I don’t think any woman is ever truly ready for the moment she finds out she’s pregnant. Even the ones who planned it and had that “I just knew” feeling—there’s still a jolt of shock when you see those two pink lines or the word Pregnant appear on that little stick.
For some, it’s tears of joy, hearts bursting with anticipation, and a sweet moment of elevated faith. For others, it’s surprise, a flicker of fear, and a whole lot of “Oh my God” moments. No matter the details, the shock? It’s universal.
I can only speak from experience. And for me, that shock felt like getting the wind knocked out of me.
With my son, I knew from the moment the doctor said, “You’re pregnant,” that I would keep him. But that didn’t stop the anxiety from rushing in. I was surprised—but not unprepared. I had been a nanny for as long as I could remember, and I had always wanted children. The timing, though… that part I would have loved to negotiate.
I was just as surprised with my daughter, but this time I had that feeling. I knew something was off when I found myself standing at my aunt’s fridge, eating five pickles in a row—and not stopping. As soon as I started, I couldn’t stop. In that moment, my eyes opened.
The panic and disbelief came flooding in.
I immediately drove to the store, bought the expensive tests, and rushed to the bathroom. I peed on the stick, shoved it into my purse without waiting, and ran to the car. I sat there sweating, heart pounding, trying to catch my breath.
Could this really be happening again?
I started to cry. Even before I looked, I knew what it would say.
Pregnant.
I was two completely different women at those two moments—nine years apart—but the feelings were the same. My stomach twisted. My heart raced. My thoughts spiraled.
“What the hell is going on?” I thought, both times.
Alone.
It’s not supposed to happen this way.
I stopped myself. Because that wasn’t the truth.
My life is not broken. My family is not broken.
And it’s not missing anything.
This was God’s plan.
Still, I felt the sting of heartburn rise as I whispered that age-old, unfair question: Why?
Then I remembered my son’s name—Jayden, which means God has heard. He came into my life when I needed saving. God used him to grow and mature me, to teach me about unconditional love—the kind of love that helped me understand God’s love for His children. For me.
But now I wondered…
Was I in need of saving again?
Did I mess something up? Did I miss a lesson?
No.
Wrong again.
My daughter is not a redo.
She is not a punishment.
She is a gift.
I remember the day Jayden was born so vividly. I was home with our dog, Harley, when the contractions started around 11 A.M. I had a feeling he was coming soon. I drew a bath, thinking I’d labor at home for a while. But as soon as the water started, the contractions hit like a freight train. Painful, fast, unrelenting.
I called my sister, desperate for guidance. Everything from the classes flew right out of my head. Contractions jumped from five minutes apart to two. It was time.
Jayden David was born at 6:05 P.M., just as the sun was setting. As the world slowed down, I held his tiny body in my arms. I had labored all day—and I was ready for the night. My heart felt whole, but my mind still whispered questions: Do I really have what it takes to be a mother?
I was full of doubts and fears. But in that hospital room, I knew one thing for sure: I was changed forever.
Jayden has always brought joy and laughter into my life. But what I treasure most is his ability to see me. He’s intuitive. He’s emotionally deep. He’s thoughtful and intentional.
I remember once when he was five or six. I was showering after a rough day, and he sat outside the bathroom door playing worship music on my phone—because he knew I needed peace. Or just recently, I came home from work exhausted, and he had cleaned the whole house, made all the beds, and said, “I didn’t want you to worry about anything, Mom.”
My memory isn’t always sharp—thank you, trauma—so I keep a note on my phone titled “Things Jay Says” because he’s also the funniest person I know.
Jayden is our sunset. He is the calm of night, the steady strength in our home, the deep exhale after a long day.
And then, there’s BellaJune Skye—our sunrise.
At 11 P.M., I woke up with cramping and contractions. By 5:03 A.M., she was born. As she took her first breath, she stole mine. Her birth was sacred. I knew what to expect, and I had my two closest friends by my side. They had walked me through the deepest pain of the past two years. To share this moment with them was a gift I’ll never forget.
Like the sun, BellaJune was radiant from the beginning. Her name came to me in a dream.
In the dream, I was in a kitchen I didn’t recognize, but somehow I knew it was home. Jayden was older, and she was walking. I called out, “Jayden, BellaJune, come here, please!” I woke up immediately and couldn’t stop saying her name.
Bella means “beautiful.”
June means “young” and “protector.” But more importantly, it’s my grandmother’s name—a woman I hope my daughter grows to be like.
BellaJune is wild, warm, free, bold, and breathtaking.
She is the light that cuts through the night and marks a brand-new day.
I don’t believe God makes mistakes. He knew I needed both the sunset and the sunrise.
My kids are opposites in the best way. Where Bella is wild, Jayden is calm. When Jayden gets stuck in his head, Bella pulls out his silly side. They are exactly who they’re meant to be, flaws and all.
So this Mother’s Day, I reflect on my babies and the unwavering faithfulness of God.
I am not tired.
I am not overwhelmed.
I am not desperate for a break, though I’ve been all those things before.
This month, I’ve slowed down. I’ve savored. I’ve allowed myself to enjoy.
And I am grateful for all the versions of me that brought me here:
The young and fearless.
The bold and outspoken.
The insecure and unstable.
The confused and broken.
Each version mattered. Each one transformed.
And now? I can finally honor them all.
My prayer for you this week is that you’d take a moment to reflect on every version of yourself—the good, the bad, the messy, the beautiful. Pause to honor her. Before you do, I encourage you to read Emory Hall’s poem “The Thousand Women I Was Before.” Let it sink in. Then, make peace with who you've been, offer grace, extend forgiveness, and love yourself fully. You deserve the kind of compassion you extend to so many others.
Live loved,
Jaimee
Song Recommendation: Slow Down by Upper Room
