Posted in Lifestyle

Anne Shirley

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If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?

I feel likeĀ my answer toĀ this questionĀ changes depending onĀ my mood orĀ whatever I’ve been reading or watching lately. I’veĀ answered this promptĀ before with ElizabethĀ Bennet and LunaĀ Lovegood, but myĀ current answer isĀ Anne Shirley. There will always be a special place in my heart for Anne of Green Gables, the book series and most adaptations.

Specifically, I’d loveĀ to have dinnerĀ with Anne in Anne of WindyĀ PoplarsĀ orĀ Anne’s House of Dreams. In those booksĀ she’s in herĀ twenties, right beforeĀ and just afterĀ marrying Gilbert.

There’s something aboutĀ Anne’sĀ outlook on life that makes meĀ want to spendĀ an evening with her. The conversationĀ would be wonderful, the food andĀ gossip wouldĀ undoubtedly be entertaining, but more thanĀ anything, I’d loveĀ to hear herĀ perspective.Ā I especially loveĀ seeing how sheĀ grows in theseĀ books while stillĀ holding onto theĀ imagination and warmthĀ that makeĀ her so unmistakablyĀ Anne.

Posted in Lifestyle

We Need to Fix Whatever Is Happening to Our School System

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The other day I was talking to a friend about a recipe I saw online. I told them that instead of serving ribs at our baby shower, I think I want to make burnt ends. Growing up, my family always used hot links, but lately I keep seeing recipes that call for smoked kielbasa.

My friend looked at me and said they’d never had a burnt end that wasn’t a type of sausage.

I was confused.

I said, ā€œYou’re missing out! Burnt ends are usually made from brisket, and some people even make them with ribs.ā€

Then I explained that kielbasaĀ isĀ sausage. It’s simply the Polish word for sausage, even though in the United States we’ve come to associate it with one specific variety you buy at the grocery store.

The conversation itself wasn’t a big deal. People don’t know things. That’s normal.

What bothered me was that there was never a moment of curiosity. There wasn’t a ā€œWhat’s kielbasa?ā€ or ā€œI didn’t know that.ā€ It was just an assumption that their understanding was correct.

That reminded me of another conversation we had recently.

I mentioned wanting to completely retcon the novel I’ve been working on because there’s a litany of problems with both the outline and what I’ve already written.

They stopped me.

ā€œWhat’sĀ litany?ā€

Again, that’s completely fine. No one knows every word. I certainly don’t.

But it made me wonder: how many times do people go through life encountering words they don’t know without ever looking them up? Is it embarrassment? Is it a lack of curiosity? Or have we simply gotten comfortable filling in the blanks instead of expanding our vocabulary?

To me, this feels like a literacy problem.

Not because people can’t technically read, but because reading has become something we do to get information as quickly as possible instead of something that challenges us.

We’ve also reached a point where texting has become our primary form of communication, and I think it’s changed how many of us write. Grammar, sentence structure, punctuation, and even vocabulary often become secondary because a text message doesn’t demand much precision.

Then ask someone to write a professional email.

Suddenly they need spell check, AI, Grammarly, or another tool to make it sound polished.

There’s nothing wrong with using those tools. I use them too. But they should be helping us communicate more effectively—not replacing skills we never developed in the first place.

And if I’m already noticing this among people my own age, I can’t help but wonder what it will look like for my niece, who’s still in school, or for today’s graduating classes.

What will it be like when my own child starts school?

According to national literacy assessments, many American adults read below a high school level, and a significant percentage read around the equivalent of middle school. Reading words isn’t the same thing as deeply understanding them, making connections, or analyzing complex ideas.

Those are different skills.

I’ve also noticed this in the books I’ve been reading lately.

So many novels recommended on TikTok leave me frustrated because they’re filled with grammatical mistakes, awkward sentence structure, repetitive vocabulary, and paragraphs that feel underdeveloped. The stories themselves may be entertaining, but I often find myself wishing they had gone through another round of editing.

