the plan

Well. The secret is out. Indy Blue: internet mom, will very soon be known as Indy blue: real life mom. 

Alert the presses! Get Perez on the line! I didn’t wear two sets of Spanx in every instagram photo for the last 4 months trying to fool the masses for this not to be a breakout story! I practically copied the Kylie Jenner blue print word for word! Let’s GO people!

But really. Me?! A Mom! I feel so young. So unprepared. So unqualified. I’ve had seven months to process and prepare and yet I still feel like a fish out of water. I’ll catch glimpses of myself in the mirror with my huge belly… and I gasp! This whole thing is such a trip. Because, well, this was unplanned.  But if you know me… and I mean if you reeeeally know me. Then you will probably say that it’s been part of my plan all along. 

Let’s talk about plans. And if you’re the drinking type, take a shot every time I say “plan” and you’ll be blacked out by paragraph three. But you see, I’ve always been a planner. I used to write out my entire day’s schedule in crayon as a kid. From the time I woke up - until the time I went to sleep. Sometimes I would even sleep with my shoes on to give me an extra 5 minutes in the morning. Serious! So that part of me thrived in school. The “what do you want to be when you grow up/time is ticking you better fckin know what you want to be when you grow up” part of school. 

The school system, does like to scare us a little bit, you know? Make us think that we’re on a time limit. That the clock is always ticking. And listen, I think it’s great to get a head start on your grown up aspirations and career paths, but come ON, we’ve been asked that question since kindergarten! It’s like the second our minds are capable of those big daydreams, we are questioned with  “what do you want to be when you grow up?” over. and over. and over. And when you’re little, your mind still goes to those big places. The commonly used answers amongst a crowd of 5 year olds would be, an Astronaut. Rockstar. Veterinarian. Doctor. A chick fil a worker.

Then you get a little older and you’re told, maybe not flat out, but you’re encouraged to be a little more…”realistic.”  And what does that even mean? I mean, every fourth grade boy I knew who was ‘Michael Jordan’ in the wax museum, still believed that they were going to the NBA.

But year after year, you chip away at those big day dreams and work together with your school counselor to find something…more “realistic.” for your future.

Now, most boys would say they want to go into “finance” or “sales” or… whatever their dad does for work.

And most girls? A mom.

I was one of those girls. And it wasn’t a cop out either, I genuinely dreamed about having babies of my own. 

Yes, I told my junior high counselor that I wanted to be famous like Kim Kardashian after high school, but in reality, my most “chipped away” raw, REAL dream when I grew up… was to be a mom.

At age 3 I was stuffing baby dolls up my night gown telling everyone I was pregnant. At age 7, I was passing out fliers to my neighbors trying to convince them to let me babysit their children. (Still wondering why that one never worked.) And at age 11, I held a “girls camp” in my basement (less creepy than it sounds) where I would teach the neighborhood kids dances and feed them animal crackers. It’s no surprise that after high school I ended up teaching at a preschool - to this day, my favorite job I’ve ever had.

The pre school was massive, there were around 500 kids there if I remember correctly. And I had each one of them wrapped around my little spray tanned finger. Miss Indian, they called me. It was adorable. And borderline politically incorrect. But I loved those babies. 

I was SO good with kids, that the front desk would call for me over the intercom any time there was an inconsolable child. We would chill. I’d show them pictures of cute puppies on my phone. We’d eat goldfish, and I would assure them that their mom was coming… soon. (soon was a broad term, yes, but I never lied!) and sure enough they would be ready for class, no tears left to cry.

It seemed like my calling in life. Everyone told me this too. “You’re gonna be the best mom, indy!” “When are you going to have kids?” Blah blah blah blah blah. I was flattered… but unfazed. Why?

Because it wasn’t apart of my plan. 

Do you want to know what my plan was?

I wanted to marry a boy named Jackson.

Jackson and I met my sophomore year of High school. I’ll spare you the Nicholas Sparks like details, but it was pretty story book perfect. He was my older brothers friend and they played basketball and football together. In fact, I’ll never ever forget the first time I saw Jackson.  I was at a football game watching my brother play, sitting on the sidelines when all of the sudden, coming off the field, I see this tall skinny tan guy with the most gorgeous arms i had ever seen (I’m a sucker for good arms.) reach up with his said gorgeous arms, and take off his helmet. In retrospect, I blame my obsession with film and movies for the way I remember things now… but wow. I could have sworn it was all in slow motion. Him taking off his helmet, shaking his hair. Cut to me, sitting on the curb, jaw hitting the floor. “Who IS that?” I said pointing. My friend Cory replies, “Oh thats Jackson Dunford. He’s the quarterback” and well folks, that was pretty much it for me.

