Dear Community,

This topic I wish to share hits me hard since I’m a mother myself. I want to know what you think about being a mother. I will admit that the parenting choices I made in my life weren’t the best, but I have acknowledged and regretted what I got myself into. However, this isn’t about me today; I want to discuss what you think about a mother who has three kids and another one on the way. Do you honestly think she should be having another child right now?

My story is about a woman in this current time who has two girls and one boy. In my opinion, she shouldn’t have another child at this moment. The reason, you may ask, is that this is what she does all the time: she currently works in healthcare, her partner works at an amusement park, and she draws money from one of her kids. Yet, she complains that she’s always broke. How is that possible? I mean, come on—my husband and I are living on a monthly income, and we have no car, but she can still go to work, go shopping, eat out a lot, or go play at a bar.

Another parenting issue I see is that whenever she wants to clean the house or do something, if it’s an activity that the kids can’t be involved in, she thinks that Daddy has to take them, no matter what. Being a mother, I understand that if you have to work, that’s one thing, but if you don’t, why can’t you take the kids? What’s so important that they can’t be involved in what you’re doing?

What frustrates me is that I understand they need to spend time with their other parent, but what if that parent has things going on too? What if your electricity is out, or your internet is down, or someone is sick in your house? Is it fair to put your kids in a difficult situation, yet you feel justified in getting mad if your kid gets sick or complains about being bored?

I mean, is it so hard to ask your co-parent questions to ensure that the house and surroundings are safe for the child before they come over? Don’t just assume that we can automatically handle things without checking with us first. Don’t get me wrong; I understand that just because you may not be around kids right now doesn’t mean you have forgotten to be a parent. You just want to ensure their safety. Is that a crime?

This is a story about a single father whose life became turbulent after a bond with his children was broken. Following the emotional turmoil, he focused on his routine—going to work, playing games, and taking his medication daily. However, he faced constant harassment about who was watching his kids.

The father struggled day by day. Initially, they had shared custody, with him watching the children on weekends. Yet, that arrangement quickly changed. It felt as though he had to drop everything and attend to the kids’ needs, no matter what. While he understood that being a parent comes with responsibilities, it seemed unfair that he had to handle all the household chores, such as cleaning or running errands, while his ex-wife continued her social life.

The emotional strain intensified whenever there were issues in his home. If he or his partner fell ill, his ex-wife didn’t seem to care. She insisted on having the children with her, regardless of whether there were enough supplies at his place or if the electricity was out. It felt as though maintaining a second family complicated his efforts to move on with his life.

The most challenging moments arose when she unexpectedly demanded to take the kids for educational purposes without considering what plans he had for the day. She would guilt-trip him, insisting that someone should accommodate her wishes no matter what else was going on. It was an endless cycle of conflict and frustration that affected his ability to maintain a stable life for himself and his children.

One Week,
That was all it took
My heart broke completely
24 hours
That was all it took
To stop doing anything that could hurt you
I did everything right
I followed all the rules
I even tried to love myself more so that I could love you entirely
One week
That was all it took
To take everything that was left of me

The days are long, but the years are short; I think that is the best phrase I can think of to sum up my experience raising my children. If I think about those words too much, it will stir up powerful emotions in me and bring tears to my eyes. As a mom of four children, an eleven-year-old son and three daughters ages 8-years-old, 3 years old, and 5–months old, I know how busy daily life can get. I know how long the days can feel, but I also know how quickly each year passes and how fast kids grow.

My days are so busy from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, and even when I take a break, my mind races through every unfinished task on my to-do list. My days go something like this: wake up, get myself and 4 kids ready. After the chaos of the morning routine, I drop my two older kids off at school, hopefully on time. Then, after the short drive home, I juggle housework and office work with entertaining and caring for my two younger children. The hours fly by and before I know it, it’s time to pick up my two older kids from school. Most weekdays we have an hour or two before one of my kids has soccer or tumbling practice. After feeding the kids, we rush to get ready and head to practice. After practice, we head home to cook dinner unless I decide to pick it up because the last thing I want to do is cook and clean up. Homework and bedtime follow dinner unless we are lucky enough to have time to play a game or watch tv before bed. Once everyone else is asleep, I spend a few hours cleaning, doing laundry, and any tasks I can accomplish before I give up and go to bed. After a few brief hours, the alarm will go off, and it will be time to repeat everything.

