Tomorrow, my baby girl turns one.
And I don’t think I’ve quite figured out how to put into words what that means to me.
Because when I look at her, I don’t just see a little girl turning one. I see an entire year of my life. A year of becoming someone I never imagined I’d have to be. A year of heartbreak, survival, surrender, and a kind of strength I didn’t even know existed within me.
I see the little girl who unknowingly walked through one of the hardest years of my life right alongside me.
And I see a God who never once stopped carrying us.
This isn’t the motherhood I pictured.
I imagined a home with two parents. A husband beside me for the milestones. Someone to look at across the room when our baby took her first steps. Someone to share the exhaustion with, the excitement with, the weight of raising three little humans with.
I imagined celebrating our daughter’s first birthday together.
And tomorrow, as I watch her turn one, I think there will be a part of me that grieves that picture.
Not because I regret where I am.
Not because I wish I had stayed in something that was hurting me.
But because sometimes you can be grateful for the life you’re building and still grieve the life you thought you’d have.
Those two things can exist together.
And I’m learning to let them.
She has only ever known this version of me.
That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.
My boys knew a different version of their mom. A version who was still trying to hold everything together. A version who was fighting battles they couldn’t understand. A version who hadn’t yet realized that sometimes the bravest thing you can do for your children is change the life you thought you were supposed to give them.
But my daughter?
She’s growing up alongside a woman who is learning how to rebuild.
A woman who is learning that peace is worth protecting.
A woman who is learning that being alone and being lonely are not the same thing.
A woman who is learning to stop measuring her worth by whether someone chooses to love her.
And sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever understand just how much her first year of life changed mine.
Because while she was learning how to sit up, crawl, laugh, and discover the world, I was learning how to stand on my own two feet again.
While she was finding her voice, I was finding mine.
While she was learning how to take her first steps, I was taking some of the scariest steps of my entire life.
We were both learning how to live in a world that was new to us.
And somehow, we were growing together.
My sweet, beautiful daughter.
The little girl I prayed for.
The one who made me a mother of three.
The one whose tiny hands have reached for me on days when I felt like I had absolutely nothing left to give.
She has no idea how many times I’ve held her a little longer because I needed the comfort just as much as she did.
How many times I’ve rocked her to sleep while silently praying for strength.
How many times I’ve looked at her face and thanked God that, in the middle of so much uncertainty, He entrusted me with something so precious.
She doesn’t know the details of this year.
She doesn’t know about the tears after bedtime, the difficult decisions, the nights spent worrying about the future.
She just knows that when she reaches for me, I’m there.
And there’s something so beautiful about that.
Because while I’ve spent so much time worrying about whether I’m enough for my children, they’ve never asked me to be perfect.
They just want their mom.
God was here for all of it.
“Thus far the Lord has helped us.” — 1 Samuel 7:12
I think that verse captures this year better than anything else could.
Thus far.
Through every sleepless night.
Through every difficult decision.
Through every moment I felt inadequate.
Through every tear, every prayer, every unexpected beginning.
Thus far, the Lord has helped us.
Tomorrow, she turns one.
And I’ll probably cry.
Not just because my last baby is growing up far too quickly.
But because I made it through a year I once wasn’t sure I could survive.
Because my boys are growing, my daughter is thriving, and our little family is still finding reasons to laugh, celebrate, and experience joy.
Because the woman I was when I first held her is not the same woman who will hold her tomorrow.
And while I wish some parts of this year had been different, I can’t deny the growth that came from it.
I’m softer in some ways.
Stronger in others.
More protective of my peace.
More dependent on God.
More aware of how fleeting these little years are.
And more certain than ever that a beautiful life doesn’t have to look like the one you originally planned.
So tomorrow, when I light her first birthday candle, I’ll be celebrating so much more than twelve months of her life.
I’ll be celebrating the little girl who brought so much light into a difficult season.
I’ll be celebrating her brothers, who have given me a thousand reasons to keep going.
I’ll be celebrating the home we’re building, the memories we’re making, and the love that fills the spaces where I once feared there would only be emptiness.
And quietly, I’ll be celebrating myself, too.
Not because I’ve done everything perfectly.
But because I stayed.
I showed up.
I kept going.
I trusted God when I couldn’t see what came next.
And I loved my children through a year that changed everything.
Happy first birthday, my sweet girl.
You may never know what your first year meant to me.
But I hope one day, when you read these words, you’ll know that you were never a burden in a difficult season.
You were one of its greatest blessings.
And I hope you grow up knowing that you don’t have to stay in a painful place to prove that you’re strong. That your worth isn’t determined by someone else’s ability to love you. And that God can make something beautiful out of a life that looks nothing like what you expected.
You and I have both grown so much this year, baby girl.
And I have a feeling we’re only getting started.
Be still in God. And still growing.
Still We Grow.