Maybe that’s part of why books with richer prose feel intimidating to so many readers now.

I don’t think it’s because people are incapable of appreciating beautiful writing.

I think we’ve stopped expecting it.

Imagine introducing someone to Lord Byron or Jane Austen today. Their writing requires patience, attention, and a willingness to sit with unfamiliar words instead of immediately reaching for simpler language.

I’m not arguing that every modern book needs to sound like it was written in the nineteenth century. Language evolves, and that’s a good thing.

But I do think we’ve begun confusing accessibility with oversimplification.

I want more for our society than that.

I want schools that encourage curiosity. I want people who aren’t afraid to ask what a word means. I want readers who see an unfamiliar word and think,Ā I’m going to learn something today.

Because that’s how vocabulary grows.

That’s how critical thinking grows.

That’s how literature grows.

People often worry about books being banned or burned. Those are real concerns. But another threat is quieter: a culture where people simply stop reading—or stop reading anything that challenges them.

No one has to burn books if we stop opening them in the first place.

Posted in Lifestyle

Do I Really Need a Baby Food Maker?

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Lately I’ve found myself going down the rabbit hole of Googling things like,Ā ā€œDo I actually need a baby food maker?ā€Ā orĀ ā€œCan I just use my regular blender or food processor?ā€

The internet makes it seem like every single thing about parenthood requires some specialized gadget that costs $100. Every recipe I find seems to start with, ā€œUsing your baby food makerā€¦ā€ or ā€œUsing your immersion blenderā€¦ā€ and I can’t help but think…

Women have been raising babies for thousands of years without any of this stuff.

Surely there has to be another way.

I’ve even started looking up older baby food recipes because they seem so much more practical.

Then I see people online saying not to bother making your own baby food because babies aren’t in the purĆ©e stage for very long anyway.

One of my friends told me she would buy a bag of frozen organic peas, cook them, blend them, portion them into small servings, and freeze them. One bag lasted her almost three months. Her advice was basically,Ā don’t overcomplicate it.

Another friend had a similar philosophy. She said it’s important for babies to experience lots of different flavors, but that doesn’t always mean making elaborate homemade purĆ©es. Once they’re developmentally ready, they can have little tastes of things like marinara sauce, plain yogurt, mushy carrots, or mashed potatoes thinned out with a little extra liquid to make them smoother.

Then I asked my mom what she did.

Her answer?

ā€œI just steamed vegetables and mashed them with a fork.ā€

No fancy appliance. No special equipment. Just a fork.

Honestly…I kind of love that answer.

The reason I’m thinking about all of this now—even though my daughter won’t be eating solids for a while—is because I like planning ahead. I don’t want to wait until she’s four or five months old and her pediatrician says, ā€œYou can start introducing solids now,ā€ only to realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’d rather spend the next couple of months figuring out a simple system so that when the time comes, I already have everything I need.

Of course, this has also led to another conversation between Hector and me.

I told him that when it’s time to introduce common allergens, I want to do it while we’re parked in the emergency room parking lot.

He thinks I’m absolutely ridiculous.

His argument is that neither of us has food allergies. I have allergies to cats and latex, and Hector doesn’t have any known allergies at all.

My argument?

I’d rather feel a little silly sitting in an ER parking lot than wish I had if she ended up having a severe allergic reaction.

Current recommendations are to introduce common allergens during the first year of life instead of avoiding them. So things like peanut butter (prepared in a baby-safe way), wheat, dairy, eggs, berries, and other common foods are definitely on my list before she turns one. I’m not in a huge rush with things like soy or fish, but those will probably happen later in the first year too.

Hopefully, everything goes perfectly fine and the only thing that happens is Hector gets to tell me, ā€œI told you so.ā€

Honestly…I’d be completely okay with that.

