Cat’s out of the bag

I let the cat out of the bag tonight and finally shared that I’m expecting my fourth baby. Yes, four. Am I crazy? Maybe. But I fully believe the only way out of this shit storm we call life these days, is to dig your heels in, embrace family, and block out the noise. 

Don’t get me wrong; that noise is everywhere and it’s overwhelming. So, I’ve ditched several of my once top priorities to embrace the few things that make me genuinely happy, not happy in my insta post. Screw the highlight reel. 

My days are spent stomping through cow poop, teaching my kids to read, and writing what makes me happy. 

And that means I’ve scrapped a huge portion of my paid freelance work to focus on personal essays and fiction. Sure, current events are important. Let’s face it though. Even when you’re reporting facts, most people scroll by and continue believing whatever crap they’ve been fed by the mainstream news. 

We won’t jump the tracks for that though. Don’t worry. 

Along with unit studies, nature walks, and abstract art hours, I’m launching some publishing experiments. Both are serial novels and both have been written for a long time. However, I’m choosing to publish them on different platforms to see what gains traction and which converts into royalties or paid subscriptions. 

Maybe neither will, but I feel like this is a more productive use of my time than burying my head in depressing news of inflation, murder, and how the FBI is literally trash. 

Now, I’ve published four chapters of my horror novel on Substack. The other work, however, is on Kindle Vella (Amazon’s new serial platform), which uses tokens for reads. I’ve noticed authors in Facebook groups raving about bonuses being paid out despite small audience growth. So, it’s worth a look. 

If you’re not a writer or aspiring author, I’m sure that information is as dry as a saltine cracker. I apologize. My goal is to share how I’m reevaluating life amid a fourth child at the ripe age of 30. Yep, I’m one of those geriatric pregnancies now. 

It feels as though my body is wrapped up in the turmoil of the world and my mind is being swallowed up in some chaotic metamorphosis. For some reason, I know I won’t be the same on the other side of this, and I’m okay with that. I’m not the same person I was five years ago either. 

Motherhood has taught me to be solitary and like it. It showed me how to appreciate it and thrive in the lonely moments because I’d rather raise my kids without girls’ nights, shopping trips, or group chats than be the fair-weather friend (which I’ve been my whole life). 

I don’t have a tribe aside from the one I’ve made. And that’s fine. There’s more room for beauty and growth when you don’t have to worry about being left out, talked about, or mocked. I have a few friends that live elsewhere or are also too busy to schedule weekly playdates, and they’re what I’d call “same wavelength moms.” They get it. But I’d call them lone wolves too, and maybe that’s why I relate to them. 

The point I’m trying to illustrate is how introspective motherhood and pregnancy are. In fact, a dip in my mental health was the first thing I noticed before a positive pregnancy test. Then, I had this “aha” moment. Funny how things make sense in hindsight. 

I hope I have more of those moments as this pregnancy goes on. It would be nice if the universe would hand me its messages on a silver platter. “You should do this, skip that appointment, delete that comment…” I guess the best I can hope for is a slower pace and room to think because this pregnancy—I’m going to do it my way. It could be my last. I said that last time, I know. But seriously, life is too short to smile and nod when doctors push too far or relatives make rude comments.