In the in the middle of what already seemed like a very long day, I looked into my refrigerator and knew I had no choice—we had to go the supermarket. I piled my two children into the baby carriage and we made our way to the market in the sweltering heat. We arrived and started our shopping. As my son was demanding one treat or another, I tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

My one-and-a-half-year-old daughter had managed to escape the shopping cart as I examined tomatoes. I spotted her and whisked her up as she grabbed bags of dry goods. She held on for dear life to a bag of couscous and it ripped. "Oh no," I said to myself as I saw the couscous (in other words, my money) spill to the floor. At this moment my cell phone rang. I answered, trying to be pleasant, but as my daughter squirmed trying to get free from my arms and my son continued to talk about whatever it was that he wanted I had a hard time stopping myself from barking, "I can't talk right now; I'll call you later." "How in the world am I going to do this?" I thought to myself.

How in the world am I going to do this?I feel like a juggler, like the ones I remember from my youth on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco: the ones who would stand on a unicycle, their feet peddling fast as they threw three, four, or five sticks of fire into the air. They would catch one stick in the right hand, then two, one in the left, then two, and for the finale one in their mouths as their heads inclined upward.

Yes, I feel like a juggler as I rock one child and hold the other, as I work and take care of our home. And you want to hear the most ironic part of it all? Every day I pray that G‑d should bless me with more children. No, I'm not crazy. Maybe you are going to ask me (and I certainly ask myself), "So where are you going to carry a third one, on your head?" Well, if I have to, yes.

You see, it all started many years ago when I was first married and a missed menstrual cycle did not equal a positive sign on the pregnancy test. Month after month, year after year the tests continued to show negative. Almost four years of no and then all of a sudden a yes. Can you imagine the yes? I did three tests just to be sure because I could not believe it. During the nausea, the vomiting, the swollen legs all I could think of were those negative tests and the curse transformed into a beautiful blessing confirmed by each symptom.

The challenges of motherhood are nothing compared to the challenges of pregnancy and labor. But the broken vase on the floor is just that, a broken vase—and the spilled milk is easily cleaned up. Women who watch me ask me how I have such patience. Others have asked if I already have two, why bother to have more? The patience comes with perspective; when you wait and long for something your appreciation of its arrival is greater. And why have more? Each child brings their own blessing. Now I couldn't imagine my life without the second child, just as I couldn't imagine my life without the first.

Patience comes with perspective There is something incredible I noticed when I became a mother. Actually it started even before my first was born, as he kicked and danced in my belly and I was no longer the master of my own body. There is a morning blessing that says, "G‑d gives strength to the fatigued." The fatigued, the tired, the exhausted: This, in my opinion, is without a doubt the mother. He provides energy to the tired, meaning me. The heavy sleeper suddenly awakes at the slightest whimper; the one who can't function without eight hours of sleep is nursing and preparing lunches and helping with homework on four.

The incredible thing that I discovered is that if G‑d gives you something, He doesn't just give it to you, but He gives you all that you need take care of it. The Sages say that no one is given a test that they cannot withstand—whether a test that consists of not having what we want, or a test that consists of having what may seem to be more than we can handle.

Every person has their special mission to fulfill The word in Hebrew for baby is tinok which has the same letters and is related to the word tikkun, correction. Every person that comes into the world has their special mission in life to fulfill, and every baby brings about a tikkun, a correction, for the world and specifically for their parents. The child who is bright or good-looking helps us work on our trait of pride or arrogance; the child who is slow or repetitive helps us work on our trait of patience. This child comes to teach you how to love, this one how to give. This one teaches you how to give-in, and this one teaches you how never to give-up.

When young brides come to me seeking advice they frequently ask me what I think about putting off having children. I admit to them: I'm not objective. Those four years of longing to have children, longing to when I couldn't, have changed me. They affected me so much that after almost nine years of marriage and two children I still can't get over the aching and anxiety of not being able to conceive or carry a child to term. Even if I have more children, I'm not sure if the pain will go away. But I do try to put myself in their shoes and I remember how I felt when I was engaged and how frightening the idea of becoming a mother can be. I tell them with an empathetic and full heart: When it comes to blessing—and each child not only is a blessing, but brings blessing and plenty.