I’m 36 now, and looking back, I can laugh at my younger self. When I got married at 23, I was sure I’d have all my kids before I turned 30. I was so confident, like most of us are in our early twenties, thinking life would follow the exact timeline I had planned. Reality had other ideas. After three and a half years of marriage, my husband and I started trying for our first baby. What followed was another three and a half years of doctors’ visits, treatments, procedures, and endless prayers. Finally, at 30, we found out I was pregnant. So much for my neat little timeline.
A few years later, trying for baby number two was easier about six months. With a boy and a girl, we felt complete. By 32, I thought our family was done.
I’ve always cared about staying healthy. During my first pregnancy, I gained only 24 pounds, which wasn’t too hard to lose afterward. The second was different. Juggling a baby, a job, and exhaustion left me with 40 extra pounds, which felt overwhelming on my small frame. After that, I was determined to get my body back.
It wasn’t easy. We went through family trauma, moved with a newborn and a preschooler, and had to start fresh. Slowly, with discipline, I made progress. Three and a half years after my second child, I was in the best shape of my life strong, toned, close to six-pack abs. Then life threw me a curveball.
My husband lost his job, Covid hit, and everything felt uncertain. One Sunday, while holding my three-year-old at church, the worship team sang the words “rest on me.” My son was leaning on me, heavy with sleep, and I suddenly felt God saying, “That’s how I want you to lean on Me.” I thought He meant the job loss and Covid stress, but He was preparing me for something else.
That night, I found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. My husband had a vasectomy, I only had one working fallopian tube, and we had struggled so much to conceive before. Yet here we were. Honestly, I wasn’t excited I was devastated. I had just gotten my body back, just found a rhythm as a mom where the kids were more independent. I was even preparing to go back to teaching once my youngest started Pre-K. Now all of that was on hold.
On top of that, I battled guilt. How could I be upset about carrying a miracle? How could I be angry at something so clearly part of God’s plan? The truth is, I was. I didn’t connect with the baby at first. I grieved the life I thought I was about to have.
Then came complications. Tests showed markers for Down Syndrome, possible heart issues, and risks with my placenta. My world spun. But oddly, in the middle of it, I felt peace. God reminded me over and over that this child was His plan, and He would carry us through.
Months later, the good news started rolling in. The placenta moved, the heart concerns eased, and the risks dropped. I was still anxious, but hope grew. At 39 weeks, I was induced because of high blood pressure, and we welcomed our miracle girl. But the hurdles didn’t stop our basement flooded, I developed postpartum preeclampsia, and our baby struggled with weight. I was in and out of the hospital, terrified, separated from my newborn, and leaning harder than ever on God and the people around me.
And yet, through it all, love bloomed. The fear that I wouldn’t connect with my daughter disappeared the moment I held her. She completed us in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
Even now, months later, I wrestle with my body image. I compare myself to others, wish I could “bounce back” faster, and feel frustrated when I look in the mirror. But I’m learning. God calls me to be healthy, not obsessed. He wants me to care for my body so I can serve my family and Him, not to chase an image or a number on the scale.
Life isn’t perfect, and neither am I. But I’ve realized there’s power in being real. My story may not be “window-display worthy,” but it’s honest. And if my honesty helps another mom feel less alone in her struggles, then it’s worth sharing.