Lately I’ve found myself going down the rabbit hole of Googling things like,Ā ā€œDo I actually need a baby food maker?ā€Ā orĀ ā€œCan I just use my regular blender or food processor?ā€

The internet makes it seem like every single thing about parenthood requires some specialized gadget that costs $100. Every recipe I find seems to start with, ā€œUsing your baby food makerā€¦ā€ or ā€œUsing your immersion blenderā€¦ā€ and I can’t help but think…

Women have been raising babies for thousands of years without any of this stuff.

Surely there has to be another way.

I’ve even started looking up older baby food recipes because they seem so much more practical.

Then I see people online saying not to bother making your own baby food because babies aren’t in the purĆ©e stage for very long anyway.

One of my friends told me she would buy a bag of frozen organic peas, cook them, blend them, portion them into small servings, and freeze them. One bag lasted her almost three months. Her advice was basically,Ā don’t overcomplicate it.

Another friend had a similar philosophy. She said it’s important for babies to experience lots of different flavors, but that doesn’t always mean making elaborate homemade purĆ©es. Once they’re developmentally ready, they can have little tastes of things like marinara sauce, plain yogurt, mushy carrots, or mashed potatoes thinned out with a little extra liquid to make them smoother.

Then I asked my mom what she did.

Her answer?

ā€œI just steamed vegetables and mashed them with a fork.ā€

No fancy appliance. No special equipment. Just a fork.

Honestly…I kind of love that answer.

The reason I’m thinking about all of this now—even though my daughter won’t be eating solids for a while—is because I like planning ahead. I don’t want to wait until she’s four or five months old and her pediatrician says, ā€œYou can start introducing solids now,ā€ only to realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’d rather spend the next couple of months figuring out a simple system so that when the time comes, I already have everything I need.

Of course, this has also led to another conversation between Hector and me.

I told him that when it’s time to introduce common allergens, I want to do it while we’re parked in the emergency room parking lot.

He thinks I’m absolutely ridiculous.

His argument is that neither of us has food allergies. I have allergies to cats and latex, and Hector doesn’t have any known allergies at all.

My argument?

I’d rather feel a little silly sitting in an ER parking lot than wish I had if she ended up having a severe allergic reaction.

Current recommendations are to introduce common allergens during the first year of life instead of avoiding them. So things like peanut butter (prepared in a baby-safe way), wheat, dairy, eggs, berries, and other common foods are definitely on my list before she turns one. I’m not in a huge rush with things like soy or fish, but those will probably happen later in the first year too.

Hopefully, everything goes perfectly fine and the only thing that happens is Hector gets to tell me, ā€œI told you so.ā€

Honestly…I’d be completely okay with that.

Posted in Lifestyle

One Year Without Straightening My Hair

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I just realized it’s officially been a year since I last straightened my hair.

When I first decided to start my natural hair journey, I honestly thought it was going to be so much harder than it’s been. Instead… I kind of forgot about it. It just became my normal.

I definitely think chopping all my hair off last October helped. Starting over made it feel like a fresh start instead of trying to undo years of heat damage. But if I’m being honest, my natural hair journey really started before that. By the time I consciously decided to take better care of my curls last August, I had already gone without straightening my hair since my birthday in February.

The difference is thatĀ notĀ straightening your hair and actuallyĀ taking care ofĀ your natural hair are two completely different things.

This past year I’ve actually invested in products instead of hoping for the best. Hair oils, leave-in creams, moisturizing products… and they’ve genuinely made a difference. My hair feels healthier, softer, and even here in the Las Vegas heat, it isn’t turning into the giant frizzy cloud it used to be.

I still have plenty to learn, but I’m really proud that something I thought would be difficult has become such a normal part of my routine. It’s nice to look back and realize how much progress happens when you’re not constantly checking for it.

Posted in Lifestyle

I Want to Post More… By Sharing Less

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I think with the baby coming, I want to be a little more offline while somehow posting more.

I know that sounds contradictory, but hear me out.

I want to share my journey into motherhood because I’m sure I’m not going to do everything ā€œright.ā€ I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to learn as I go, and I think there’s value in being honest about that. At the same time, I don’t really want my daughter growing up online. I want to protect her privacy for as long as I can.

