Kristi Pahr

Things as simple as a missed call from an unknown number or someone knocking on your door put me into straight up fight or flight. I really do hide from people who come to my door. Real talk, I have gotten on my hands and knees below a window so they wouldn’t see me. I’ve even hidden in the closet. I know. Whacko.

I think we can all agree that there is some messed up stuff happening right now.

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.

Once your doctor or midwife has cleared you for sex and you’re feeling ready to get back in the saddle, so to speak, there are a few things you’ll need to mentally prep yourself for.

I have to go shopping tomorrow and I’m dreading it.

It is understood that to effectively and officially attachment parent your child, you need to hit all the markers, check all the boxes, and do it without dissolving into a crying mess on the floor when your baby won’t stop crying and you only slept for two hours and you have to go to the supermarket because you’re out of coffee, but you shouldn’t even be DRINKING coffee and you’re the worst mother in the world.

Don’t be an asshole is my barometer. It’s my go-to for figuring out how to respond to any given situation, big or small, personal, local, or global.

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

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

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