pregnancy

Growing your family, one baby bump at a time. All about the ups and downs of nature's 9 month miracle.

Navigating Relationships with Emotional Intelligence
Relationships are the very fabric of our lives, weaving together our experiences, shaping our identities, and providing a profound sense of connection. Yet, they are also incredibly complex, often fraught with misunderstandings, heartbreak, and the bewildering question: "Why do relationships fail?" It's a question that echoes in countless hearts, hinting at deeper psychological currents beneath the surface.
By Being Inquisitive3 days ago in Families
The Power of Presence
When “Good Parenting” Became a Feeling In modern parenting conversations, “good” has increasingly come to mean emotionally warm, verbally affirming, and immediately comforting. A good parent is expected to soothe distress quickly, validate feelings consistently, and minimize discomfort whenever possible. These traits are treated as obvious indicators of healthy parenting, reinforced by cultural messaging, therapeutic language, and social reward structures. When a child feels better in the moment, the parenting decision is assumed to have been correct, and when discomfort persists, the decision is often framed as a failure of care rather than a necessary part of development.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast4 days ago in Families
DNA Test Said She Wasn't the Mother… But She Gave Birth to Them
One of the strangest and most complicated medical stories in history is the story of Lydia Fairchild. In 2002, Lydia was in a very difficult situation. She was pregnant with her third child and was still separated from her partner, Jamie Townsend.
By souhila7 days ago in Families
The Night Everything Fell Apart
The Night Everything Fell Apart Ubaid I used to believe that life collapses slowly—like a building with cracks that warn you before it falls. I was wrong. Sometimes, everything shatters in a single night. It was a Thursday evening when the sky looked strangely heavy, as if it knew something I didn’t. I remember sitting at my desk, pretending to work while my mind wandered through unfinished conversations and silent disappointments. My phone lay beside me, face down, as if hiding from the truth it was about to deliver. At 9:17 p.m., it rang. I almost didn’t answer. It was my younger sister, Areeba. She rarely called me at night. Her voice trembled when I picked up. “Bhai… you need to come home.” There are certain tones in a person’s voice that freeze your blood. This was one of them. “What happened?” I asked, already standing up, my heart racing. “Just come. Please.” The drive home felt endless. Every red light felt personal, as though the universe had chosen to delay me. My mind ran through a hundred possibilities—none of them good. By the time I reached the house, my hands were shaking. The front door was open. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Inside, the living room lights were on, but the house felt darker than ever. My mother sat on the couch, her face pale, her hands wrapped tightly around her scarf. Areeba stood beside her, eyes red from crying. “Where’s Abbu?” I asked. No one answered. That silence said more than words ever could. “He left,” my mother finally whispered. Left. The word didn’t make sense. My father wasn’t the kind of man who “left.” He was the quiet pillar of our home—the one who paid the bills, fixed broken taps, and watched the news every night at exactly 10 p.m. “He said he couldn’t do this anymore,” Areeba said, her voice cracking. “He packed a bag and walked out.” It felt like the floor shifted beneath me. For years, I had noticed the tension. The late-night arguments behind closed doors. The cold silences at dinner. The forced smiles during family gatherings. But I had convinced myself it was temporary. Every family has problems, I thought. We’ll get through it. That night, I realized denial can be a dangerous comfort. “Did he say where he’s going?” I asked. My mother shook her head. “He just said he needs peace.” Peace. The word echoed bitterly in my mind. What about us? What about the peace of the family he was leaving behind? I walked into my parents’ bedroom. The cupboard door was slightly open. Half his clothes were gone. His watch box was empty. On the bedside table, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t addressed to anyone. Just a few lines in his familiar handwriting: I tried. I really did. But sometimes staying hurts more than leaving. Forgive me. I read it three times, hoping the meaning would change. It didn’t. Anger rose inside me like fire. How could he walk away? How could he leave my mother to explain this to relatives, to neighbors, to a society that thrives on whispers? How could he leave Areeba, who still needed him to check her math homework? And how could he leave me—with the sudden weight of being “the man of the house”? That night, everything fell apart—not just our family structure, but the illusions I had built around it. Around midnight, the power went out. Normally, we would joke about the timing. That night, no one said a word. The house sank into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. I sat on the floor beside my mother. For the first time in my life, she looked small. “I failed,” she murmured. “You didn’t,” I said quickly, though I wasn’t sure what I believed. “This isn’t your fault.” But blame has a way of creeping into broken spaces. It fills the gaps with questions that have no answers. Around 2 a.m., my phone buzzed. A message from Abbu. Take care of them. That was it. No explanation. No location. No promise to return. Just a responsibility handed over like an inheritance. I stared at the screen, my chest tight. I wanted to call him, to shout, to demand answers. Instead, I turned the phone off. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about one fight or one bad day. This was years of unspoken pain finally spilling over. As the night stretched on, reality settled in. Tomorrow, I would have to face relatives asking uncomfortable questions. I would have to manage finances I barely understood. I would have to be strong for my sister when I felt like collapsing myself. But in that darkness, something unexpected happened. We talked. For the first time in years, my mother opened up about her loneliness. About how silence had replaced partnership. About how pride had stopped both of them from seeking help. Areeba admitted she had heard more arguments than we realized. And I confessed that I had seen the cracks but chose to ignore them because it was easier than confronting the truth. The night that broke us also stripped us of pretenses. By dawn, the sky softened into pale blue. Birds began to chirp as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Our family would never look the same again. There would be judgment, financial strain, and emotional wounds that wouldn’t heal overnight. There would be moments of anger and days of deep sadness. Yet, as sunlight slowly filled the room, I understood something important: Falling apart doesn’t always mean the end. Sometimes, it’s the beginning of rebuilding—without lies, without forced smiles, without pretending everything is fine. That night, I lost the version of my family I thought I had. But I gained something else. Clarity. Strength I didn’t know I possessed. And the painful, necessary understanding that love cannot survive where honesty is absent. The night everything fell apart was the worst night of my life.
