MOre than you ever wanted to know
about Annica
(she/her)
I pretty much always follow my heart, and let it lead me. It's what makes me who I am: an artist, an empath, a compassionate birth keeper, and a tenacious mama.
I will only accept getting up early if I’m called to a birth or flying to a tropical destination. Nothing else is worth it.
My partner/hubs and co-parent is a very laid-back, lanky, plant scientist. Year round, he only wears his one pair of navy Crocs. People, that is not a joke. I bring the spunk, he brings the chill.
My sassy, hilarious 6-year-old tests my patience and gives me sweet snuggles every day. It makes me all teary thinking about how thankful I am to be her mama.
I could smooch my 3-year-old’s cheeks a million times a day, SO I DO.
Nursing is a shit-ton of work at first, but has been one of my greatest joys of parenthood. From March 2017 to November 2023, I was either pregnant, nursing, or both. That’s 6 1/2 years of non-stop body-sharing. I’m proud of it, and also very relieved to be in this season of more body autonomy.
My safe space is in the bath. Alone (my extroverted self needs more alone time than ever). I dump in a bunch of fancy sea salt, steep one of my herbal bath blends, light a wooden wick candle (I make them cause I’m obsessed with them), and grab “mama’s bath toys.” <— This is my attempt to shut down purity culture one vibrator joke at a time.
I get real revved about social justice issues. Free the nips! Black Lives Matter! I get ragey about the medical industrial complex, factory farming, and policing uterus-owning bodies.
I am 6ish years into the process of faith deconstruction. I self-identify as someone who was raised in the Christ tradition and has been a closeted universalist since childhood. At this point, I’m much more interested in spirituality and nature than I am in religion. I remember asking my parents in elementary school why being born in Grand Rapids to my parents meant that I was going to heaven and that a little boy born in India to Hindu parents wasn’t. It never made sense to me. My ever-evolving thoughts and feelings on faith stuff can be summed up by this song by Mason Jennings (and Jack Johnson).
My two babies were born at home: one in a bedroom and one in our foyer. I cannot imagine laboring without water, it was such a big part of my birth experiences.
I inherently believe that our bodies are beautifully made to give birth without disruption. But also that life is complex and that no matter what, no matter how, BIRTH IS BIRTH. You’ll never hear me use the term C-Section or CS. Cesarean birth (or “belly birth”) is beautiful and is BIRTH.
It took me almost a year to figure out my Enneagram Type. Why? Because I was determined to NOT be a cliche Christian woman (aka, Type 2). Turns out that here I am, a Type 2. I like Ian Morgan Cron’s description of the Type 2 best - “The Befriender.” The journey towards more self-awareness, better boundaries, and healthier relationships has been life-changing. RECOMMEND.
My therapist regularly reminds me to “stop should-ing all over myself.”
I’m usually not sure how old I am, especially after all the brain cells disappeared in 2020.
Beautiful vegan unprocessed food is ideal. Frozen pizza (more than I’m willing to admit) is reality.
If you stop by unannounced, I will welcome you into our messy foyer with open arms and no promises of a bra. Then I will proceed to feed you all the things and make you an oat milk latte.
I overuse parentheses (this is me trying to reign it in).
When I learned the term Maximalist, particularly as it relates to home decor, I FELT SO SEEN.
I’m realllllll hesitant to admit this, but I care a whole lot what people think of me. My best friend (and (fairy) Godmother to my children) told me I needed to add this to the list, and I HATE/LOVE her for it.
In my spare time (ha), I also run a business called MI Burial. We are working to bring a green burial forest to West Michigan!
