Kristi Pahr

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

“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.

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.

As a mother of boys, I find this trend disturbing. Yes, we need to build up our girls. We need to empower them and teach them that they are capable and viable and powerful — that they are smart and that they matter. But we cannot devalue our boys in the process.

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

I’m frazzled, y’all; I’m a mess. I’m a basketcase of anxiety and stress and I need to chill.

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