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The other night, I was at the beach with my family. Hugo was crawling naked through the sand, absolutely delighted by life. The ocean was as warm as a bath, the sun was setting, and I jumped in for a swim.

I felt lighter, more peaceful, and more excited about life than I have in a very long time.

I got home that night and came across something I’d written at the end of July, my favorite month, which happened to be one of the hardest this year.

I’d described July as walking through the mud at low tide. The thick kind that swallows your feet and makes every step feel impossibly heavy.

But I’d also written that even when your feet are stuck in the mud, you’re still standing by the ocean. The salty air is still there. The sun still sets. There’s still beauty to be witnessed, even in the thick of it.

Reading those words almost three months later, I could feel the heaviness all over again. It transported me right back to July, and I was struck by just how different I felt now. How far I’d come.

I think that’s the beautiful thing about continuing to put one foot in front of the other, even when life feels heavy. You don’t always realize how far you’ve walked until one day you have a moment to stop, look over your shoulder, and see your footprints stretching miles across the beach.

I know there will be more low tides. More mud. More difficult days.

But I never wait for everything in my life to be good to recognize the good that’s already here.

And this night, watching Hugo discover the world with such pure joy, I was reminded that the mud doesn’t have to clear for us to love our lives.

Life was hard in July, but there were moments I loved just as deeply as I loved this night on the beach.

That’s the beauty of living in the present.

The tide will always go out again.

But this night, it was in.

And I was swimming. ❤️
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September brought intense chaos (not pictured), but also important change, deep connections, nights spent dancing, laughing and eating the best food, and most importantly, one year as Hugo’s mom.

It doesn’t feel as big as I thought it would, or as I thought it should. But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe the biggest things don’t always arrive with a grand feeling. Maybe you just look up and realize a year has passed, and somewhere inside all the ordinary days, your life became unimaginably enhanced.

He is the happiest kid.

When I envisioned motherhood, I imagined the tears, sleeplessness, exhaustion and worry. I heard so much about the hard that I mistook it for most of the story.

I never really stopped to imagine the vastness of the joy.

The laughing. The giggles. The tiny hands reaching for you. The squishy cheeks you kiss a hundred times a day. The puffy feet learning how to carry a body across a room. The teeth appearing one by one. The “mamas” getting louder and clearer.

I thought the hard would be the main event. Instead, I’ve learned it coexists with the joy. They grow alongside each other, yet somehow, day after day, the joy takes up so much more space.

When I look back on this year, it isn’t the exhaustion that comes to mind first.

It’s the beauty.

Witnessing a person look at the world for the first time. Watching him slowly become himself, right in front of my eyes.

And maybe one of the strangest, most beautiful parts is recognizing pieces of the people you love inside this brand-new person. Watching Hugo be a tiny version of the man I fell in love with feels almost impossible to explain. Like somehow love leaves fingerprints.

The obsession with cars must be genetic. How does he wake up from every sleep and every nap already making the brum-brum sound with his lips?

It’s bizarrely beautiful to watch little pieces of personality appear before he understands where they came from.

Anyway, it’s all love. It’s all gratitude. It’s all joy.

I couldn’t imagine September 2026 any other way. 

Happy one year, little bub. You are the greatest light. 🤍
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“We were together. I forget the rest.”
— Walt Whitman
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Our first family trip 🤍

Traveling with a baby is… not easy. The packing, the logistics, the sleep (or lack of it), the unpredictable everything.

We went from Hugo just starting to sleep through the night… to a travel crib that said absolutely not 😅

And yet — it was beautiful.
I’ll never forget holding him in the ocean and realizing he was all of a sudden heavier in my arms mid-conversation… he fell asleep in my arms to the sound of the waves, with his toes dipped in the ocean.

We napped on the beach together. We watched him feel what it’s like to be in the rain for the first time. Witnessing him notice every bird that flew by. Realizing how mystical the world is through his eyes.

I know two things can be true at once.

It’s really hard.
And it’s really magical.

But coming home, it hit me:

The beauty of travel and new experiences will always be a part of me. It will always be something I crave — just not right now.

Right now… I’m craving slow. Routine. Home.

Because when your home feels full, you don’t feel the need to escape it 🤍
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It’s my birthday today, and milestones always make me reflect a little deeper.

They say after you become a mother, you’ll never feel like yourself again, but honestly, I beg to differ.

This past year, I didn’t become someone new - I became more myself. Motherhood hasn’t felt like a loss of identity. It’s felt like a beautiful addition to the life I already loved.

I’m still me, just with more love, more perspective, and even more confidence that I can do “hard” things.

Whether I’m planning a huge event for work, moving with a baby (twice 🫠), spending time with friends & family or just sitting on the floor soaking in an hour with Hugo, the thing that grounds me and reminds me how beautiful life is—is presence.

I try not to carry the weight of the past or the worry of the future. I take life moment by moment. Hour by hour. And I try to live each one as fully as I can.

Maybe that’s why, even when life is full, overwhelm rarely finds me.

So today, on my birthday, I’m not just celebrating another year. I’m celebrating a life that I’m so grateful to live every single day surrounded by the most incredible supportive system and immense amount of love ❤️
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3 months of motherhood.
3 months of baby Hugo.

I have so many thoughts, but for the first time in my life, it’s been hard to put them into words. Here’s my best shot:

The last few months have been an exercise in letting go.

In our fast-paced society, we don’t talk enough about how much surrender is required to enjoy the shift into becoming a mom. The do-it-all narrative runs strong among women in my generation — and I’m no exception.

There’s a constant tug between motherhood, work, social life, family time, and self-care. My time feels more finite than ever. The slowness and repetitiveness of motherhood can sometimes make it feel like my life has been swallowed whole rather than enhanced — and learning to surrender to that has been an adjustment.

Letting things go has been a big identity shift for me. Problem solving is my superpower, but motherhood has taught me that the “problem” is often a moving target — and that doing it all is simply impossible. Every day brings new, beautiful challenges I’m learning to embrace, even when I don’t know how to solve them.

I’m endlessly grateful for the village around me — the check-in texts, advice, encouragement, and kindness that show up right when I need them, especially while I’m still learning how to support myself.

I expected to feel everything intensely and know exactly how to articulate it. Instead, I feel strangely still. Not anxious. Not scared. Not bursting with joy either. Just present — like my old life slowly deflated and poured itself into this new one, and I haven’t fully caught up yet.

Motherhood so far feels like a beautiful, eerie permanence. A repetitive yet mysterious rhythm I’m not used to, but am learning to love.

They say motherhood can be a woman’s greatest teacher. I’m just at the beginning, and I’m finding beauty in the unresolved — day by day. 🤍
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