i am christina xo ✿

We wanted to make our gender reveal simple, personal, and easy for everyone to enjoy together. So we gathered a cake, a few flowers, and some ultrasound photos before sharing the moment with our families.

Our families joined us through a WhatsApp video call, with phones propped up so everyone could watch. We decided to try one of those trendy gender reveals where you use wine glasses to cut into the cake—blue for a boy and pink for a girl.

Well…

That day, we saw pink. 💗

I remember feeling nervous right before we cut into the cake. I wasn’t sure whether everyone would actually be able to see the color once we sliced into it with the wine glasses. There were phones everywhere, people talking, and little noises coming from both Kita’s phone and mine as everyone waited for their moment to see.

But apparently, everyone saw everything. 😂

And then came the reactions.

Everyone was so happy. So excited.

The funny thing was that almost everyone had been convinced we were having a girl. So when that pink cake finally revealed itself, there was something really special about knowing that everyone had been right all along.

I remember my parents wearing pink to represent which side they were on, and when I rewatched the screen recordings of everyone’s reactions, I could see the smiles on their faces. Their reactions were especially meaningful to me because I know how special this moment was for them. This would be their second grandchild, and finding out that she was a girl made it even more exciting. 🌸

My little cousin’s reaction was also so special—and very much a mood. When I watched her reaction again, I couldn’t help but smile. She was literally cheering and rocking her head intensely from side to side with so much excitement. It was the sweetest thing, and seeing how happy she was made me feel so full.

But what I remember most is my own reaction.

I was so, so happy.

I really wanted a girl.

When I saw that pink, I think I immediately hugged Liam. I remember squeezing him so tightly, kissing him, and being so excited that I may have hugged and kissed him before I even got to Kita. 😂

Liam, meanwhile, was very interested in one thing:

The cake.

He ate a lot that day.

And honestly, I don’t blame him.

There was also something really special about sharing the moment with Mimi. Since she was physically here in Pittsburgh, I thought it would be nice to go to her house and give her a slice of the cake so she could have her own little reveal.

That ended up being one of my favorite parts of the entire day.

We were all sitting outside when she found out.

And she screamed.

She hollered.

She did not care who heard her. 😂

She was just so genuinely happy and excited, and watching her reaction in person meant so much to me. There was something about handing her that little piece of cake and watching her realize that we were having a girl that made the whole thing feel even more real.

Our little girl.

After all the excitement, I ended up feeling sick for the rest of the evening. Maybe it was too much cake. Maybe it was all the excitement catching up with me. Maybe it was both.

But underneath all of it, I remember feeling incredibly blessed.

Grateful.

Thankful to God.

We had spent the day surrounded by the people we love, celebrating a little girl we hadn’t even met yet.

And somehow, she had already brought so much joy with her.

We saw pink.

And my heart was so full. 💗

I can’t believe I am writing this out, but our family of three is about to become a family of four.

We’re having another baby.

Last year, when I turned 34, I didn’t take my birthday pictures.

That might not sound like a big deal to anyone else, but for me, it was.

It was a Sunday morning, and I remember not feeling completely ready to tell Liam about the next chapter of our family.

Every time someone asks if I’m excited, I smile and say, “I am.”

Because I am.

I know he’s going to love it.

He’s going to make friends, learn new things, come home with stories I wasn’t there to witness, and probably surprise me with just how ready he really is.

But if I’m honest…

I’ve been avoiding what this season actually means.

For four and a half years, we’ve built a life together.

Not a perfect one.

Just ours.

Slow mornings where breakfast somehow takes an hour because we’re talking about planes.

Errands that turn into adventures because he insists on pushing the shopping cart.

The homeschooling.

Library trips.

Park days.

Movie afternoons curled up on the couch.

The little routines that no one else would notice, but somehow became the rhythm of our lives.

When you’re a stay-at-home mom, motherhood isn’t just part of your day.

It is your day.

My days have always been measured by his.

Is he hungry?

Does he want to paint today?

Should we bake banana bread?

Is it already quiet time?

I’ve spent years pouring myself into these ordinary moments because I knew they wouldn’t stay ordinary forever.

And now…

They won’t.

Now there will be hours where I won’t know exactly what he’s doing.

He’ll be making memories that don’t include me.

Meeting friends.

Learning new things.

