption. I had no clue how hard one child could be — let alone more than one.
But, in a way, pregnancy prepares you. The sleepless nights begin before baby is earthside. You read and learn and get to know the gift of another human before they’re in your arms. And then, you just do it. You claim motherhood as your calling — however true or foreign it might feel — and be a mom with all your heart and soul.
My first baby was hard
I didn’t know she was back then, but now that I’ve experienced other newborns, I know that sweet girl put me through the ringer. Bless her! Now, she’s the easiest child in the world, but apparently I had to prove myself in those early days. And day by day, I did. Shortly after her first birthday I found myself pregnant again — because breastfeeding doesn’t mean you’re not fertile! No part of me was ready.
Just the same, the dream of another baby warmed my heart. It frightened me too. I cried to my midwife. Between pregnancy hormones and the reality of what was coming, I was overwhelmed. I felt genuine fear over my ability to love two children, to juggle two people’s needs. To keep myself above water in the midst of it all.
When my oldest two were young, I experienced my darkest days of motherhood. I cried daily. Sometimes for a good reason, sometimes just because. I worried. I didn’t feel like a good mom and those feelings flooded me inside and out.
I'm not going to lie, two kids was hard
My hardest. It’s no wonder the average number of children in a family these days is 1.9.
Three and a half years later, my third baby arrived. I, of course, worried that if two was as rough as it had been, three would surely be the end of me. But it was the exact opposite. Three, for some reason, was EASY! Between his personality, the age gap, and my increasing ability to juggle, I hit my stride with three children. I enjoyed his first year, I enjoyed my other children. I felt like I was finally succeeding at motherhood. My trio thrived and I began to wonder if a fourth little one was in the cards for our family.
I’d say the wondering got me pregnant, but we all know how that really happens. Now, almost two years into being a mom of four, I can absolutely say that four children has been my easiest season. Is it because of them? Is it because of me?
Surely, it’s a combination of both
I’ve relaxed. I prioritize better. I have learned how to structure my days. I’ve found purpose in this season of my life. I’ve accepted the slowness, the interruptions, the pace of these sweet days. And my children feed off of all this. They feel the emotions I emit into our home and act accordingly.
I’m not saying it’s all sunshine and roses. No, no, no. There are bad days and bickering, and my middle son has taken to spitting on anything and anyone as of late. Things are wild. A family of six is full of life and laughter and all sorts of hiccups. But it’s good. It feels right. I don’t doubt for one moment that having more kids was the best decision for me, for us.
Any number of children changes a woman
But for me, a stubborn soul who takes a few reminders to chill out and embrace life as it is, a larger-than-average family was the ticket. My children grew me into the mom they needed. One by one, I changed. And one by one, we’ve become exactly the family we were meant to be.