Getting My Pink Back

A few months ago, during a late-night feeding, I was deep in the TikTok scroll when I stumbled across Lindsey Gurk. If you don’t know her, she reenacts the hilarious things her kids say and do. Naturally, I hit follow immediately.

But then I saw a post from her that really stuck with me. She was talking about getting her pink back.

Apparently, flamingos lose their pink color while raising their babies. Why? Because they stop eating as much shrimp (which gives them that iconic pink hue) and shift all their energy toward taking care of their little ones. But once their babies become more independent, the flamingos start focusing on themselves again—and slowly, they get their color back.

This morning I remembered that post and had a full-blown emotional moment over a bird.

Because, honestly? Same.

I’m around the one-year postpartum mark, and I realized I was feeling... off. Not sad, not unhappy—just not myself. My body doesn’t feel the same. My perspective on life has shifted. Even my idea of "fun" has completely changed. And if you know me in real life, you’d probably never guess I’ve been feeling this way. I still smile, still show up, still crack jokes. But inside, I’ve been a little lost.

This weekend, we’ve got an event coming up—it’s the first time I’ll be wearing real clothes. Not fancy clothes (I’ve done a few dress-up nights), but like… a cute outfit. With friends. At a place where leggings and a messy bun aren’t considered appropriate attire.

And guess what? Nothing fits.

Not the jeans. Not the tops. Not even the SHOES. Shoes! The one item that’s supposed to stick with you no matter what!

So yeah—I’m officially in that “getting my pink back” phase. I want to feel strong again. Fit. Okay, yes—skinnier too. But mostly I just want to feel good in my clothes, and confident in my own skin.

But... when am I supposed to do that?

Between keeping up with my daughter, cleaning, laundry, cooking, working part-time, and trying to be an actual human my husband still wants to hang out with—it feels impossible. I’d have to wake up at 4 a.m. just to squeeze in a workout.

And look, I’ve never been a morning person. Like, ever.

Still, something has to give.

Because I can feel myself getting impatient faster than usual—with my daughter, with my husband (bless him), with everything. And I know it’s because I’m not pouring anything back into myself.

So this month, I’m making it a goal: Make time.

Build better routines. Create new habits. Not go full-on fitness guru mode, but just… start somewhere.

Will I be waking up at 4 a.m.?

Absolutely not. Let’s be realistic.

But 6 a.m.? That feels doable.

Start the coffee, get in a quick 20-minute workout, and take even just a little time for me—before the rest of the day takes over.

Let’s see how it goes.