We dated throughout high school, in what felt like dream-like years. Were we in love? Absolutely. I had never been so sure of anything like I was about Jackson Dunford.

At the end those dreamlike years of running and jumping into his arms after a game, surprise flowers for no reason, and being each others first valentines… things were changing, Right after he graduated…he went on a mission. Now if you’re familiar with Mormons or the LDS faith, you know what i’m talking about. But if not, an “LDS mission” is where 19 year old boys (girls can also go!) are assigned to teach their faith somewhere around the world. Jackson was called to Fort Lauderdale, Florida and thats where he would be spending the next two years. Yup! Two YEARS!  Communication would be very limited - as in we could only communicate by letters & emails for the duration of the two years, with the exception of a phone call on Christmas. 

As a lovesick 17 year old girl, this was um…. terrible news.

We spent our remaining weeks together going to carnivals, swinging off of every rope swing we could find, trying every shaved ice flavor on the menu at our local snow cone shack, seeing all the movies currently playing in theaters, going on hikes, slip n slides, rollercoasters, camping, long boarding down the canyon. - you name it. And in those weeks, during those long car rides with sandy feet or sticky snow cone fingers… we planned. 

I would wait. 

I would wait for two years. I would finish high school, I would start my videography business, I would try my best to have some fun and make some memories… but I would be waiting. Everything else would be a distraction. - quick cut in to note that YES this does sound ridiculous to me now, but try and see this from the point of view of a young - very religious - girl, blinded by love. Also keep in mind that this was the norm where I’m from! Waiting for a missionary was a badge of honor. It was romantic. It was sought after. No one was batting an eye about my grand plan to wait for this boy and get married shortly after. It was almost expected of girls my age. 

So that was the plan. It was set in stone. He would get back at the end of the summer, 2016, we would date for a good two years and then get married on (this is where I’m really showing my crazy) October 21st, 2018. YES! I had the DATE PLANNED. Back in 2014. I knew the day we’d be married. I probably had my dress on hold too, sheeeeesh!

But you know what? it felt good. Moving through life knowing exactly what was going to happen. A purpose. Something to prepare for. To LIVE for.

We followed the plan as if it really was an instruction manual for life. We wrote mushy lovey dovey letters. I sent packages. We talked on Christmas. I finished out the remainder of my senior year day dreaming about our reunion. our wedding. the rest of our lives that would be waiting for us. It was the only way I could get through this torturous time!

And then…

One day, weeks before graduation, I got a letter. 

“Ind…I think I’m going to come home.”

To most people reading this, you’d assume this was a cause for a celebration. You’d assume I jumped for joy, screamed and ran around my house even! But no. This….was um….again. terrible news.

In the place I live, “coming home early” from a mission is a HUGE no no. It’s a societal and cultural shaming. And it’s so awful, so unnecessary and makes absolutely no sense. But it was apart of who we were, and where we lived. If you came home early, as in, you didn’t “serve” the full two years, you were socially banished. Rumors would fly about your reasoning for returning early, but it didn’t matter. It was always just assumed you had either committed a serious and terrible sin, or just simply that you weren’t… “strong” enough to finish. I know. It’s heartbreaking!

I still get sick to my stomach that my instant reaction was to try and get him to stay. His mental health was in no place to be out there doing what he was doing, and yet - I was scared. I was also 17 years old and bound to handle this news poorly, but mostly, I was scared. Scared of what the tight knit, judgmental “everyone knows everything about everyone” community we lived in would think of us. Scared of what my friends and family would think. But above all else, I was scared because this wasn’t apart of the plan.

For the first time in my life, my plans were falling apart. And I didn’t know how to cope.

He came home, and we tried our best to patch up our plans. Create new ones. It was hard though, and things were different. While good at first, about 6 months after he came home… we both knew things weren’t working anymore and we broke up. It was the worst, most painful feeling of my entire life. 

