As I type this, three little boys are actively tearing my house apart. Pizza crusts and empty Capri Suns are scattered across nearly every room. A Twister board has claimed the top of the couch, and a fully operational science kit is spread across the living room floor while an active volcano erupts on the back deck.
There is screaming and yelling and laughing and fighting and racing and battling—so much noise, so much movement, and yes, plenty of that unmistakable little-boy smell filling every corner. It’s sensory overload, to put it mildly.
And yet, in this rare, quiet moment of peace, my mind drifts back to a time when parenting was… quieter. When it was just one kid. Life then was slower, more structured, more methodical—not cranked up to a constant ten. And for all that calm, it was also so much harder. As a new mom, the emotions were endless and confusing—joy, exhaustion, anxiety, loneliness, secret farts, not-so-secret farts. Despite creating another human being entirely dependent on me, I felt incredibly alone.
I remember trying to stretch the hours until my husband got home in absurdly precise increments. “Okay, we can stare in the mirror until 4:17, then walk down for the mail. Back by 4:30. Read books until 4:45. Preheat the oven, gather ingredients. At 5, swing time while I start dinner.” Not exactly a thrill-a-minute, let me tell you.
And yet, on the flip side, I was constantly on high alert. Every little milestone, every sleep pattern, every sniffle felt like it rested in my hands. I vacillated between sheer panic and extreme boredom at least ten times a day. Super fun. Totally relaxing. I cherished it all.
During those early days, I would see moms with four or five kids at the grocery store or church and think, “If I feel this overwhelmed with one, how will I survive more?” How could I possibly pour myself fully into another child? The honest truth: I couldn’t imagine it.
Around that same time, I read a blog by a mom of nine, reflecting on how the hardest days of her life had been when she only had one child. The fear, the loneliness, the constant second-guessing—it was all so familiar. I thought she was one of those superhuman “made for this” moms. Surely, I’d never feel that relief as our family grew.
But I was wrong.
Sure, we only have three kids right now, but the difference is immeasurable. Panic still exists—but it’s balanced by so many more moments of laughter, happiness, and chaos so vibrant that you can’t even register every emotion at once. I’ve learned I cannot—and do not need to—perfect my children. Their reading skills, eating habits, sports abilities, or ear infections are not mine to control. And while that can sting, it has freed me to savor the moments that truly matter—watching them play, laugh, and grow.
So, to the moms out there who feel like they’re drowning with one child, please know this: you have one of the hardest jobs there is. You are mother, doctor, entertainer, baker, laundry-doer, schedule keeper, singer, reader, silly-face maker, and rocker all in one. You are everything—and you are exhausted. There is no harder job than the one you hold right now.
These days, when I walk through the grocery store, my heart goes out to the mom with a single toddler in her cart. She’s pointing at objects in the aisles, picking up items knocked to the floor, popping grapes into her mouth to halve them for her child’s snack. That job is exhausting, messy, and lonely—and it is also unbelievably beautiful.
Your work may feel monotonous or overwhelming, but it is heart-wrenchingly precious. One day, when the house is covered in squashed juice boxes and dirt clods, you’ll sit in a chair amidst the chaos and smile. You’ll no longer be counting the minutes until your partner comes home—you’ll be living in the moment, soaking up every bit of life happening around you.
And friends, just to be clear: this isn’t a plea to have more kids if that’s not your choice. It’s a gentle reminder that parenting difficulty isn’t dictated by numbers. Raising one child was intense. Raising three has been different—but far from impossible, and often more joyful than I ever imagined.
