“This is ok, right?” I asked with shaking voice as I held up the test for my husband to see. I sank to the floor, knees weak. “Of course it is.” He assured me. Or tried.

It felt ruthless. Anything but caring, tender, or nurturing. It felt like taking life rather than giving it. But this is where my five minutes of research and a YouTube video had landed me.

Steam rises from my mug as I pour that first cup, and settle down onto the floor between a pile of boys. I know just the story. But they’re not going to like it.

Back on that day when the doctor handed me the diagnosis, we had no idea what to expect, aside from limitations. And yet, I am learning that these limitations are an invite.

Motherhood requires that we serve and serve and serve some more, and then wake to do it all over again tomorrow. It is sweet and humbling and wonderful—and depleting.

Maybe you are looking for that kind of evidence today, that “Go ahead, it’s time”. Maybe you have been waiting a long while for it.