Kristi Pahr

“Is she Black or white?” I asked another mom who was describing a little girl in her son’s class that she thought my family might know.

I found my first gray hair when I was 12 years old. Twelve. I had gray hair before I had a period.

When I got pregnant for the third time, I was determined to have an unmedicated VBAC. I had big plans. This VBAC was going to be my birth experience salvation. It was going to be empowering and amazing and heal all my hangups. I was going to be a mama goddess and everything was going to be perfect. I was wrong.

I have a confession to make. Target, meh. I’m just not that into it.

I know how it feels to not contribute financially to the household. I know how it feels to be completely dependent on someone else for my financial stability. I know how it feels to know that if something dreadful and unthinkable happened, I’d be completely destitute. And it’s terrifying.

Life looks a lot different at 40 than it did at 25, and I have a whole new list of things to worry about. It's a very long list, and it makes me anxious on the best day, plain terrified on the worst day, and on a run-of-the-mill day, it just keeps reminding me that I'm clueless about what to think and what to do and how to be grown.

I’m lazy as hell, you guys. I know it’s true and I’m not particularly ashamed.

I’m not a TV person. I used to be, but not so much anymore.

My parenting mantra is: "Do your best and hope he doesn't turn into a sociopath." And I guess that's really all we can do, because if we're honest with ourselves, I think none of us really know what we're doing.

When my oldest son was a baby, my husband and I used to talk about what sports he would play.