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I’m sitting here, writing from the couch, at 35 weeks pregnant. My back aches and my hips hurt, but that’s not my real complaint. The honest truth is that my whole identity was tied to things I can’t do right now and that’s the part of pregnancy no one seems to ever talk about.
Hiking? Living in Colorado—where trails are at significant elevation, over challenging terrain, and far from medical care—gets riskier and riskier with every week, even if my body can handle it (which is, to be honest, a day-by-day experiment). My love of yoga is pressured by acid reflux anytime I’m not in a perfectly upright condition.
And travel…I’ve done a lot of it this pregnancy, at least compared to the average person. Heck, I just got back from a mini-trip five days ago. But it’s getting more complicated by the day and its limitations mean it’s not nearly as satisfying as it once was. I’m also working under very different financial pressures than I was a year ago, which obviously impacts travel, aka one of the most expensive hobbies in the world.
Yet, I’m thrilled to be expecting. Our little girl is very wanted and already loved. But let’s be real: I’m about to become someone who has to reconcile an adventurous identity with a baby and a dog in one of the most outdoor-obsessed cities in America. And I’m starting off with the disadvantage of already being slightly destabilized from the transition while making my way through the third trimester.
So that’s where I’m coming from, as I share something new on sightDOING for the first time in a long time. I’m taking this blog back to where things started—unfiltered takes on the world as I discover it, with no plans or agenda in the background.
And what’s next? The answer is…I don’t know. Life is messy, for the moment. I have grand aspirations for traveling with my daughter. I want to drag her up Colorado mountains and fly across oceans. I’m already trying to lock in award flights to South Africa for 2027. And, controversially, I want to travel without her, too. I want to show her that moms can still do things solo while she’s safe and happy at home with her dad (and vice versa).
I might be delusional. And this might be very, very hard. But if you’re willing to stick with me through this next era of blogging, I can promise you honesty and probably some unhinged stories written with one hand on my phone while sleep-deprived and feeding an infant at 2 a.m.