I’ve realized I really admire content creators who make family or parenting content without making their children the content. The parents are the personalities, not the kids. Their children aren’t expected to perform for the camera or grow up with strangers watching every milestone.

My goal is to be more like that.

If, one day when she’s older, she tells me she wants to be in a video or be part of a post, that’s a conversation we can have when she’s actually old enough to understand what that means. But until then, I want that choice to be hers.

And I don’t mean the trend of filming your kid anyway and just covering their face with an emoji. If I don’t want her online, then I don’t want her online. My content can be me sitting down at the end of the week talking about what motherhood has been like, sharing what I’ve learned, telling funny stories, or doing dramatically over-the-top reenactments of whatever chaos happened that day. Honestly, those reenactments might end up being funnier than the actual footage ever would have been.

That creates a weird balancing act.

I’ve been thinking about switching back to using my actual cameras instead of my phone for photos and videos. Part of it is privacy. Between Meta, Google, and just about every app asking for access to your camera roll, it makes me uncomfortable. I know there are settings and ways to limit that, but if I’m trying to create content while also keeping my daughter’s photos private, I’d constantly be sorting through what stays personal and what gets apps have access to.

Unless I bought a second phone just for content—which feels incredibly excessive.

Instead, I already own two cameras that deserve a lot more love than they’ve gotten: my Canon Rebel T5 and my Canon PowerShot G7 X Mark II. I bought the G7 X back in 2014 when I decided I was going to become a YouTuber. Life happened, I never fully committed, and both cameras are still in nearly perfect condition.

Maybe this is finally their time.

There’s another reason I want to do this, though.

I want physical memories.

My mom made photo albums for me. My grandpa had albums full of pictures of my mom. My stepdad has boxes of old digital camera photos and enough camcorder footage to embarrass all of us for years to come.

And I love that.

He wasn’t the type to take 200 pictures trying to find the perfect one. He’d snap a photo, maybe two, and move on. The memories mattered more than perfect lighting or editing.

For a long time, I was like that too.

I’d take goofy pictures. Blurry pictures. Random videos that nobody else would understand but that made me smile every time I watched them.

Then an ex told me that I never let myself ā€œlive in the momentā€ because I always had a camera in my hand.

And I believed him.

Without realizing it, I stopped documenting my life.

That insecurity followed me into my relationship with Hector. In the beginning, he wasn’t the biggest fan of having his picture taken, so I figured maybe I should just stop asking.

Eventually… I stopped bringing my camera altogether.

It wasn’t something I consciously decided. It just happened.

One year, I talked nonstop about wanting one of those little Polaroid printers that connects to your phone. Hector surprised me with one for Christmas because he knew how excited I’d been about it.

Then he noticed something.

I wasn’t printing photos.

I wasn’t really taking photos at all.

Sure, I’d occasionally pull out my phone, but I wasn’t documenting our dates or our little adventures the way I used to.

I don’t think I realized how much that one comment from years ago had changed me until then.

It’s something I’m still trying to unlearn.

That feeling hit me again earlier this month when my niece turned three.

I didn’t take a single picture at her birthday party.

Normally, I’m the unofficial family photographer. Nobody asks me to do it—I just always have. I capture everyone else enjoying the day while I quietly document it all.

But this time…

I just didn’t.

I wasn’t feeling up to it, and afterward I felt awful.

It made me stop and think: if I’m already letting moments like this slip away, what happens when my own child gets here?

I don’t want to look back and realize I have more screenshots than family photos.

I don’t want to have thousands of pictures sitting in a cloud somewhere that I never print.

I want albums.

I want videos she can laugh at when she’s twenty-five.

I want blurry pictures from trips to the zoo, sticky fingers covered in ice cream, first-day-of-school photos, Halloween costumes, and random Tuesday afternoons.

I don’t need every moment to become content.

Some moments deserve to stay ours.

So I think I’m going back to carrying a camera everywhere.

