wAveynikk

I’m just a mom.

And honestly? It’s the only job I ever truly wanted.

I’ve been blessed to do this three times. Three little souls who call me “Mom.” Three completely different personalities. Three different seasons of my life wrapped into one home.

I have a 13-year-old, an 8-year-old, and a 1-year-old. They all had their turn being the baby. The big gaps between them? At first, it felt unconventional. Now I see it as a gift. I got to soak each one in differently. I got to grow between them. I got to become a new version of myself each time.

But let me be honest — at 35, this motherhood thing hits differently.

The days are long.

The nights can be longer.

And this season? It’s not for the weak.

There’s constant crying.

Long drives back and forth.

Snacks — always snacks.

Worrying about what they’re eating, who they’re becoming, what they’re feeling, what they’re not saying.

There are moments I’m on edge.

Moments I feel like I’m failing.

Moments where I question if I’m doing enough, being enough, giving enough.

But the years? The years are short.

My 13-year-old is already stepping into independence. My 8-year-old still needs hugs but wants to lead. My 1-year-old still reaches for me like I’m the safest place in the world.

And I am.

I run a household with three kids, four dogs, and a cat. There’s laundry that never ends. Dishes that somehow multiply. A house that looks lived-in — sometimes very lived-in.

Messy house. Full hearts.

I am strict. I believe in structure. I believe in respect. I believe in raising strong, capable humans who know right from wrong. There are rules in this house. There are boundaries.

But we are also silly. Loud. A little overboard sometimes.

We wrestle. We laugh too hard. We get tough and rough. We dance in the kitchen. We make too much noise. We play big. We love big.

Structure and silliness can live in the same home.

My kids will always know that no matter how firm I am, my love is unconditional. Discipline comes from love. Boundaries come from protection. And laughter? That’s our glue.

I’m also navigating life with a significant other who is walking through mental health challenges that haven’t been completely sorted out. That adds layers. It adds weight. It adds grace I didn’t know I had.

Some days I’m strong.

Some days I’m stretched thin.

In between it all, I’m trying to grow my pet sitting business. Trying to show my kids what entrepreneurship looks like. Trying to teach them they can build something of their own. Trying to stay active in the community. Trying to show up. Trying to pour into others while still pouring into my home.

Sometimes I succeed.

Sometimes I fail.

But I am always grateful.

Grateful that I get to be here for the scraped knees and the teenage talks.

Grateful for the baby giggles and the eye rolls.

Grateful for the chaos.

Grateful for the calling.

Motherhood isn’t glamorous. It’s loud. It’s sticky. It’s exhausting. It’s emotional. It’s stretching and humbling and refining all at once.

And when my head hits the pillow at night — even if I’m overwhelmed, even if I cried in the bathroom for five minutes earlier — I know I am living the life I prayed for.

I’m just a mom.

And that is more than enough. 💛