I used to be brave. I used to snowboard and hike mountain peaks and enjoy rollercoasters. And then I became a mother. The most exhilarating activities I enjoyed seem freaking insane to me right now. This week, my husband and I went on a trip to the NC mountains with our 16 month old. We visited Grandfather Mountain, and up at the top is a swinging bridge one mile up. We went across that no problem, not without some butterflies in my stomach, but doable. But looking at the people who all congregated at the tippy top of that rock, I had zero interest. Maybe if I wasn’t four months pregnant, or a mom, or a wife, I would have climbed up there. So, maybe it isn’t that I’m not brave anymore. Maybe it’s that I feel the weight of responsibility of me staying alive that causes me not to take risks. Funny enough, I don’t miss those things, at least right now. My life is still full of wonder and joy because I’m pregnant, a mom, and a wife.