Growing into someone outside of the little world we’ve created together.

And for the first time in four and a half years…

I won’t know what I’ll be doing either.

That feels strange to admit.

I’ve dreamed about having more time.

Time to write.

To create.

To work on this little corner of the internet I’ve slowly been building.

To drink my iced coffee before it gets watery.

To walk through Target without stopping to admire every toy aisle.

To hear my own thoughts.

But now that it’s here…

I’m realizing I don’t really know who I’ll be during those quiet hours.

For years, someone has needed me every few minutes.

“Mommy, come look.”

“Mommy, watch this.”

“Mommy, can you help me?”

The house is quiet now.

Quieter than it’s ever been.

And I have a feeling the silence will feel a little louder than I expect.

Maybe I’ll finally write all the stories I’ve been carrying around in my heart.

Maybe I’ll decorate the house for the season without tiny hands “helping.”

Maybe I’ll fold laundry in one sitting.

Maybe I’ll sit on the couch and cry for ten minutes before I do any of those things.

Maybe this season isn’t about finding something to fill the silence.

Maybe it’s about remembering the parts of myself that have been patiently waiting while I poured so much love into raising him.

Because here’s the thing no one really tells you…

When your child starts preschool, you’re both beginning something new.

He’s learning who he is without me beside him.

And I’m learning who I am during the hours he doesn’t need me.

That realization hit me harder than I expected.

So I ordered something small.

Nothing extravagant.

Just a little photo keychain to keep on his backpack.

Inside are pictures of us.

A tiny reminder that no matter where he is, home is never very far away.

Maybe he’ll never even open it up.

Maybe he’ll completely forget it’s there.

But I’ll know.

I’ll know that a little piece of me went with him.

Because if I’m being completely honest…

I think the keychain is just as much for me as it is for him.

Maybe even more.

Motherhood is full of these invisible goodbyes.

The last bedtime rocking.

The last time they ask to be carried.

The last time they reach for your hand without thinking.

You never know they’re the last until they’ve already passed.

And somehow one ordinary morning became the first day I watched my baby walk into a classroom with a backpack that suddenly looked much too big on his little shoulders.

But he wasn't scared.

He didn't cry.

He didn't hesitate.

He just stepped into his new world so proudly.

And I held it together.

I smiled.

I watched him walk in.

And then I made it back to the car before finally letting all my tears out.

Not because he was afraid.

He wasn't.

Not because he wasn't ready.

He was.

I think I just needed a moment to let myself feel everything that this day meant.

I know preschool is only the beginning.

There will be elementary school.

Middle school.

High school.

College.

One day he’ll build a life that’s beautifully full of people, places, and memories that exist beyond me.

That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted for him.

But wanting something for your child doesn’t make it any easier when the day actually arrives.

So if you see me crying in the preschool parking lot…

Just know it isn’t because I don’t want him to grow.

It’s because being his mom has been the greatest privilege of my life.

And sometimes loving someone so deeply means learning to let them grow—

One small step at a time.

♡

If You’re Packing Your Little One’s Backpack Too…

If you’re anything like me, maybe you want to send a tiny piece of home along with them.

Here are a few sweet ideas that don’t take up much space but can mean so much:

• A tiny photo keychain with family pictures tucked inside.

• A laminated family photo slipped into a backpack pocket.

• A little fabric heart or wooden heart that fits in their pocket. You keep one too, so whenever they hold theirs, you can hold yours.

• A simple lunchbox note with a doodled heart, a joke, or “I can’t wait to hear about your day.”

• A girls' matching bracelet | boys' matching bracelet if their school allows it.

• A tiny “worry stone” they can rub when they’re missing you.

• A secret ritual before drop-off—a special handshake, three squeezes that mean “I love you,” or a kiss pressed into the palm of their hand for them to “keep” until they need it.

The truth is, he may never need any of these things.

He might run into the classroom without looking back.

And if he does…

That’s okay too.

Because sometimes these little keepsakes aren’t just for them.

Sometimes they’re for us.

A quiet reminder that even when our children begin building a world beyond our arms…

They’ll always carry a little piece of home with them.

And maybe, just maybe…

We’ll learn how to carry this new season too.

Everything I Packed for His First Day

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For our gender reveal, we had a cake, some flowers, and a few ultrasound photos.

