At 38, I am pregnant for the first time. That sentence still lands softly but heavily, like something precious you don’t rush past.
Not because motherhood felt out of reach, but because of everything that came before it. The years of questioning whether I had missed the boat. The late ADHD diagnosis. The work it took to understand my brain. And the quiet irony that just as I cracked the code on how I function best, pregnancy asked me to put that very solution on pause.
I was…