By Ubaid 14 days ago in Families
My Story Of A Baby With Gastroschisis
I was just 17 and living in South America when I found out I was pregnant. I was young, but overjoyed By the news. I always wanted to be a mum. The pregnancy at first was going OK. I had severe morning sickness which made my face turn purple nearly every morning, but other than that, everything was OK! I attended every single appointment and scan and took all the vitamins I was given and changed my diet entirely to be the healthiest I possibly could be for my baby.
By By Mollie 16 days ago in Families
The Silent Rooms: Life Without Children
By Hazrat Umer A True Story of Marriage, Hope, and the Empty Cradle I got married in 2011. It was a year filled with the kind of joy that is hard to put into words. Like every young man, I had dreams. I remember sitting with my wife in our new home, talking about the future. We didn't just talk about our careers or our travels; we talked about the children we would one day hold in our arms. We imagined the sound of tiny feet running down the hallway. We even thought about names. In 2011, the world felt like it was at our feet, and the promise of a big, happy family felt like a certainty.
By Hazrat Umer17 days ago in Families
What Fathers Uniquely Provide
The Error of Treating Parenting Roles as Functionally Identical Modern parenting theory often begins with the assumption that mothers and fathers are largely interchangeable, differing only in style or temperament. From this view, any deficits in one parent can be compensated for by the other through increased emotional effort, sensitivity, or presence. Parenting becomes a question of intention and quantity rather than function and role. This assumption is appealing because it aligns with cultural preferences for symmetry and fairness, but it collapses under closer examination of developmental outcomes.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast18 days ago in Families
"These Children Come Here to Grow Us Up"
I wrote the beginning of this in 2023. When I put my youngest son on the special education preschool bus last school year, I smiled and waved at a tiny girl usually wearing pink. She sometimes returned that smile and said "hi". Later, I helped in my autistic son's classroom and discovered other funny things about the little girl: she always lost her shoes (or took them off), she loved dumping everything out, and she could be stubborn and yell "no!" when you asked her to put it away.
By Eileen Davis18 days ago in Families
Mexico surrogacy laws (2025): the Supreme Court rules people keep missing, in plain English. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Surrogacy in another country can feel… unreal. One minute it’s hope. Next minute it’s spreadsheets. Clinics. Flights. Contracts. Then suddenly it’s, “Wait—who is listed as the parent?” and “Can the baby leave the country?” and “Is this even allowed back home?”
By Dan Toombs24 days ago in Families
The Motherhood Trap: Why We Need to Stop Romanticizing Female Sacrifice
The video starts at 11:30 PM. A large family dinner has just ended. The scene is chaotic: plates piled high with leftovers, remnants of food scattered across the table, and children’s toys covering every inch of the floor. In the kitchen, pots and pans are a tangled mess. On the sofa, a husband is fast asleep, oblivious to the world.
By Elena Vance 25 days ago in Families
Stone‑Hearted
Faiza had slowly begun to believe that Yusuf loved his sons more than his daughters, and that Isha and Fajr were deprived of their father’s affection.
By Sudais Zakwan29 days ago in Families
Inside Infertility . Content Warning.
Infertility isn’t just a “journey.” It’s a quiet heartbreak that repeats itself month after month. I’ve been walking through IUIs and now IVF, doing everything my doctors ask, everything my heart can handle… and still, the hardest part is the waiting. Each cycle begins with the same rhythm: five, six, sometimes seven early morning trips to the doctor. Ultrasounds. Blood draws. Needles sliding into the same veins until they’re tender to the touch. Four or more jabs every month… and still, I whisper to myself, Maybe this will be the one. Then there’s those two weeks where hope and fear sit in your chest like stones. Where you tell yourself not to get excited, not to imagine, but you do anyway.
By Nicole Oliverabout a month ago in Families