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I remember when my mother was 29.

I remember thinking that 29 was old. Old old. And looking at my mother like we were light-years apart from each other; in space, time and understanding.

I thought that she was ancient. As though she had no idea what it was like to be a kid in 1996. Me being a wise, witty and precocious 7 year old. And her, pregnant with my little sister.

And here I am: day 1 of 29.

And 20 weeks pregnant with my first kid.

Crazy, right?

The world has a funny way of humbling you with perspective. In the past few years I’ve learned so much about myself in this world and the role I play within it.

As a spunky, early twenty-something, I was also a know-it-all. I consistently kept my nose in a book and an ear to the street; thinking I was the best of both worlds and prepared for anything.

Sh*t, was I wrong!

As I knock on the front door of motherhood, I can loudly admit that I am afraid. Anxious. Writhing with uncertainty.

But I am also excited. Hopeful. Jumping with joy at the opportunity to fulfill this role. And step into the shoes of the great community of women worldwide who have done this before me, time and time again.

This was the first year that I’ve had no real plans for my birthday. Honestly almost forgot I had one coming up. My thoughts have been overly consumed with baby tings. Figuring out the confusing web of maternity leave. How to make the money work. What type of parent will I be? Bills, bills, bills. I haven’t taken the quiet time to sit in the moments of existing. As a young woman, literally pregnant with infinite possibility.

So I took the day. Treated myself the best way I know how. Nails done, hair done, everything did. 

And now, here I am… Reflecting on 28 and gearing up for my new position in 29. New jersey, new game. Better player. I can’t quite say that I know the rules or that I’m ready for the ‘ship, but if I keep showing up at the blacktop with the ball, I’m sure I’ll pick up some handles in no time. Half Woman, Half Amazing. Skip to My Lou of this Mama sh*t… 

But, honestly tho… The thought of caring for a whole little person from seedling to hard headed pseudo-adult is overwhelming, no? Especially in the world (and government) we live in now, I don’t know the first thing about raising an upright citizen of this country when this country isn’t even an upright citizen of itself. But, I digress…

I’m still figuring some stuff out. Especially constantly growing as a woman with varying intersections (That part.)

Can I twerk while pregnant? Not that I shouldn’t, because fu*ck respectability politics, B. But like, can my back handle the ’99 and the 2000 drop with this bowling ball parked out front?

(Insert Cardi twerking at Coachella here… Innanets won’t let me be great but y’all all seen’t it!)

When I ride in the car with #BabyBillionz, are there trap renditions of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star? (Somebody get the Migos on that STAT!)

But anyways, tho…

I signed up for this. And not to be cliche, but as a woman I was born for this. Even though I know nothing, the answers will come.

Now…