When life gets busy like this, each day feels so long and overwhelming, but the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, and the year passes so quickly. Then something, usually something small, will remind me how fast time has passed. My most recent reminder was a newborn onesie. I was sorting through my baby’s clothes and putting away the ones she has outgrown. As I held a tiny newborn onesie in my hand, the memories and emotions flooded my mind, and I cried. I remember going to buy more newborn outfits because the 0-3 size ones were too big. I remember how tiny she was. I remember those newborn cuddles, and how special those first weeks were just like with her siblings. What I don’t remember is how it’s already been 5 months. I don’t remember when she grew out of newborn clothes and diapers; I don’t remember the last time I held my newborn before she outgrew that sleepy cuddling phase, and I don’t remember the last time she wore this onesie. As I put away those tiny clothes I cry, I cry because it’s emotional watching your kids grow, experiencing all their firsts and all their lasts. When I add her clothes to the bin of baby clothes in my shed, I see baby clothes from each of my other three kids. I see the sleeper my son wore home from the hospital, my eight-year-old’s first tiny outfit, and my three-year-old’s tiny newborn hat. I hold onto outfits that I vividly remember buying for each of them. I remember distinct moments they wore each outfit in the bin, and I can tell which child each item belonged to. When I look at the tiny sleepers, I can still picture my kids wearing them as babies while I held them and they slept in my arms.

I can’t control the memories and emotions flooding my mind and weighing on my heart. Memories of sending my son to preschool seem like they were last year, but next year he starts middle school. What seems to be a short time ago, I remember my 8-year-old daughter was learning to walk and now she has mastered walkovers in tumbling. I remember my 3-year-old daughter learning to talk and now she can have a full conversation with you. I have been through this realization before, and it is emotional for me every time. Life gets busy and I don’t take the time to realize how fast they are growing until something little reminds me. Something like a newborn onesie reminds me to take time to enjoy every moment I can with my kids and make lots of memories because they will never be this small again. As I wipe my tears and put away the baby clothes, I’m reminded of how fast kids grow. And I tell myself to remember this important lesson. The days are long, but the years are short; Embrace the chaos of motherhood because one day soon you will miss all of this.

Crying
Diapers
No sleep

Your EYES

Screams
Anxiety
Hair pulling

Your LAUGH

Hunger
Dehydration
Not clean

Your CUDDLES

Depression
Tired
Worries

Your TINY FINGERS

Anger
Restless
Headaches

Your SMILE

Your Scared
Your Hungry
Your Learning

I’m HERE

Nurse
Cook
Maid

I’m MOMMY
in love with every part of you……….

That’s my pretty baby
Driving mama crazy
Lovely little lady
That’s my pretty baby

Eat your macaroni!
It’s good for your bone-ies
So you can beat up “homies” **
And Mama won’t get arrested by the police!
** [implying self defense, not man hating or bullying]

That’s my pretty baby,
Driving mama crazy,
Lovely little lady!
That’s my pretty baby…
That’s my pretty baby!

(The song is on YouTube! https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=D0z8GSFOhTc&pp=ygUdUHJldHR5IGJhYnkgY2hleWVubmUgamFtZXJzb24%3D )

Her first name,
Korina.
She could shorten it to Kori,
so she could rhyme with her sister’s “Tori”
Or if she’s more of a tom-boy and wants it to sound less girly…
Korina is my female English version of the Spanish word Cariño, meaning affection and love.

From conception to birth, she introduced a new kind of love to me, another rhythm to my heart’s beat, & I created it out of my own body… It was almost surreal.
Her middle names, one her father’s middle name and the other the only word that comes close to describing what she is to me, what it felt like when she came into my life.

Heaven.
Lee.

I wanted Heaven to be her first name, but I was afraid she would dislike it as an adult because of the religious affliction or that it might cause some unintentional pressure to be perfect or something.

So I placed it in the middle, right before her father’s middle name “Lee” so that she might remember she is both Heaven and heavenly to both of us.

Korina Heaven Lee.
Mi cariña heavenly, my heavenly love
Pretty baby.

They grow up so fast… Never pass up an opportunity to gush and brag and feel pride in your child… Never pass up the chance to shower them with adoration and encouragement… Say all the things now that you will regret not saying, even if they already know.
It’s still nice to hear.