As a photographer, I would probably consider those props for the occasion. And I guess, in some ways, it was an occasion. Our families were on a WhatsApp video call, and we did that trendy gender reveal where you use wine glasses to cut into the cake—blue for a boy, pink for a girl.

Well… that day, we saw pink. 💗

And somewhere between the pink cake and the white roses, I had an idea.

I knew I wanted to do something feminine and soft with the roses, and almost immediately I started imagining a maternity photoshoot. Something beautiful, but still very much me. Something that would capture this pregnancy in a way that felt special.

The only problem?

The photographer in our household—my husband, Kita—wasn’t available.

Kita is pretty much the head photographer around here, but his schedule was packed. And that particular day, he was away on a work retreat.

A work retreat.

I mean… who even has work retreats? 😂

But honestly, I couldn’t wait.

Flowers only last so long, and these roses were probably on their last day or two. I had this idea in my head, and I knew if I waited until the weekend, the moment might be gone.

So I turned to my four-year-old.

I told Liam, “I want to take some pictures with these roses in the bathtub… with milk.”

And his reaction was basically:

“With milk? Why?” 😂

Which, honestly, is a completely reasonable question when you’re four.

Because when you say it out loud, it does sound a little strange.

But I explained that I needed him to be my assistant photographer for the day. His job was very important.

He was in charge of pressing the buttons.

And oh, was he excited.

Because if there’s one thing about my little engineer, it’s that he has always wanted to press the buttons. 😂

So I set everything up, climbed into the tub, arranged the roses and milk, and gave him his instructions.

I’d tell him when I was ready.

He’d press the button.

Sometimes he used the camera on the tripod. Sometimes I’d hand him my phone and let him press the capture button.

And somehow, my four-year-old completely understood the assignment.

I was honestly so proud of him.

He listened. He waited for me to tell him when to take the picture. He paid attention to what I was asking him to do.

And, most importantly, he somehow managed not to drop my Nikon into a bathtub full of milk and rose petals.

Although…

It came pretty close a few times. 😂

But as I sat there in the tub, completely soaked in clothes that were definitely not meant to be soaked, surrounded by rose petals and milk, I remember looking at the photographs we were creating together and feeling amazed.

We actually did this.

My four-year-old and I took my maternity photos.

And the more I looked at them, the more meaningful they became.

Because in that moment, Liam wasn’t just helping Mom take some pictures.

He was filling in for his dad.

He was creating the same kind of magic his dad creates every time he picks up a camera.

I’ve called Liam my little engineer for as long as I can remember. I swear I’ve been saying it since before he was even one. 😂 But lately, I’ve started noticing something else in him, too.

I see so much of us.

The creativity.

The curiosity.

The way he wants to understand how things work.

The artistic side.

And yes, I absolutely believe photography is an art.

There is something artistic about knowing when to capture the shot. Finding the angle. Seeing something ordinary and turning it into a memory you’ll want to keep forever.

And on this particular day, I got to see a little bit of that in him.

Maybe that’s one of the beautiful things about motherhood.

We’re so busy teaching our children who they are that sometimes we don’t realize they’re quietly showing us who they’re becoming.

We think we’re the ones creating their memories.

But sometimes, they’re helping us create ours, too.

These photographs will always be special to me—not just because they document my pregnancy, or because they captured this little girl we were waiting to meet.

But because when I look at them, I see my son behind the camera.

I see his little hands pressing the button.

I see the excitement on his face when he got to help.

And I see a four-year-old boy who didn’t just take his mom’s maternity pictures.

He helped create a memory I’ll carry with me long after these flowers are gone.

So yes…

The photographer was four.

And somehow, he captured more than just a photograph.

He captured a little piece of this season of our family.

And I think that’s the reminder I want to leave with another mom reading this:

Don’t underestimate the little moments just because they don’t look perfect.

Sometimes the photos we almost don’t take become the ones we treasure most.

Sometimes the person we least expect becomes part of the story.

And sometimes, letting our children help us—even when it takes a little longer, gets a little messier, or puts a very expensive camera dangerously close to a bathtub—is how we give them a place inside the memories we’re making.

So let them press the button.

Let them help.

Let them be part of the picture.

Because one day, you’ll look back and realize they weren’t just watching you create the memories.

They were creating them with you. 🤍

And these are the photographs my four-year-old and I captured together.