First born.

When I found out I was pregnant with my first kid, I was twenty-six years old. Literally, still a baby myself. I remember looking in the mirror at my growing belly and thinking, ” There’s no way I can be a mother. I’m still growing up. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM YET.”

Too late for all that kind of self-doubting chatter.

Fiona arrived pretty promptly about one hour after her due date. The first time I held her, I knew I was meant to do this. To be a mommy. Her mommy.

Shortly after this beautiful moment, all hell broke loose.

I lived in a circle of boobs, poop, and google.

Constantly checking google for things like, “ Is the color of my kids poop normal?”, “ Will my kid ever sleep through the night?”, “ I’m breastfeeding, so why am I NOT LOSING ANY WEIGHT? WTF!”. This went on for months before I told google to f*ck off, I’d figure out this mom shit on my own.

Total lie. I found a village of moms who didn’t judge. I found that my mother, step mother, mother in law, grandmother, and many aunts, had so much love and insight to shower me with. (Even when I didn’t want to hear it.)

*it’s important to wear heels while sleeping.*

Some of my proudest parenting accomplishments…

When Fiona was reading a book about frogs. She couldn’t say “Froggy”, but she could say, “ F*cky”. I let her roll with that for a few months, mostly because it made me laugh so damn hard.
I encouraged her to throw shade. She throws shade left and right to everyone. She’s a professional shade thrower.*shade.*
She started wearing high heels at 18 months old. I can’t really take credit for that, because I hate high heels.
Her favorite thing for dinner is ground beef. I’m very confused about this, but hey! She’s getting a good supply of iron.
She enjoys putting her sister on a leash while walking around the house.
She wants to be an engineer when she grows up.