Not because I want perfect photos.

Because I want a life that’s remembered.

Posted in Lifestyle

Is the Nesting Instinct in the Room With Us?

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Someone please tell me… when is the nesting phase supposed to kick in?

Because I’m 30 weeks pregnant, and all I want to do is sleep or eat.

That’s it.

If I’m not scrolling TikTok or Instagram, there’s a 95% chance I’m unconscious. I swear I sit down thinking,Ā I’ll just rest my eyes for five minutes,Ā and suddenly it’s an hour later and I’ve somehow time-traveled into the future.

Everyone talks about this magical nesting instinct like one day you wake up possessed by the spirit of Martha Stewart. Suddenly you’re organizing baby clothes by size, labeling bins, deep-cleaning baseboards, sanitizing bottles, and meal-prepping enough freezer meals to survive both postpartumĀ andĀ the zombie apocalypse.

Meanwhile…

I’m over here celebrating because I remembered to load the dishwasher.

Gold star for me.

I think part of it is just that the third trimester is genuinely exhausting. Growing an entire human being is apparently a full-time job that forgot to mention overtime pay.

But I also think I’m still mentally catching up.

I only found out I was pregnant 12 weeks ago.

Twelve.

Weeks.

One minute I wasn’t pregnant, and the next thing I knew I was somehow already well into my second trimester. There wasn’t a slow build-up or months of anticipation. It felt like the universe skipped the tutorial level and threw me straight into Chapter 12.

Then there’s the fact that I had to move in the middle of my pregnancy.

I’m incredibly grateful my parents opened their home to me, and I know how lucky I am to have that support. But as thankful as I am, it doesn’t quite feel likeĀ myĀ home. Hector and I are still living apart while we figure out our next place, and everything feels temporary.

It’s hard to feel inspired to organize a nursery when you don’t know where the nursery is going to be.

You can’t really ā€œnestā€ when you’re still looking for the nest.

I’m hoping that once Hector and I get our own place—hopefully by August or, at the very latest, the beginning of September—that little nesting switch finally flips. Maybe I’ll suddenly become one of those women who spends an entire Saturday folding tiny onesies while debating the optimal drawer organization system.

Maybe.

Right now, though?

I’d rather take a nap.

Honestly, this whole pregnancy has felt like the beginning of a sci-fi novel.

You know those stories where pregnancies are weirdly accelerated and everyone acts like that’s completely normal?

That’s been my life.

I blinked and somehow I’m 30 weeks pregnant.

The symptoms have been just as dramatic. I went from wanting to eat literally everything to somehow being starving while also getting sick over the most random foods. My ribs constantly feel bruised, my back feels like it got into a fight with a Greyhound bus, and every day one of my ribs seems to announce that it’s filing for resignation.

It’s very rude of my skeleton, honestly.

Basically, I got theĀ TwilightĀ pregnancy experience… just without the craving for raw meat or blood.

And unlike Bella Swan, let’s all hope I make it through childbirth without needing to become a vampire afterward.

So if anyone is expecting me to suddenly alphabetize diapers, color-code baby socks, and reorganize every cabinet in the house…

We’re still waiting.

Maybe my nesting instinct is just running late.

Or maybe my version of nesting looks a little different. Maybe it’s making sure I always have ice water, snacks within arm’s reach, and the world’s comfiest pillow before settling in for Nap Number Three.

Honestly?

That feels like preparing for motherhood too.

If the nesting instinct decides to show up before this baby does, I’ll gladly welcome it.

Until then, I’ll be over here… resting my eyes.

Posted in Lifestyle

I Think I Have a Scrolling Problem

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What app eats up most of your screen time — and do you even feel bad about it?

For me, it’s not just one app. It’s two. TikTok and Instagram have me in a chokehold.

When I was working, my entire lunch break was spent scrolling videos. I would tell myself I was just taking a quick break, and suddenly my lunch was over. Now that I’m not working, my screen time has somehow jumped to 10 hours a day, and almost all of it is still TikTok and Instagram. It’s honestly kind of impressive when you think about it- like in a pathetic way.

