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I haven’t baked a single loaf of bread since Autumn’s birth three months ago. And while I wish I’d found time to do some freezer cooking at the end of my pregnancy, I didn’t. So we’ve been eating lots of processed food at our house. And cheap grocery store eggs.

Maybe that’s why Saturday was so much fun. I’d asked Miss Janet, a friend from church, if I could come to her farm to buy some of the fresh eggs she sells. “Of course!” she said quickly, and soon the errand turned into an event for my friend Amy and me and our kids. We got to see Janet’s chickens, horses, cows, her turkey, and her two very sweet dogs. She let the kids gather eggs right out of the hen house and pet the animals. Then we all picked veggies from her garden—squash and purple and yellow beans—and ate lunch together on her porch.

Janet wouldn’t even let me pay her for the eggs. I almost felt like I’d invited us over, but Amy said, “Don’t worry about it. Janet’s just like that. She is so generous.”

That night Adam and I grilled the veggies and I folded a couple of the eggs into a batch of cookies. I mixed the bright orange yokes in with some oats and raw honey and wheat flour, and wow, it felt good to watch my kids eat homemade cookies later instead of goldfish crackers or pretzel sticks.

I’m trying not to feel guilty about all the processed food I’ve given my kids over the past few months. I wish I was one of those all-natural mamas who cooks everything from scratch and avoids the microwave and breastfeeds around the clock and then somehow blogs about it all too. But the truth is I’m still adjusting to my days alone with three little ones and right now I’m proud of myself if I manage to fold one load of laundry.

I think God cares about what we eat and what we feed our kids. But He also tells us not to worry about it. Jesus always brought it back to the main thing: being fed spiritually. Janet shared real food with us (her yummy, organic, fresh food!) and she reminded me how wonderful it is when someone goes out of their way to be kind. It made me wonder, do my kids ever see me showing that sort of concern for others?

I’ll be happy when I have a little more time to spend in my kitchen. One of these days I’m going to bake bread with my kids again and I can’t wait. Maybe we’ll even give it away.

A few weeks ago at church our pastor’s neighbor, who also happens to be a pastor, shared his story with us. He was devastated by his cancer diagnosis, but God was about to do some very cool things. The pastor randomly picked a doctor who happened to be a Christian. The doctor was moved by the his story and decided to give him his entire course of treatments for free. But an even bigger miracle was coming. After his church family prayed for him, the pastor was completely healed. He even has his original test results to prove it.

As I sat there listening to the pastor’s story all I could think was, “That happened to me too!” Not with cancer, but with infertility. In 2006 our doctor decided to do an HSG to check my uterus and fallopian tubes. Adam and I both clearly remember looking at the pictures—I only have one fallopian tube and it was completely blocked. On top of that, I had a major hormone imbalance. “Your only option is to do in vitro fertilization,” the doctor told us. We ended up trying it and still didn’t pregnant. But a year and a half later, God shocked us with a surprise natural conception. He made a way where there was no way.

Four years and three babies later, our miracle story is part of our identity as a family. I love remembering the way I prayed for the life I’m now living. But sometimes in the daily chaos of raising these kids, I almost forget.

It hasn’t been any easy week. Sleepless nights, a fussy baby, tantrums, messes, noise. I’m exhausted. But this weekend is Mother’s Day and I can’t not think about God’s blessings to me—both in my own amazing mom and my kids.

The Bible says we should share what God has done. I’ve just started telling our story to Skylar, Micah and Autumn. They don’t understand it all yet, but it’s still fun to tell them. I hope it builds their faith the way it builds mine.

I would not call myself a woman of great faith. I’ve always been more on the skeptical side. I don’t know why God chose to answer our prayers with a big, fat yes while others continue to wait. But I do know that our God is a God who performs miracles. He is powerful and His love is unfailing. I want to remember that as I face my problems today, and especially as I think about friends still facing infertility this Mother’s Day weekend.

Earlier this spring, our family got some surprise news: my sister Birgitta, the youngest of us seven kids, is expecting her first baby this October. She’s just finishing her sophomore year at the University of Iowa and was definitely not planning to be pregnant right now. The clinic at her school told her she could easily “terminate the pregnancy”, but my sister made a different choice—she chose life, even though this baby will change just about everything in her future.

When I first heard Birgitta’s news, my thoughts were mixed: Yay, my sister’s going to be a mommy! And oh my, this is going to be hard for her. But God has given my sister just what she needs to help her through this unexpected twist in her life—our mom. You can read about my mom’s reaction to the news on her blog. The main thing to know is she responded with love, not condemnation, and encouraged Gitta to move back home.

Right now my sister knows my mom as, well, her mom. But pretty soon she’ll get to know her as someone else: her baby’s grandma. And she’ll probably find herself amazed at just how much “Grandma Midgee” loves this grandchild.

My little Skylar was not what you’d call an “easy” baby, and as a brand new mom I was stressed out. But Grandma Midgee stayed calm no matter what, even when she couldn’t get Sky to stop screaming. She’d unwrap her blanket and say, “Look at her ten tiny toes! She’s just perfect!” She’d pace around the living room and tell me, “This little girl is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.” She said what I needed to hear in my lowest moments. And I know she’ll do the same for Birgitta.

Grandma Midgee does have an important boundary line—she doesn’t do nights. “I’m too old for that,” she said to me firmly, “I need my sleep.” But other than that, she’s willing to help. She’s actually visiting us here in Florida right now. And I’m sure this is melodramatic, but it puts joy in my heart to watch someone besides me change the fifth poopy diaper of the day.

