I’ve been doing some reflecting lately—the kind you do while sitting on the couch in sweatpants, half-watching a show you’ve seen a hundred times because the toddler is finally asleep. And I’ve realized: life feels…different. Settled, maybe? Or at least more settled than it did a year ago when Kenric was still waking us up every three hours like a tiny, adorable alarm clock with no snooze button.
Parenting feels a little less like white-knuckling it on a roller coaster and more like cruising along on a scenic train ride. Sure, there are still unexpected turns (like when Kenric insists the floor is the best place to eat his snack), but we’ve got a handle on it now—or at least we think we do.
Our marriage, too, has emerged from the fog of sleep deprivation stronger than ever. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like surviving the “newborn trenches” to remind you that you and your partner really are a team. Were there moments when we bickered about whose turn it was to get up at 2 a.m.? Absolutely. But we’ve grown through it, and I’m proud of us for staying intentional about supporting each other. Even now, we’re not naïve enough to think the tough moments are over, but knowing we can tackle them together feels pretty amazing.
On another note, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we consume—not just food or media (although I definitely need to stop doom-scrolling before bed) but stuff. Furnishing our home with secondhand finds from Facebook Marketplace has been a game-changer. It saved us money, sure, but it also made us slow down and think: Do we actually need this? It’s oddly satisfying to know our dining table has a story before us, and it’s sparked something in me to be more mindful about what we bring into our lives. Less clutter, more meaning. Plus, it’s a small way to help the planet, which I’d like to lean into more this year.
Speaking of meaning, one thing I’ve really leaned into this past year is slowing down to enjoy the little moments. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but parenting has a way of forcing you to notice the small joys—like the way Kenric’s face lights up when he sees his favorite book or the way Ryan and I steal a quiet moment together after the house finally goes still. These are the moments that fill my cup, and I’m realizing they’re not small at all. They’re the whole point.
So, here we are, stepping into 2025. I’m carrying a little more wisdom, a little less sleep debt, and a whole lot of gratitude for where we are and where we’re going. Here’s to growing, consuming less, loving more, and maybe even sitting down with a hot cup of coffee…at least once.