Snippet audio of Janelle’s interview. Read full article
Hello everyone! My name is Janelle Billy, and I’m a Texas native with Sierra Leonean heritage. Both of my parents are from Sierra Leone, West Africa, and let me tell you—growing up with African parents definitely has its challenges (if you know, you know). I was raised in a culturally rich household filled with strong women, except for my dad. This was long before “black girl magic” became a popular phrase. We thrived together as women, and I truly believe I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the influence of the women who came before me. This year, I celebrated 10 wonderful years of marriage to the love of my life, and we are living our God-giving dream of raising our three boys in Houston, Texas!
I like to believe I was a mother long before I ever had kids of my own. At the age of two, I became a big sister, and from that moment on, I had my real-life baby doll. My little sister was the perfect opportunity for me to practice all my mommy skills. I was always the one watching my baby cousins, doing someone’s hair, and showering love on any baby I could find. I was meant to be a mom, and I’ve always known that.
One month before our one-year wedding anniversary, we were pregnant. I remember we went on a vacation, and I complained the entire time. I was miserable, so I called my mom to vent. I told her my breasts were aching, and I was so moody. She asked me, “Are you pregnant?” and I instantly shot back, “No, absolutely not.” I was an adult, an in-tune with-my-own body kind of adult, or so I thought. How could she guess that?? Welp, a few days later, I took a test, and she was correct. I was pregnant. I didn’t know it at the time, but the soreness I was experiencing in my breast was the first symptom. I knew instantly this meant I was getting my mini-me, a little girl. Turns out though, the joke was on me. I was starting a bad habit of assuming I knew the gender of my baby, and I continued this with each child I carried. My husband was in shock, and for someone who doesn’t stress about much. He wanted a child but wanted to control the timing more than we had. The turnaround to reality was during the first appointment when we heard that thud of a heartbeat. It changed both of us. We were both in love. We were expecting another January birthday with our child. My husband and I share birthdays in January, and this felt like the perfect piece to add to our puzzle. In January 2016, I became a mother to my firstborn, my son, Zaiden.
Ok, let me run it back a little. My husband and I met in high school, 4th-period Spanish class, to be exact. We started out as frenemies, and we fussed and argued all the time. He eventually became my best friend, and although I failed the class, I passed in life when I became his girlfriend the next year. He was a year older than me, and he graduated and went off to college out of state. Although the year apart was challenging, we survived the long-distance relationship, and I couldn’t wait for summer. I ended up moving out of state to attend college with him, and this is where our journey really began. Life was different as we figured out what our lives looked like, just the two of us, hundreds of miles away from family. We both graduated and then got married in June of 2014. Life was great and we were getting used to defining our family to be whatever we wanted it to be.
We lived in Springfield, MO, for 13 years, growing into the adults and parents we always dreamed of becoming. During that time, we bought our first house and secured our “big boy” and “big girl” jobs. Life was very good. Springfield, MO, became the state where all three of my sons were born. They were beloved in the community we built, and our family continued to grow there.
We decided it was time to return to Texas, and in the summer of 2022, that’s exactly what we did. We now live in Houston, where we are raising three very active boys. When I’m not at work or rushing to a sporting event, I enjoy making crafts and planning parties for my family. I find joy in creating; turning something ordinary into something beautiful brings me a unique sense of fulfillment.
God’s love for His children inspires me. It motivates me to love others, even those I might not typically consider worthy, as human nature often leads us to judge others’ sins. How foolish that is! The way God has shown up for me and saved me repeatedly encourages me to do something positive with my life. Expressing my gratitude is the least I can do. I strive to spread love, embody love, and raise children who understand love. God’s love is real, and it is my ultimate goal as a mother.
As I mentioned earlier, when I was pregnant with my first son, it was the breast soreness that should have clued me in. I was unaware of pregnancy symptoms, but I knew the pain felt different. It was so intense, and it didn’t make sense to me. Like most women, I first bought a cheap pregnancy test, convinced it would be inaccurate simply because of its low price. Eventually, I went to Walgreens and spent too much money on several tests, including digital ones and other fancy options, to confirm that I was really pregnant. Being a bit of a control freak and the ultimate planner, I needed to be certain this was actually happening.
