The Handstand Gatekeeper and the Art of Excavation.

I have a weird rule.

For years, it's been my personal gatekeeper for new life: I have to be able to stick a solid handstand before I get pregnant.

October 2022: Practicing handstands against the wall between babies 3 and 4 at my Joshua Tree home with my two sons.

It sounds arbitrary, I know. But the first three times, it worked. It was my way of reclaiming my body—a little pocket of "just for me" physics while my entire world revolved around nursing, nap schedules, and tiny humans. It was proof that I still existed outside of the beautiful, all-consuming demands of early motherhood.

But this time, the script has flipped. I've had my handstand back for five months now... and that familiar "pull" toward another pregnancy simply hasn't followed. If I’m being honest, some days I feel the tug toward baby number five. I know I’d never regret another soul at our table. But then there are the days where our family feels perfectly, beautifully complete. And then there's my husband Alex, who hasn't exactly felt that "let's go again" spark this time around.

So, I’m sitting in the "I don't know."

It's a powerful reminder of how seasons shift before we even realize the door is closing. Sometimes, we hit the goal we set in the last season, only to find ourselves already standing in the next one.

From Cancun to a Scratched Cheek: The Reality of Re-Entry

This sense of shifting seasons hit me hard after I got back from Cancun last Saturday. Sunkissed shoulders, salty hair, and very ready to hug my babies.

February 2026. Sunkissed, salty, and standing on the edge of a new decade.

I actually have a little secret to share: When a new friend recently made the decision to join my March Mom & Lil' retreat, I was literally standing in Mexico. She didn't know it at the time, but I was right in the middle of my own "exhale" for my cousin's adults-only wedding when she said yes to hers. It was a beautiful weekend of sipping wine by the ocean.

But the transition back was swift.

February 2026. "The 'Welcome Home' committee including my 17 months old who furious about a 3 a.m. boundary gave my cheek a scratch and literal badge of the 'blur'—the raw, unedited negotiation of motherhood.

My first night home, my 17-month-old gave me a literal battle scar under my eye because I wouldn’t give him night milkies. Welcome home, mama. That's motherhood in a single scratch, isn't it? One minute you’re by the ocean, the next you’re negotiating with a furious toddler at 3 AM.

And somehow, both are sacred.

As much as I loved the adults-only resort, truthfully? Joshua Tree feels better. There is something about this desert air that simply allows the "swirl" of normal life to finally settle. It’s where the quiet happens even amidst the joyful chaos.

The Sacred Work of Excavation

My journey through these shifting seasons, and the beautiful connections I make with other mothers, keeps bringing me back to one profound truth: Motherhood doesn’t just change your schedule. It changes your tolerance for self-betrayal.

A friend recently put it beautifully, calling it the sacred work of "excavating." That process of digging out the truest parts of ourselves that went dormant just so we could survive the "nappy and night-milkies" years. It’s not just about "finding" yourself again; it’s about having the courage to let those hidden parts finally shine, even when life is still loud, and even when you're still sitting in the "I don't know" of what comes next.

This is the deeper meaning of my current goal, too. My 40th birthday is sneaking up, and my obsession is now a press handstand—lifting into the air with pure strength, no momentum. I actually wrote about hitting this handstand-by-40 goal in Wild Mama Rising... but apparently, the "book version" of Jennica had more core strength than the "real life" version today! Progress is happening… but let’s be real, I might be 40.5 before my feet actually leave the floor without a frantic kick. Apparently, my hamstrings didn't get the memo about my published deadlines.

But all of it—the handstands, the "maybe" baby, the looming 40—is part of the same lesson: how to stay whole, present, and true to yourself as the seasons shift beneath your feet.

Whether you are chasing a press handstand, navigating a big family decision, negotiating with a toddler, or simply sitting in the "I don’t know" of your next big life decision—know that the excavation is worth it. You are allowed to be the truest version of yourself, for yourself and for your family.

November 2018. 7 months pregnant with baby number 2- trying to find my center while my center of gravity was shifting.

If you’re in the middle of your own excavation and need a companion for the journey, I send out a weekly-ish note for the mamas who are tired of self-betrayal and ready to reclaim their sovereignty. If you want a regular reminder that you can be whole, present, and powerfully yourself in the middle of the mess—I’d love to have you in the circle.

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