77%

I am the proud mother of two incredible boys, Kaheem and Xavier. My journey into motherhood began with Kaheem, a blessing I never anticipated but deeply cherish. Kaheem, who has Autism, has faced many challenges, including bullying at school due to both his condition and other medical issues. Yet, through it all, he has shown immense strength, teaching me what it truly means to love unconditionally.

When I first found out I was pregnant with Kaheem, it was just four months and four days before my 25th birthday. I was scared, nervous, and unsure of what to expect. His father suggested abortion, but the moment he did, my maternal instincts surged. “No,” I said. I wanted my baby—he was a blessing from God.

At the time, I struggled with bipolar disorder, PTSD, mood swings, and deep depression. I doubted myself, wondering if I’d be a good mother. When the time came, I was in labor for two days before undergoing an emergency C-section. It was then that my mother faced an unimaginable choice: save my life or my son’s, as the doctors couldn’t stop my bleeding. In that critical moment, she chose both of us.

Even now, writing about it makes me emotional. When it was all over and Kaheem came home, I learned what love truly means. He became the love of my life, and for the first time, I understood the depth of a mother’s heart. My parents stepped in to help, especially my father, who became both a dad and a grandpa to Kaheem.

Three years later, I discovered I was pregnant with Xavier. I didn’t know until I was five months along. Fear surrounded me—everyone was concerned, urging me not to have him because of the complications with Kaheem. But I refused to let fear dictate my choices. Xavier was another blessing from God, and I embraced him with open arms.

This time, my C-section was without complications. I had Xavier on a Monday and, by Tuesday, I was out of the hospital, walking around and shopping for baby supplies. I’ll never forget the older woman at Food Lion who stopped me. “When did you have the baby?” she asked. When I told her, she gasped. “Girl, you need to take yourself home! You had a C-section yesterday—you’re not supposed to be out here!” But I had already endured so much; I knew I could handle this, too.

My boys, Kaheem and Xavier, have been my inspiration through everything. They’ve stood beside me through life’s ups and downs, giving me purpose and strength. Being their mother is the greatest gift, a beautiful duty I would choose over and over again. I love them with all my heart and am endlessly grateful that God chose me to be their mom.

No matter where you two are, you’ll always have a special place in my heart.
My two little rays of sunshine that shine the brightest in the dark.

I miss waking up to you two every single day.
The warmth of your hugs and smiles made everything okay.

You two taught me patience and how to be more responsible.
The bond that we share is nothing short of remarkable.

I miss the sound of your voices and your adorable laughs.
I promise to cherish each moment, no matter how much time has passed.

I’ve always wanted a family, so I was blessed with two little angels.
Your laughter fills my heart with joy, like life’s sweetest jingles.

To my Little Potato, stay true to yourself and don’t ever change.
To my Emotional Butterfly, there’s always sunshine after the rain.

I’m sorry for leaving you guys, that wasn’t part of my plan.
I hope one day you’ll forgive me and try to understand.

You two will always be my babies, no matter what anyone says.
I’ll cherish our memories until we can be together again one day.

If you had any shred of decency left in you
You’d stay away from my boo
To that little boy
I’m the only one that’s true
If I could flip it all back
Spin it all around and let you see
Literally the little me…..
Nurturing, loving, carrying him through
When not everyone else was always onboard too
I’m the only thing and woman he’s ever really known

Now he’s sitting here looking at me full grown
What you tried to protect your whole life, sits there looking at you like you’ve just ripped out a knife
What I tried to avoid his whole little life
Will he ever understand that all mommy every wanted was to make a good man?
Can’t he please just understand?
This precious seed turns around and now questions me, how dare he?
I can’t explain it all, I don’t know how I could
If I could lay it all out right here, right now trust me I would
Let it all go for good
Let you see all my choices weren’t always the smartest
But always out of love and always for good

I guess protection is a strange thing
You want to take them under your wing
You don’t realize how much you cling
Well, here we are young man, here I stand
This is all of me, still standing, still fighting
Always will
At least I will try
I hope one day you understand

Love Always,
Your “Teen” Mom

Clear the road- I am 16!!
Happy birthday, my sweet boy.
This is when I legally run out of excuses to get you that driver’s permit. This is when I nervously let go of your last little finger , only to grasp and firmly shake your hand in friendship🤝 This is when many transitions happen. This is when some of it makes sense to you but a lot more does not. This is when the world suddenly looks weirder, scarier, cooler, exciting, fun,crazy and different for you, all at the same time. Then is when we may agree to disagree on a lot. Remember, nobody has it all figured out entirely, neither have I, neither will you.
But I promise to try and understand..I promise to stay onboard, face the tides and ride the unending high and low waves of life side by side with you forever and ever and ever.
Love,
Amma