I had a very smooth pregnancy with my first son, and the labor and delivery went just as well. At 39 weeks, I decided to drink some castor oil—an old wives’ tale—to help initiate labor. My desire for control kicked in, and I wanted to have the baby on my own terms rather than waiting for him. Looking back, I realize that was a bit silly of me. However, it worked! After several hours of laboring at home, we headed to the hospital around 9 PM. Walking into the hospital was a breeze. I got my epidural shortly after arriving because I dilated so quickly; by the time we got there, I was already at 7 centimeters. The epidural was the most painful part of the delivery, but once it kicked in, everything else was smooth sailing. The harder contractions began to come, but thanks to my good friend, Epi (my nickname for the epidural), I couldn’t feel them at all. Around 10 AM the next day, my baby was finally here, and we were literally over the moon in love.
The most memorable part of my journey into motherhood was watching my body grow and nurture my babies. I was determined to breastfeed but also worried about my children becoming too attached and dependent on me. As a result, I decided to pump, and this turned out to be the best decision I could have made. I was fortunate to be what some might call an overproducer; I was practically a milk machine. It was a full-time job pumping, and my schedule for the first few months included pumping 4 times a day. I was fortunate enough to have my supply increase with each pregnancy. I produced so much milk I had to start donating it because I ran out of space. Being able to provide breast milk to other moms who needed it but couldn’t produce their own was such a blessing. I am forever grateful for that experience!
After my first pregnancy and delivery, we decided to try again a year later. We were able to conceive quickly, and I underwent all the necessary tests once more. Although I didn’t experience breast tenderness, the nausea and exhaustion hit me hard. It felt as though I was already showing just two days after finding out I was pregnant; it was as if the baby had grown overnight.
We went in for our first appointment, anxious to hear the thud we had been waiting for. This time, though, there was no thud. Instead, there was a concerned doctor searching for the baby. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest as we sat in the dimly lit room, nervously watching the ultrasound screen move around my belly in search of what should have been there. I looked to my doctor, hoping she would calm my anxieties by saying she had finally found the baby, but she couldn’t give me that reassurance. There was no baby to be found. I had a sac but no embryo; I had the symptoms, but I was not actually pregnant. My mind and heart were not in sync, and tears streamed down my face—tears that made it impossible to hear anything else. I couldn’t comprehend what the doctor was saying because my heart was pounding so loudly in my ears, and all I could focus on was the wetness on my cheeks. The doctor explained my options, but the thought of waiting to naturally lose my baby was too devastating to bear. I decided to go ahead with a D&C surgery the next day to remove the empty sac.
I will never forget the night before my surgery. I mourned someone, something I had never met. I felt incredibly sad and disappointed that my body had failed me. Confusion and anger overwhelmed me. Despite those feelings, I went through with the surgery and began my healing journey. This loss instilled a deep fear in me. I wanted to have more children, but I was too afraid of experiencing another loss. After 7 or 8 months, my husband and I decided to try for a baby again. When I took the test and saw the positive result, I felt a mix of excitement and fear. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, so I kept the news to myself and dealt with my emotions alone. Unfortunately, this journey was short-lived. I began to bleed, and my levels started to drop. When the nurse tried to comfort me by saying, “This is a loss of a pregnancy, not a baby,” I wanted to fight. I was DEVASTATED! I learned that since I wasn’t far enough along, my experience was categorized as a loss of a pregnancy rather than a loss of a baby. I had lost another piece of my heart, and my fear surrounding pregnancy grew to an uncontrollable level.
In November of 2017, I had a co-worker that I was very close with pass away suddenly, and it recentered me. I missed her and valued her life so much. It reminded me how precious life is and encouraged me to try again. When I had given up, God showed up. We were pregnant – again, it was the spring of 2018, and I had just miscarriage a few months before. The pregnancy tests all came back positive, and the first doctor’s visit eased all our nerves when we heard the thud. Our rainbow baby was on the way, and we were so excited to give our son a sibling. In November of 2018, we welcomed our second son, Zorian.
Zorian was the sunshine we needed; his life reminded us of the goodness of God. He came into the world three weeks early. During my 37-week appointment, I was shocked when the doctor checked me and announced that I was already six centimeters dilated. Sadly, my husband’s grandmother had passed away, and he had to travel out of state for the funeral. I had to stay behind, instructed to sit still and do my best not to have the baby while he was away. It’s like my baby knew.