I did download a game, but if I’m being realistic, I barely touch it compared to the amount of videos I consume every day. Apparently watching strangers organize their pantry, deep clean their house, and tell dramatic storytimes has become my full-time hobby.

I also read that you’re supposed to post every time you open the app to make yourself more intentional about using it. In theory, that sounds great. In reality, no one needs to hear from me every 10 minutes. I would become everyone’s most muted person within a week.

Posted in Make & Muse

Maybe Someone Needs Your Story

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One thing I genuinely love about living with my parents is that, no matter how much they don’t always agree with my choices or ideas, they encourage me.

The other day my dad asked, ā€œWhatever happened to that book you started writing back in 2019?ā€

I shrugged it off. I told him it was a silly concept, that I realized how many other stories it resembled, and eventually I just abandoned it.

The truth is, I come from an incredibly creative family, but I’ve never really considered myself a creative person.

My dad is an artist at heart. Back in the early 2000s, he taught himself computer animation just because he thought it was fun. Before that, he’d make little claymation videos. He never wanted to turn it into a career—he just loved creating.

My mom is constantly making something. She can sew, crochet, and has always been incredibly tactile. Growing up, so many of my Halloween costumes were handmade by her. More recently, when I mentioned wanting to open a bakery someday, she surprised me by sewing me two custom aprons.

My brother has always been the musical one. I can read sheet music after years of playing the violin, but my brother has something you can’t really teach—a natural ear for rhythm and harmony.

And then there’s my sister, who’s literally a tattoo artist. She draws, she paints, and she sees things others don’t Ā 

Compared to all of them, I always felt like I couldn’t make anything.

I can’t draw.

I can’t paint.

I can’t sculpt.

So somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that food and words didn’t count.

Which is kind of ridiculous when I actually think about it.

I love literature. I love storytelling. I have an incredibly strong sense of taste and smell. I can usually taste a dish and figure out most of the ingredients without ever looking at the recipe. I can recreate recipes by instinct more often than not.

But for some reason, I never saw those things as creativity.

So I told my dad about the book. How I kept stopping. How I’d tried NaNoWriMo multiple times and never finished. How I always found a reason to quit before I really got started.

Instead of giving me a speech, he showed me a low-budget movie someone had uploaded to YouTube.

It’s only about an hour long. It’s not some cinematic masterpiece. It doesn’t have a huge budget or famous actors.

But someone had a story they wanted to tell.

After we watched it, he asked me one simple question:

ā€œDo you have a story you want to tell?ā€

And my answer was yes.

I do.

It’s scary to think about putting months—or years—into writing a book that hardly anyone may ever read. It’s scary knowing it might never become a bestseller or get published by a major publisher.

But maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe it’ll be like that little YouTube movie.

Maybe only a handful of people ever find it.

Maybe one person reads it at exactly the right moment.

Maybe it captures someone’s attention just enough to make them think,Ā I could tell my story too.

And honestly, I think that’s enough of a reason to write it.

Posted in Soft Serve (Fashion)

Y2K Can Stay… But Low-Rise Has To Go

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If you could erase one trend from history, what would it be?

It would be low-rise jeans. I’m so serious. I thank the universe every single day that I was just a little kid during the early 2000s because I truly dodged a bullet.

And now that Y2K is back… why are we pretending this was a good idea? I don’t want whale tails. I don’t want muffin tops. I don’t want to spend my entire day worried that my jeans are sliding off my body. Some trends can stay in the history books or just never have existed.

Don’t get me wrong, every generation has its beauty disasters. Right now it’s blush blindness, and some of y’all are looking like you ran a marathon before doing your makeup.

But I can’t even judge too hard because the 2010s had us walking around with one thick stripe of bronzer and contour that was absolutely refusing to blend. We really thought we ate. Still, I’ll take a muddy contour over low-rise jeans every single time.

