About

What’s a Crooked Pinkie?

Growing up, I was weirdly self-conscious about my crooked pinkies. They bent in this odd little way that made me feel like I had malfunctioning hands. I actually spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to “fix” them—like if I just pressed hard enough, they’d straighten out and magically turn me into someone more normal, more pretty, more… whatever I thought I needed to be. Eventually, the pinky worry just got folded into a much bigger pile of insecurities: my freckles, my brain, my basketball skills, my bra size, my immigrant parents, my awkward photo smile, my class rank, the number of Facebook friends I had, how much money I made… You get the idea. I basically tried to live life while hiding my hands—and a lot of other parts of myself.

Then I met my second son. He was just two days old when he ended up spending three nights in the NICU. By the time we were discharged, I was totally wiped—mentally, emotionally, physically (did I mention the 4th-degree tear?). I was clinging to the hope of getting home and maybe a nap, when the a lactation nurse stopped by to check on us. I sat in that hospital rocking chair, nursing my son, preparing for a critique I didn’t have the strength to argue with—when the nurse just looked at us and smiled. Then she asked, “So… which one of you has the crooked pinkies?”

I blinked at her, thinking, Is this a joke? She laughed gently and explained, “Your son. His pinkies are crooked. He must’ve gotten them from you or his dad.”

I looked down at his tiny fingers, and there they were: two adorably bent little pinkies. Crooked.

Just. Like. Mine.

I lost it—in the best way. Laughing, crying, overwhelmed by this mix of hormones and exhaustion and awe. It was like the universe had just winked at me.

The nurse squeezed my face between her hands and looked right into my tired eyes. “You’re doing a wonderful job, Mama.”

And just like that, she gave me the gift of accepting that I did not need to be perfect, I just needed to be me.

So…what is this blog about?

Honestly? I’m still figuring that out.

I’ve been wanting to start something like this forever, but I kept getting stuck on things like finding the perfect theme, writing a genius mission statement, or choosing the exact right domain name. (Spoiler: none of those things actually matter if you never hit "publish.") So here I am—finally—showing up, crooked pinkies and all.

This space is a little experiment in saying things out loud. Some of it might be half-baked, a little rambly, or typed while running on zero sleep—but it’s all real. I’m hoping this becomes a place where we can explore, question, laugh, and maybe cry a little… together. Or maybe not. Either way, I’d love for you to be part of it.

Join this perfectly imperfect corner of the internet—where crooked pinkies (and all other quirks) are not only accepted but celebrated—as I fumble my way through:

✨ Blog posts about the random things that keep me up at night
🎙 A podcast called Maritals with my husband, where we unpack the messy, hilarious, and totally relatable stuff no one talks about in relationships
❤️ A gentle reminder that you’re allowed to be exactly who you are—no polishing required.

Welcome to the club. Bring your weird. I’ll bring mine.