My husband returned home on Sunday night, and our baby was born Monday. In the middle of the night on Sunday, I woke up feeling the need to pee. I sat down, and that’s when the first contraction hit me. I was in denial about what was happening, so I thought, “Let me sit on the bed and see if it gets any better.” After a few more minutes, I woke my husband to tell him it was time. This was around 2 a.m. About an hour later, we welcomed our baby into the world.
I will never forget the sweetest part of the fast-paced delivery: my oldest son helping to push me on the bed while wearing his red Elmo slippers, which became a memorable detail in the picture my husband captured. Thankfully, our community stepped in and picked up our oldest child. I received my epidural but soon realized it wasn’t working. I was in excruciating pain; everything felt like it was burning, and I literally felt on fire. I kept asking for help and for someone to explain what was happening. They reassured me to keep pushing and that everything was okay. It only took a few pushes, and then Zorian was here. I later learned that when my epidural finally did take effect, I was experiencing the “ring of fire.” Although the epidural worked just after the baby was born, none of that mattered because I had my baby—the one I had prayed for, longed for and wished for.
Life with two boys felt manageable, so we decided to consider trying for a third child in August 2020. However, little did we know what was about to happen. A few weeks after discussing our plans to grow our family, I found out I was pregnant, with the baby due in October 2020. Our plans had clearly gone off track, but we were excited nonetheless. This time around, just one pregnancy test confirmed it—I was a believer now. The first doctor’s visit was always the most nerve-wracking, but hearing the heartbeat was all I needed to feel reassured. I was convinced I was having a girl. The Chinese calendar, my pregnancy cravings, and Google all indicated that we were expecting a girl.
This labor and delivery experience was unique because it took place in September 2020, when COVID-19 had significantly changed the world. I was most afraid that my husband wouldn’t be allowed in the delivery room and that I would have to go through it alone. Thankfully, that was not our case. I labored at home for hours while cuddling with my middle son, who kept saying the baby would come soon. We arrived at the hospital, and the birth was fast once again. I was already dilated to 8 centimeters by the time the doctors in triage checked me. I received my epidural, and thankfully, it worked this time. I would never wish the experience of strong contractions while simultaneously getting an epidural on anyone; it was quite intense! After a few hours, we welcomed our third son, Zaire.
Being a mother to three black boys in America is a profound honor for me. I won’t pretend it’s easy, and there have been times when I’ve questioned, “Why me?” But God knows the reasons. He chose me to be their mom, and with each passing year, both they and I grow. I’ve learned so much about myself as a woman and a mother since becoming a mom to these amazing boys.
One of the most special aspects of this journey is being their first love. I cherish the opportunity to teach them what love truly means, how respect is shown, and they witness daily what it means to be a loving wife to their father. While I wish I could be a perfect mom and wife, I know I’m not. However, I am continuously progressing, getting better, and learning along the way.
I chose to share my story because it is the most beautiful gift I have ever received. Motherhood is an honorable journey that I want to invite every woman to join! I want other mothers to feel that they are not alone in this experience. Motherhood isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation; we all have unique stories, journeys, and reasons for being here. By sharing my own, I hope to provide hope to someone else and encourage them to allow others to accompany them on this journey rather than face it alone.
Every journey has its bumps in the road. When I was trying to find a title for mine, I initially considered “The Diary of a God-Fearing Mother.” However, upon reflection, I realized the importance of using my gifts thoughtfully. My love for the Lord guides me, and during my journey to motherhood, I didn’t always turn to Him as I should have, which made that title feel misaligned. Despite the challenges and dark moments of motherhood, I managed to find my way through. As a result, choosing “Diary of a Boy Mom” felt effortless. My boys have brought so much light into my life, even during the dimmest times, and they continue to be my source of joy.
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During their journey to parenthood, Janelle and her husband found out that they are carriers of the sickle cell trait. Sickle cell disease is a genetic disorder that causes red blood cells to become misshapen and break down, resulting in various health complications. Their firstborn inherited only the trait, while their second son was diagnosed with the disease shortly after birth. He is their “rainbow baby,” as they had suffered two miscarriages before having a healthy baby. As an advocate, Janelle emphasizes the importance of genetic testing and awareness, particularly for those who may be carriers of the sickle cell trait, to better understand the risks and implications for their children.
The story, Love What Matters, illustrates the family’s emotional experiences, the challenges of parenting a child with sickle cell disease, and their dedication to raising awareness about the condition. Blood Drive.
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