There’s something about being on the edge of a new chapter that makes the ordinary moments feel louder… the soft thud of little feet running down the hallway, the way the living room looks in December light, the quiet knowing that everything is about to shift again.

This is the last holiday season as a family of three, and I feel it everywhere… in my body, in my prayers, in the way I’m paying attention to things I know I won’t get back.

Not in a dramatic way… more like a gentle hand on the heart saying, “Slow down. Savor this.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling, the excitement and blessing of our family growing and the reality that Coco isn’t going to be our only focus. Mamas of multiples remind me that your heart just expands and it’s such a gift watching your children become best friends, and I know that so deeply because I couldn’t imagine my life without my siblings.

Motherhood has a way of stretching time… somehow long and impossibly fast at once. One minute I’m trying to finish a task before nap time ends, and the next I’m standing in the kitchen, holding my belly, realizing that another little soul will be here before the snow melts.

And this season, with all its coziness and chaos, is teaching me a few things.

Lesson 1: Presence is a practice, not a personality trait.

I used to think some women were just naturally patient, naturally slow, naturally present.

Turns out… it’s more of a daily choosing.

I catch myself wanting to rush… to get everything prepared, to organize, to “make things nice.”

But every time I pause (even for a breath), I’m reminded that the moments I remember aren’t the perfectly planned ones.

They’re the tiny interruptions:

my child slipping her hand into mine, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, the way we both exhale when we settle onto the couch under a shared blanket.

Presence, for me, has become the soft discipline of returning to what actually matters. I’m finding this little dance between getting things done and just letting the to-do list rest so I can read a book or play tea party with Coco. And honestly? Those are the moments that always pull me back into my heart.

And lately, she’s been doing the cutest little dances, the funniest expressions, the quirkiest sayings. I keep wishing I could pause time and bottle every version of her. These fleeting pieces of her childhood… this is where presence lives for me right now.

Lesson 2: Gratitude hits different when you’re tired.

There’s a kind of gratitude that comes easy… the highlight-reel kind.

And then there’s the kind that shows up in the messier moments… the 6am wake-ups, the toys everywhere, the dinner that doesn’t go as planned, the body that feels both miraculous and exhausted.

This year, gratitude feels deeper… almost sturdier. Maybe because I’m honoring my humanness more. Maybe because carrying a baby while caring for a toddler forces you to simplify everything – expectations, timelines, perfection.

And maybe it’s also because this season I’ve had extra hands… and it hits differently as a pregnant toddler mama. Having help feels like the biggest blessing. My mom and sister nurture and love Coco like she’s their own, and I know this support is going to be a game changer when baby #2 arrives.

Gratitude isn’t always big or poetic. Sometimes it’s just a whispered “thank you” as you microwave your tea for the third time.

Lesson 3: The holidays aren’t about doing more — they’re about remembering more.

I used to feel the pressure to make the holidays “magical.” But this year, magic looks different.

Magic is letting our home feel lived-in and warm.

Magic is cooking simple meals that make us feel held.

Magic is giving myself permission to slow down, even when the world is revving up.

We’re even simplifying gifts this year… letting go of the pressure to buy for everyone and shifting to a family Secret Santa. It feels tender because I want to spoil everyone I love… but my mom always said the holidays are about time together. And now, as a mama, that sentiment feels truer than ever.

There’s a sweetness in surrendering to the season you’re actually in… not the one you think you should be in. This year, that means rest. Cozy rituals. Making space for the baby who is almost here. Honoring the child who made me a mother in the first place.

Lesson 4: Joy expands when we do.

Motherhood keeps stretching my heart in ways I didn’t see coming.

It humbles me.

It softens me.

It teaches me again and again that love doesn’t divide… it multiplies.

And maybe that’s why this season feels so tender. Because alongside the excitement, there’s also this quiet fear:

How will I have enough energy, attention, and love for two babies and Aaron? Will my marriage be okay? Will Coco be okay? Will I be okay?

I love our days as a family of three. I love knowing exactly how to hold Coco, how she fits against me. And there’s a part of me that knows I’ll miss this exact season… the sweetness of her being my only little one.

But then I have moments… like the other day when I was holding her after a nap, our room dark and quiet. She tucked into me… in a new way, because of my growing belly — and gently rested her hand on the baby. She rubbed my stomach as if she already understood she was becoming a big sister.

A tear rolled down my cheek. And even now, writing this, I feel the grace of that moment.

Joy expands when we do. Even in the overwhelm. Even in the unknown. Even when the nursery isn’t ready and the lists aren’t done.

I’m learning to hold it all with open hands… because joy always finds its way in when we stop trying to control the shape it comes in.

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A practical shift supporting me right now…

One thing that’s helping me stay grounded is waking up before Coco — even just a little — to have quiet time, get ready for the day, and feel ahead of things so I can be fully present with her. It’s not perfect every morning, but when it happens, it changes everything.

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Closing Reflections

Motherhood is such a wild combination of tenderness and courage. I’m learning every day that I can hold wonder and worry at the same time. I can miss what is ending and be excited for what’s coming. I can feel stretched and still feel chosen.

So as this holiday season unfolds, I’m letting myself be exactly where I am… grateful, tired, expanding, softening, preparing, surrendering.

And maybe that’s the real magic of it all:

the permission to be human while life keeps blooming around you.

Here’s to this chapter.

Here’s to what’s next.

And here’s to every quiet miracle in between.