becoming at Home

One of the hardest things I had to adjust to in motherhood was this very unexpected reality: you can have a bad day… with a baby.
No one warned me about that. Babies don’t have bills, deadlines, or in-laws—and yet somehow, they can unravel you faster than all three combined.

I remember those early newborn weeks. We were exhausted. Sleepless. Running purely on grace and whatever crumbs of energy were left on the floor. My c-section incision was still healing, and even standing upright felt like an Olympic event. And our sweet newborn? His only form of communication was crying. At one point, I just cried right along with him—because apparently that was our love language now.

What was born in that season (besides my actual baby) was a lovely cocktail of mom-guilt and shame:
Why can’t I figure out why he’s crying?
Why am I getting frustrated?
Do I even know what I’m doing?
Spoiler alert: I did not. And living in that mindset didn’t help either of us.

After one particularly sleepless night—full of frustration, physical pain, and the kind of delirium where you start talking to your coffee—I hit my breaking point. I was starting to resent my child, resent my husband, and honestly resent motherhood itself. I hated how hard it was. I felt helpless and ridiculous—like, “How am I losing an emotional battle to someone who can’t hold his own head up?”

But even in that low moment, there was a still, small Voice whispering to my heart:

“Your child is not giving you a hard time.
He’s having a hard time.
He is brand new to this world and still adjusting.
And you, Dee, are here to help him get through it.”

That shift became my anchor. It didn’t turn motherhood into a Pinterest-perfect montage. But it changed the posture of my heart. Instead of reacting from frustration, I could respond with compassion.

Now, when things get hard, I remind myself (or sometimes I say this out loud; grounding moment!):

“My son is [insert age here]. There is so much he doesn’t know yet—so much about himself he’s still discovering. It must be so hard.”

And somehow… everything softens.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how often we are the crying newborn in God’s arms. We aren’t trying to be difficult—we’re just overwhelmed, uncomfortable, or adjusting to something brand new. And yet, God never throws His hands up in frustration.

Psalm 103:13 says,
“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.”

God doesn’t meet our weakness with irritation—He meets it with tenderness.

So now, when motherhood feels heavy, I pray:

“Lord, help me parent my child the way You parent me—
with patience, understanding, and compassion.
Teach me not just to get through the hard moments,
but to love through them.”

Bad days still happen. But now I know this:
My baby isn’t my enemy.
My feelings aren’t failures.
And God is not far—
He is right here, helping me learn how to love… even when both of us are crying.