Posted in Lifestyle

Four Years Later: From a Pregnancy Scare to Pregnancy

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Four years ago, I wrote one of the most vulnerable posts I’d ever published. It was messy and honest and filled with questions I didn’t have answers to. I had a pregnancy scare, and instead of thinking about a baby, I mostly thought about pregnancy itself.

Now I’m writing this while very much pregnant.

It’s funny how the same topic can feel completely different depending on the season of your life.

When I reread that old post, I don’t cringe. I actually feel a lot of compassion for twenty-five-year-old me. She wasn’t immature. She wasn’t selfish. She was just scared.

Back then, Hector and I weren’t married. We hadn’t lived together yet. We were still learning each other and trying to figure out what our future even looked like. Money was constantly stressful. We weren’t just budgeting—we were surviving. Every unexpected expense felt catastrophic.

So of course an unexpected pregnancy felt terrifying.

I remember writing that during the month I thought I might be pregnant, I never imagined a baby. I thought about sore boobs. Morning sickness. My body changing. Never reaching my goal weight. Buying maternity clothes.

I only thought about the baby after the pregnancy test came back negative.

Reading that now almost makes me laugh because this pregnancy has been the exact opposite.

Don’t get me wrong—I have still complained about pregnancy. A lot.

I’ve complained about gestational diabetes. About getting stuck with needles. About swollen feet, aching hips, acid reflux, and wondering if I’ll ever sleep comfortably again. I’ve complained about food restrictions, hormones, and the fact that my baby apparently rejects half the foods I actually want to eat.

Pregnancy still isn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world.

But this time, every miserable symptom has a face attached to it.

Every kick reminds me there’s a little person in there.

Every doctor’s appointment feels less like checking on my pregnancy and more like checking on my baby.

The pregnancy isn’t the point anymore.

The baby is.

That’s probably the biggest difference.

Another huge difference is that Hector and I are in such a different place.

We’re married now.

We’ve lived together.

We’ve learned how to be partners outside of date nights and vacations. We’ve figured out who does dishes, who takes out the trash, who panics first, and who stays calm when life gets chaotic. We’ve built routines together.

We’re not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re also not living paycheck to paycheck the way we once were. We can actually breathe a little. That security changes everything.

It doesn’t erase fear.

It just makes the fear manageable.

Four years ago, I questioned whether I should even become a mother. I listed all the reasons I thought I’d fail.

My anxiety.

My depression.

My relationship with my parents.

My finances.

The possibility that one day I’d end up raising someone else’s child, too.

Those fears didn’t magically disappear.

They’re still there, just quieter.

They’re no longer the loudest voice in the room.

Instead, I spend more time thinking about what kind of mom I want to be.

I think about taking my kid to Disneyland.

To the library.

To splash pads in the summer.

To baseball games.

I think about reading bedtime stories, making Halloween costumes, helping with school projects, and introducing them to my favorite movies and books.

Four years ago, motherhood felt like an abstract concept.

Now it feels like a person I’m about to meet.

Looking back, I also realize something about Hector.

During that pregnancy scare, he panicked.

I wrote about how he immediately imagined our future while I couldn’t see past the pregnancy itself.

At the time, I thought we had completely different reactions.

Now I think we were just carrying different burdens.

He was trying to figure out how we’d survive.

I was trying to figure out howĀ IĀ would survive.

Today, we’re imagining that future together.

We’re still nervous.

We’re still learning.

We still don’t know exactly what we’re doing.

But the fear has transformed into anticipation.

If I could tell twenty-five-year-old me one thing, it wouldn’t be, ā€œDon’t worry, you’ll get pregnant in four years.ā€

It would be this:

You don’t have to have every answer before becoming excited about your future.

Life has a funny way of giving you exactly the experiences you need before you’re ready for the next chapter.

Four years ago, I was afraid of becoming pregnant.

Today, I’m counting down the weeks until I get to hold my baby.

Same woman.

Same relationship.

Completely different life.