Plant Parenthood

Mug shots & family portraits, updated periodically.

I was never a plant person. I am, however, an aesthetics person. Years of seeing the same criticism of plantless homes on Apartment Therapy finally got to me when, one day, I looked around my own space and realized that I, too, was guilty of the same. My home was lifeless besides me. So I walked over to Home Depot and bought, predictably enough, a fiddle-leaf fig. When to my amazement I was able to keep that alive, I got a dracaena. Then a syngonium. Then a button fern (which I promptly killed—delicate ferns hate me). I downloaded plant apps. I watched plant videos. I overthought and worried like you wouldn’t believe. So when I successfully repotted my first plant, I was floating. And when things stayed alive, when they actually grew and seemed to be thriving—I cannot tell you how proud I was. I would never, ever have thought I could be a successful plant mom.

I slowly expanded my collection, getting braver and braver about my Home Depot selections until one day I went into an actual plant shop. It was there I saw my first alocasia—a nebula in a six-inch pot. I was instantly in love, and it’s been alocasia central around here ever since.

I have loved the creative problem solving of find the right shelves, then experimenting with different types of grow lights, then modifying the shelves, then upgrading the lights, then upgrading how the lights are attached, then finding the perfect humidifiers, etc.

I tinker with my plants for hours on some days. Glossing up their leaves, pruning, training, switching their pots up, rearranging them on the shelves. And sometimes, I just sit and commune with them. I can almost feel my blood pressure drop, just trancing out as I stare at the captivating mix of colors and textures.