But here is my very favorite thing about Grandma Midgee: she remembers. She raised seven kids and she hasn’t forgotten the details. She would never tell a mom in the grocery store to “enjoy every minute!” because she remembers not all of it is enjoyable. In my early days as a mom she once said, “You know, I wouldn’t call myself a ‘baby’ person. That first year was always an endurance contest for me. But I loved the toddler stage.” And just like that, she took the pressure off. All I could think was, “You mean it’s okay that I’m overwhelmed? It’s okay that I don’t love everything about life with my newborn?” She let me know I could struggle and still be a good mom.

Birgitta didn’t plan to become a mom just yet, but I know she’s going to do just fine. And at least part of that is because of who’s helping her. God, of course, and Grandma Midgee.

For the first time the other day Micah called his little sister “Baby Autumn” instead of “Baby Ottoman”. Is it weird that it made me a bit sad? Most of the time though, he’ll touch her fluffy hair and say, “Dat’s my SISSER!” and then, “I’m the brother,” and always after that, “I’m a BIG BOY!” (It seems like Sky and Micah yell just about everything they say these days, especially if Autumn’s asleep.) He’ll pat her head and sometimes her forehead, and before he can get near her eyes I’ll ask, “Where are your cars?” and he’s off and running.

Sky loves her little sister too. She sings to her, plays with her hair, and shakes rattles for her. Right now we’re working on holding the rattles further than one inch from Autumn’s eyes. We’re also practicing our “inside voices” a whole lot.

The volume level in our house is definitely high. Sometimes it really grates on me. But sometimes I stop and stare at my kids in amazement. Am I really a mom? To three children? I think back to life four years ago, when it was just Adam and me and our big, quiet, clean house. Now we live somewhere smaller. And I clean all the time, but it’s still usually a disaster.

Sometimes I miss that clean, pretty house. But I would never want to live there again, where our infertility filled the empty spaces.

It’s interesting how waiting for something later changes the experience of it. I’m grateful we went through infertility for many reasons, especially for the way it shapes me as a mom—my difficult memories make it a little harder for me to complain about my dreams-come-true, AKA Skylar Grace, Micah Nathan, and Autumn Faith.

It’s easy for me to be thankful for our infertility now. It’s over. Our story has a happy ending times three. I was not thankful for it as we waited. I hated it. And I hate infertility in others’ lives now.

So how does God want us to cope with waiting? Especially when it’s the painful kind?

In Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul says believers should “rejoice always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances.” It’s a convicting verse for sure. But Pastor Colin Smith once pointed out that Paul doesn’t say we should give thanks for all circumstances; we’re to be thankful in them. The Bible always directs our attention to God Himself.

I’m not waiting for a baby anymore. But I’ve since learned that waiting will always be part of life. Motherhood has filled my life with blessings. But it’s also handed me a new set of burdens. And there are new things I’m waiting for now. But God has taken the pressure off. He doesn’t ask me to be thankful for frustrating, painful circumstances—only for His faithfulness in them.

“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.” – Romans 8:28

The other day Micah went to Grammy’s house, so I was at home with just Sky and Autumn. I’d originally planned to do something fun with Sky like bake cookies while Autumn took her long morning nap. But Autumn had other plans. She woke up early and she was fussy.

We’d had a string of rough nights, so I was bleary-eyed even though it was 10am and I’d already had some strong coffee. I decided that maybe Autumn’s problem was tummy-related and that we should run out to the store for some gripe water, so I told Sky it was “girl’s morning out!” and off we went. We bought the gripe water and a few other things, and then headed outside with Skylar carrying two helium balloons—one for her and one for Micah.

I’d just finished loading the bags into the van when Sky started yelling, “MOMMY! The balloons are TANGLED!” (Every problem is an emergency in Sky’s three-year-old world.) I put my keys in my mouth and went to work separating them. Finally, I got the knots undone and handed her the balloons.

Then I turned back to the cart and sucked in my breath. The cart was completely empty. “Oh-my-gosh-where’s-Autumn?!”  I said in a total panic. Sky was busy climbing into her car seat, oblivious. And then, “Oh. She’s right here, in the Ergo,” I said. Great big sigh.

Driving home I wondered what had become of me. I thought I’d lost my infant while she was strapped against my chest. Does sleep deprivation permanently destroy brain cells? Or will I one day go back to normal? All I could think about on that drive home was sleep. That I wasn’t getting any. And how sleep is basic need. And I was suddenly in a bad mood. A very bad mood.

When we got home, Autumn fell asleep in the swing. It was my chance to make cookies with Sky. But instead I put her in front of the TV with a snack and sat down by myself with another cup of coffee. I felt guilty, but not guilty enough to get up and do something fun with Skylar.

That evening Autumn went to sleep at 9:30pm. I crawled into bed at 10:30, dreading another night of ups and downs. But I didn’t wake up until 4:30am, the first time Autumn cried to be fed.

The next day I felt fantastic. 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep and the world was a brighter place. I made a meal plan and a grocery list. I cleaned. When Sky and Micah fought over toys I stayed calm. I even contemplated baking a loaf of bread.

But I also felt convicted. The Bible is pretty clear that we are to have a joyful spirit even when things aren’t working out the way we want. I know God has special grace for moms with little ones. But I don’t want to be a mom who whines and complains just because I haven’t had a full night’s sleep or “enough” free time or whatever else I think I need. It is possible to face the little daily challenges of being a mom without moping around, making everyone miserable.

I haven’t always done the best job staying positive on little sleep. But I know that with three little kids, I’ll have more opportunities to try again soon.