September 18, 2025

I’ve been at a loss for words lately. That’s why this week’s post is late. I could list off the excuses: I got a new job, Noah is teething, I’m trying to clean my house and be more active, my mom was just in town… but really, it’s just that sometimes it’s hard to find the right words to describe the chaos that is parenthood.

When I started this blog, it was a way to share my story. But as I’ve written, it’s become more like a journal conversation. I want it to help other parents not feel alone — but I also want it to be real. It’s important to me that it captures my actual thoughts and feelings, messy or not.

We recently had Mike’s cousin over to visit. He met Noah for the first time. He knows the struggles we went through to get here — he even helped us move into our home while I was pregnant. He asked me, “Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?”

I laughed and said, “It’s the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done, and I’d do it all again tomorrow.”

That turned into a conversation about how fascinating the human body is — especially women. He said he read somewhere that women can experience the immense trauma of childbirth but somehow their brains forget the pain so they can do it again. And I told him it’s true. My body remembers, but my brain… it’s fuzzy.

When I was 11, I jumped off my backyard playground in bare feet and landed directly on a piece of metal sticking out of the ground. I needed stitches. It was traumatic — I’ve always had a little white coat syndrome (ironic, considering I grew up to have over 300 injections through IVF). I can vividly remember the pain of those stitches and the ache in my foot for weeks afterward.

But when I try to recall the pain of childbirth? My brain tells me it was painful, but I can’t remember the pain itself. It’s so fascinating how our minds protect us.

These days I’ve been really trying to soak up all the moments — even the hard ones. Momming has been especially challenging lately. Noah has discovered he can scream like a pterodactyl, and I’ve discovered that’s a major trigger for me.

My mom keeps reminding me that his screaming isn’t personal — he has a need that isn’t being met, and I just need to figure it out. My cousin (who had two under two before we had Noah) keeps reminding me that it’s all temporary. She swears that as crazy as it seems, I’ll miss these moments one day — because she does.

So for now, I’m living in the moment. I’m trying to enjoy the screams, laugh through the hourly nighttime wake-ups, and grab onto the good. (If you want to help, send coffee or take a night shift.)

But given the opportunity? I’d definitely do it all again.