Moms: You’re Incredible

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When Jenna and I decided to start a family, the thought of her bravery didn’t really cross my mind. Sure, I’d read the accounts of complicated births, and I’d seen the comedic portrayals of childbirth in films—moms yelling, “You did this to me!” while dads scrambled to boil water. But nothing could have prepared me for the raw reality I witnessed in the delivery room.

Before Jenna’s C-section, I’d sat through some gruesome horror flicks, munching on pizza and sipping soda, totally unfazed. But the moment my wife was on that operating table? It was a scene that would haunt me forever.

As the doctors worked, I saw a tiny, bloodied figure emerging from a significant opening in my beautiful wife’s abdomen. Something that looked like a veiny, reddish-white vine was wrapped around the baby’s neck. The sheer intensity of the situation hit me like a freight train.

My legs felt like jelly, and I had to sit down. Jenna glanced at me from the delivery table and asked, “You look pale. Are you alright?” “Are you okay?” I shot back. “You really don’t want to know what’s happening right now.”

Once everything settled down—after I held our son post-cleanup, Jenna was stitched, and our family had left—I finally understood the depth of Jenna’s courage. I don’t know how much she grasped about childbirth, but she faced it with a strength that leaves me in awe.

Honestly, I might’ve sobbed—not tears of joy, but from fear and pain. I know I wouldn’t have dared to have another child. But Jenna? She proceeded to have two more kids, fully aware of what the doctors would do to her body and how long recovery would take.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Over the past nine years since our first child, I’ve watched Jenna breastfeed in public, unfazed by the judgmental stares. I’ve seen her glare down critics while soothing a baby latched onto her. Four years ago, she went back to school to better our family’s finances and to set a positive example for our children. I watched her juggle schooling and motherhood with remarkable grace, even as the only thirty-something mom of three in a traditional classroom.

I’ve seen her dash into streets to catch a toddler making a break for it. I’ve sat beside her as she fearlessly interrogated teachers and doctors about our kids’ education and health, never backing down until she was satisfied with the answers. If she wasn’t satisfied, she sought out alternatives.

Jenna has also challenged me when I’ve made questionable decisions as a father, questioning my choices with a fiery intensity that is both scary and admirable.

Despite standing at just 5 feet 2 inches, Jenna is petite and soft-spoken, armed with a sharp wit. It would be easy to overlook her bravery if you weren’t paying attention.

Many mothers are like this. Society often assumes that a mother’s bravery is just an expected part of motherhood. There’s something innate in mothers—a spark, perhaps from God or genetics—that compels them to endure the pain of childbirth and tirelessly ensure their children grow up healthy, happy, and wise.

All our kids were born via C-section, and Jenna bears a long, deep scar across her abdomen. It’s larger than any scar I’ll ever have, and even if I did acquire one of equal size, it would never represent the same significance. My scar would signify survival; hers is a testament to life itself.

That scar symbolizes her commitment to our family and her readiness to do whatever it takes for our children—a boy and two girls who fill my life with boundless joy. Each time I see it, I feel a rush of admiration for her bravery. I’m reminded of the painful experiences she endured to bring our children into the world and the countless acts of courage she embodies every day.

The truth is, Jenna is incredibly brave. Mothers possess a unique kind of bravery. They would leap in front of a moving truck to protect their children, dive into shark-infested waters, or jump from an airplane—all for their kids. But the bravery of motherhood often doesn’t resemble grand, heroic gestures. It’s found in the grit of multiple childbirths, endless negotiations over hygiene habits, teaching respect over attention, and sheer love for their children. It’s about encouraging their partners to step up, and when they don’t, mothers carry the weight all on their own.

So, let’s take a moment to recognize the bravery of the mothers in our lives. Let’s appreciate their sacrifices and, once in a while, acknowledge their courage. Because without my wife’s bravery, I wouldn’t be a father, and our children wouldn’t be on their way to becoming remarkable adults.

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In summary, let’s celebrate the unsung bravery of mothers everywhere. Their quiet strength and relentless determination should not go unnoticed, as they are the backbone of our families and communities.