“Mom. Mom. MOM!” Dawson yelled.
Why did he insist on calling me from upstairs? Was I the only one with legs in this house? I started up the staircase, muttering as I climbed. I reached the top and found Dawson sitting on his bed meticulously inspecting a sweatshirt in his hands.
“What do you want?” He looked up, clearly as annoyed as I was though not for the same reason.
“Mom, why didn’t you try harder to get this stain out of my sweatshirt?” I strained to see what he was pointing to. He shoved the sweatshirt inches from nose and still the spot was barely visible.
“Did you try all of the stain removing products?” He demanded more than questioned. I resisted glancing at the clock on the wall which would inevitably announce how late this ridiculous conversation was making us. The cats circled his unmade bed, meowing for their breakfast. He’d put on a t-shirt but was still wearing pajama bottoms and hadn’t brushed his hair by the looks of it. All those unfinished tasks yet to be ticked off the morning list caused a nervous twitch at the corner of my eye. I called upon my inner yoga-mom, took a deep breath, exhaled.
“You did not tell me it had a stain when you threw it in the wash, so I washed it. That set the stain making it nearly impossible to remove. When I finally noticed the stain, I treated it several times and re-washed it, still to no avail.”
His eyes widened; he dropped his sweatshirt on the bed. “So, you’re just going to give up?” His voice cracked.
I scanned his face certain he must be pulling a fast one on me. His tight expression revealed otherwise. But instead of conjuring feelings of motherly compassion, I lost my temper altogether.
“Dawson, half my life is likely over. I am not going to spend what precious moments I have remaining scrubbing a stain out of a six-dollar sweatshirt. You’re young. If you want to scrub that stain, have at it. Knock yourself out. But I’m done. Now get ready.”
The drive to school was mostly silent and I had a chance to calm down and see the incident for what it really was, a vehicle to channel emotions he was feeling but hadn’t the words to express. We were both having a hard time accepting this next step, but we’d agreed on it. This was the last day Dawson would attend high school. At least for the year, I was officially withdrawing him.
I pulled into my usual designated handicapped parking spot and unlocked the doors. Dawson cast an accusatory look at me because of course I was breaking the law. But for like three minutes, I reasoned. He snatched his pencil, an eraser, and a protein bar, from the stash in the glove compartment, grabbed the car door handle.
“Hey, babe,” I reached across the seat, laid my hand on his shoulder, “The stain will fade over time. All stains do.” He smiled back at me.
“Love you, too Mom.”
I drove to the district office as if to a graveside, with a heavy heart. I walked slowly up the steps and straight to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, I’m here to withdraw my son from school.”
She looked at me with a confused expression. “So, you want to take him out of school?”
I nodded.
“Do you want to homeschool him?” she asked.
“Oh god, no.” She raised her eyebrows, and I was immediately embarrassed by my response. I explained I wanted to fill out paperwork to withdraw him from school, take him out, nothing else. She picked up the phone to call someone upstairs with more authority. It only took a few moments for the woman from upstairs to make it downstairs. She listened to my story, nodded.
“Yes, I’ll get the paperwork for you.”
It was involuntary, the tear that rolled down my nose and landed right where I needed to sign my name.
The woman with more authority leaned into me, patted my shoulder. “He can always come back,” she assured.
I thanked her for her kindness. I wondered if she could feel my failure. I wondered if she knew this was my second son to drop out, that I couldn’t inspire even one of my children to finish school. I thanked both women and made my way back to the car.
Inside the silent vehicle, I leaned onto the steering wheel. Rested my head for a moment. I closed my eyes and just breathed. Dawson never did have a decent day in school, especially once his father left. Every day had been a constant struggle with his tears, anxiety, and the effects of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. For my part, I’d simply tried everything I could. I threatened, bargained, bribed, begged and finally yesterday, I agreed to let him drop out. It was going to happen in less than six months when he turned eighteen anyway. Why prolong the inevitable.
Was I giving up? Maybe. For sure I was being forced to give up on my dreams and expectations for what I believed his life should be. And I’d have to learn to live with the stain it would leave on my mom-heart. But I reminded myself that it would fade over time. All stains do.