Deciding to be a Mother

For most of my life, the idea of becoming a mother felt like something that belonged in the “later” drawer—the one we never quite close, but never fully open either. I would look at mothers and think, That’s beautiful… and also terrifying. The responsibility. The selflessness. The way your heart lives outside your body forever after.

For years, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that kind of love.

Or that kind of vulnerability.

Back when we were still in the Philippines, there really wasn’t time to sit down and talk seriously about when—or even if—we wanted children. I remember one random day when the topic came up, and John told me that the decision would always be mine. It’s my body, after all. He said he would be happy to have a child with me, but he would also be happy if we never did, as long as we were together. Cheesy, really.

I remember saying, yes, someday. I did want children—at least that’s what I believed then—but I definitely wasn’t ready. Life in the Philippines was difficult. I was working two jobs. John was working overtime almost every week. We were saving to buy our first house. Then when we finally did, we were saving again to rebuild everything we had spent. Every other decision felt like it was for survival.

Then we moved to New Zealand in 2023—and life slowed down. Not in a boring way, just… gentler. We found jobs that paid well yet still let us come home by 4pm. We had time to walk, to rest, to breathe. We picked up hobbies. We exercised and moved more. We became healthier. And for the first time, life didn’t feel like it was running ahead of us—we were living it.

I can’t point to a specific day or moment when my mind changed. But sometime after turning 30, I started really asking myself: Do I want to have children—and why?

I didn’t want to bring another human being into the world just because it’s expected of me. I didn’t want children simply because it seemed like the “next step” in life or in my relationship. I didn’t want them out of fear of being alone or to have someone to take care of me when I grow old. I didn’t want children just to give my life a sense of purpose. If I was going to bring a human into the world, I wanted it to be for a reason that felt true to me.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Quiet mornings would spark small daydreams—the sound of laughter echoing down the hallway, tiny shoes left in a row by the door, a child with my stubbornness or his calm. I’d imagine teaching someone from scratch how to be kind, how to be curious, how to be strong. The ordinary chaos suddenly seemed extraordinary.

Living in a country that makes starting a family feel possible also played a part—free healthcare and education, generally more affordable living, parks on every corner, clean public spaces, barely-there crime rates, and neighborhoods that actually feel safe. All of it made the idea less daunting, and easier.

So when we returned from the Philippines, the decision felt surprisingly clear. We agreed to try for a baby—and in just two months, it happened.

Finding out we were pregnant was surreal. I remember holding the test in my hands, staring at it, and feeling a mix of disbelief, excitement, and a little nervousness all at once. It wasn’t a dramatic moment of shock but a profound shift, as if life had gently nudged us into a new chapter we had been slowly preparing for all along.

I thought about all the little daydreams I’d had—the laughter, the tiny shoes, the chaotic mornings—and suddenly they weren’t just imagination anymore. They were real possibilities. It was exciting, yes, but it also felt humbling. There’s a weight to knowing that someone’s entire world will soon depend on you, and that every decision we make will ripple far beyond ourselves.

At the same time, there’s a calmness I didn’t expect. After all the preparation, the reflection, the waiting, it feels like the timing is finally right. Our life in New Zealand—the slower rhythm, the security and stability—makes it feel manageable, joyful. We can savor these moments before the whirlwind begins, and I find myself appreciating the quiet in a way I never could have before. And while I know the journey ahead will be challenging, I also feel ready.

Ready to love fiercely.

Ready to learn.

Ready to grow.

And when the time comes, ready to hold the little person who will shift our world in the best, most unexpected ways.

No Rhyme, Just Reason is a Taupō, New Zealand–based blog by Ariane about books, good food, long walks, and unapologetic naps.