It’s phrases like this that will forever make me cringe.

“All mama wants is a silent night.”

Trust me, I get it. And with two kids who rarely stop to take a breath, I FEEL it.

As an introvert and a highly sensitive person (HSP—look it up, it’s a thing) some days (and nights) I feel like the noise is literally going to end me.

If you know me in real life (and maybe virtually, too), you’ve no doubt heard me complain about the noise levels in this house. You’ve heard me beg God for silence, for an escape from the noise. Most days I truly long for it.

But I know the flip side, too.

The side of motherhood that isn’t summed up on a coffee mug. The side that doesn’t get a place on the shelf. The side that is so heartbreakingly silent, you’d forever welcome the racket from a couple of hellions and a lifetime of cold coffee.

It’s the side of motherhood that screams for the baby who lived in your womb, but didn’t make it to your arms. The side in which your baby never had the chance to fill your ears with the sound of a sharp cry. The side in which the only sound in the middle of the night was that of your own gut-wrenching sobs.

I know that if I’d come across this mug a short time after losing my babies, when the sorrow consumed me, I’d have melted into a puddle of tears right there on the floor of Target.

Because to have a truly silent night in motherhood?

Well, it’s the cup that no one wants to drink from. The cup that’s empty because grief has sucked every last drop out of it.

I know I should be grateful that we’re all together and we’re healthy and I am, I really am. But it’s still so hard.And I will never forget that even with the chaos of tantrums and whining and constant chatter, there are mothers out there who are still waiting for such noise to fill their homes.

I’m not going to enjoy every moment—no one does—but knowing firsthand the emptiness and silence of loss makes me appreciate the too-noisy parts of motherhood just a little more.

Because, really, all mama actually wants is to not know the pain of losing her baby.

This post was originally published here. Be sure to follow Jenny on Facebook and Instagram for more on her incomplete and imperfect motherhood.