The Big Five: Love, Growth, and Grit
My son turned five this past Saturday. That means I’ve been a mom for 1,829 days. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-nine days.
1,829 days of keeping a tiny human alive.
1,829 days filled with laughter, love, tears, and joy.
1,829 days of growth—for both my son and me.
1,829 days of surviving.
This milestone season was packed. Over the course of a few weeks he lost two teeth and graduated from a car seat to a booster. Then, seemingly overnight, he went through a growth spurt—his shoe size jumped three whole sizes and kindergarten started just days before his fifth birthday. Time really is a thief. You blink once, and everything changes.
These five years have been the most challenging and rewarding journey of my life. There were moments when I felt stretched thin, exhausted beyond recognition, and overwhelmed. But those moments are far outweighed by the better days—his raspy voice and laughter, snuggling before bed, feeling his big hugs, watching his sharp mind work, and witnessing his vibrant personality unfold right before me. He is a superstar—bright, passionate, funny, and smart. And that’s not just me being biased; I hear it daily from strangers, teachers, coworkers, and friends alike.
Leading up to his birthday, I scrambled to plan something special. Since year one, I’ve gone all out. But the big five felt like a lot of pressure. I booked a six-bedroom villa in Orlando for family and close friends—water slides, resort relaxation, the works. But with launching my publishing company and releasing my book, I knew I had to prioritize long-term goals. So I canceled the trip.
For weeks, I beat myself up over it.
Looking back, I realize that fear came from my ego—or maybe a little childhood projection. Growing up with a birthday at the end of summer meant limited chances for parties because everyone was on vacation. My birthdays were celebrated, but I only had one real party: age nine, at a bowling alley. My cake front and center, topped with a photo of nine-year-old me—bob-length braids, blue collared shirt, smiling like it was the best day of my life. Even now, three weeks shy of thirty, it’s still one of my favorite birthdays. Maybe that’s why I feel the urge to make each of my son’s birthdays extravagant. Ego? Projection? Societal pressure? I’m still figuring that out.
Regardless, we partied—hard. A sleepover, a water park, bowling. It was perfect. Most importantly, my son smiled all weekend. He was showered with love—and that’s what mattered most to me.
This milestone reminded me: I am doing just fine. Five years in, I still question if I’m doing enough. But then I remember: I am my child’s biggest advocate, able to give him the love and experiences my parents gave me.
Years one and two were a struggle—battling mental health challenges, heartbreak, and an underpaying, overworked job. Year three was about navigating single motherhood while rediscovering myself as a woman, not just a mom. Year four, I finally got a grip on life, giving myself some breathing room. We traveled a lot—thirteen trips in total, eleven with him and two for myself, because moms need breaks too.
Starting public school last year through the state’s Pre-K lottery shifted our routine for the better. I began leaving work earlier and getting home sooner. Our days felt lighter. We joined baseball, made new friends, and I got more involved in career organizations. Now, year five is here, and the night before his birthday, his passport arrived. More adventures await.
Motherhood wasn’t planned, but I ran with it. I went out on faith, trusting myself to figure it out. It’s been hard—sleepless nights, ER visits, mental breakdowns, tears, and stretched finances—but it’s been worth every moment.
I wear many hats, but “Mom” is my favorite—earning the most pride and bragging rights. Against the odds, here we are. Thriving.
Five things I’ve learned over these five years:
Asking for (and accepting) help doesn’t make you or your child a burden. It’s a strength.
It doesn’t necessarily get easier, but it becomes more manageable as you learn rhythms and limits.
Your child deserves a happy mother—not perfect, just joyful and present.
Memories matter more than perfection. Your child will remember your smile more than the cake’s decorations.
You’re doing better than you think. Doubts come, but so do proof—in their laughter, hugs, and light when they see you.
Five years, 1,829 days, and counting. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m showing up. That’s what matters. And I will always show up for him.