I’ve been meaning to write this since I was 13 weeks pregnant… the first time.

A few summers ago, during a road trip through California for our anniversary, my husband and I had a lot to talk about.

You find yourself with plenty of time to kill when you’re on an extended trip, especially when much of that trip is spent in some type of vehicle. After enough chit chat, games, reading, or listening to music and podcasts, you finally get into the deep conversations. On that trip, Kevin and I discussed what we had already talked about since we got married: starting our family.

Now, unlike previous discussions on the topic, which were always more general, this particular conversation dove into specifics. We had to do the math. When would I stop taking birth control pills? If we wanted to have x amount of kids and y amount of years between each one, when did we need to start trying to conceive? How old did we want to be by the time every child was born? Ultimately, with that much time on our hands, we came to the conclusions we needed to and made our decisions.

When we returned from the trip, I went off of birth control. I went back on briefly before going off again. Then, we began trying.

Fast-forward to now. Our first son is a little over a year old, and our second is still on the way. I’m going to be outnumbered by a bunch of boys! But I couldn’t be more thrilled because no matter the sex of our children or how many we choose to have, I’m a mother. That has never meant more to me than it does in this moment.

You see, I went from never wanting kids in high school to talking about having four of them just a couple of years ago. It’s been a long journey to get to this point.

Yet I’ve watched one boy grow so much in only a year — a year marred by a global pandemic, of all things — and, through all of that, I still can’t imagine not having children. I gave birth to him while wearing a mask. Kevin and I weren’t allowed to leave the hospital room, and no one was allowed to enter except for doctors and nurses, all masked. Kevin’s paternity leave was even more special, in a way, since it was strictly the three of us at the start, bonding as our own tight-knit family. So it took a while for my son to meet his grandparents, his uncle and aunt, and even other kids his age. He spent a good part of his first year only seeing people’s eyes. I imagine, given the resurgence of COVID and its numerous variants, our next son will have a very similar experience.

Being a new parent in this new decade is scary. It’s difficult. Being a new parent in any decade has been scary and difficult for so many people. Becoming a parent is a decision that shouldn’t be taken lightly because, for the rest of your life, it’s both a constant endeavor and constantly rewarding. I believe that because, even in such a short amount of time, I’ve already seen the proof.

I’m proud to be a mom! I’m so excited to welcome another bouncing baby boy into the world, as chaotic as that world currently is. But it always will be. There’s never a “good” time to start having kids. If you really want to, if you’re as ready as you can be, then you can take the first step. I’m certainly not going to sit here and write that you should or that you have to.

I can only describe how I look at my own son and still marvel at the fact that he’s mine. It amazes me that my husband and I made him. He’s going to be a mix of the two of us and also his own, unique person one day. So will our next son. I’m super curious to see how motherhood continues to go. I’m as prepared as possible for the unbridled joy and the inevitable heartbreak.

Being a mother is both the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done in my life so far. It’s been one hell of a ride, and this ride don’t stop.