What was I supposed to do now? I had been banking on these plans for the last few years. I had my future written out in perfect print. I knew what I wanted, I knew what it was going to take to get it. I never stressed about my life. I never stressed about not going to college. I never stressed about my career path. Because I knew a few specific things that were certain, and that was enough for me.

What now?

That was a hard time in my life. I was so lost. I didn’t have a plan B. I was watching my friends go off to college, meeting their roommates, going to games, taking the next step that I should have taken. I was freshly 18 years old, but I already felt like a failure. 

It was in those dark and lost hours that I revisited the question. THE question I had been asked my whole entire life.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

And my answer?

“I want to go to Hawaii.”

Having never traveled during my childhood or teenage years aside from a few Disneyland trips… I finally knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to see the world. I mean why not? I really had nothing stopping me. It was the most spontaneous thing I had ever done. But I felt empowered by the choice I had. I could go to Hawaii. I could go to Paris. I could go anywhere I had spent the last 15 years day dreaming about in school. So thats exactly what I did. I scooped up my plans that had been scattered all around me, and I threw them away. I was back at square 1. It was time for new plans. It was time to create the life I had always wanted. For me. And no one else. 

it started with that trip to Hawaii. All alone, no idea what I was in for. And now, 4 years later, having never really traveled up until that point…. I have officially been to exactly 30 countries.

I was thriving. Living a life that others dreamed of. And it’s all because I tore down every expectation and “rule” I had been raised on in school, church, or society. Now there were no rules, and I was the only one standing in my way, 

Jackson didn’t entirely leave the story though. We went our separate ways years ago, but it felt like the universe was always pulling us back together. We would bump into each other along the road, and sometimes I’d stay awhile. Sometimes he would. Weeks, months even. We would day dream of our lives together. Much like we would when we were acne faced teenagers. We would even talk about how cute our babies would be. But in the back of my mind, I had always wondered what would become of those day dreams. Because they weren’t plans. They were dreams. There wasn’t enough stability to make plans. So we would keep dreaming, until we had to wake up and go our separate ways again.

There is a quote I’ve loved for years that says “traveling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, ‘I would stay and love you, but I have to go. This is my station.’

And that sums up our situation for the past four years perfectly. “I would stay and love you, but I have to go. This is my station.”

I never wanted to rely on another person for my happiness again. So I didn’t. Jackson and I loved each other, in fact we never stopped. I’d often beg him to hop off on my “station” with me, and sometimes he’d do the same. But we both knew that our lives were moving down different tracks and so we had to let each other go, time and time and time again. 

Besides. This was years later. Long gone was the love sick 17 year old whose entire life revolved around a boy she fell in love with in 10th grade.

I had made a life for myself. And I wasn’t done yet. This girl had a new set of plans.

Let’s skip ahead a few years. At a young age I had seen the world, I had checked off the bucket list. It felt like I had lived 20 lives in the short span of a few years. But now, I craved more. My new plans still involved travel of course, because that was truly my passion. But I had more up my sleeve. And it all had to do with the second most asked question after “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Aka - the post grad version.

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years”

Like, damn are we EVER allowed to live in the moment???

But this time around, I knew. Some of my plans were more vague. Some pretty specific. But the truth is, in 5 years, aside from solving climate change and living in a Lake House in northern Italy with Jeff Goldblum… my plans looked like this:

• Move to LA

• Start a clothing brand

• Write a book

• Film and direct a documentary

• Continue to see the world, and visit all the “roads less traveled by.”

That was my “5 year” plan.

Do you notice what’s missing from that list?

Being a mom.

My once biggest dream in life, in fact, most of my life, didn’t even land a place on my big revised list of plans.

Did I change my mind? No. Did I still want children of my own? 10 of them probably. 

But over the years I had “trained” myself out of that mind set that we are all taught in school that we need to have cheapened, more realistic goals for ourselves. And thats not to say that motherhood falls into that category, I had just realized that I could achieve all of my pipe dreams AND still be a mother someday. I wasn’t in a rush. I wasn’t on a time limit. That ticking clock thats held over our heads as teenagers, doesn’t really exist. You can be a basketball player AND take on your dads family business. You can be a chick fill a worker AND a rockstar. I could accomplish all of my goals, and still have time to achieve my biggest dream of all. Being a mom.

I just felt that there was a time for that, and the time wasn’t now. That, and part of me deep down worried if I would ever find someone I loved as much as I loved Jackson. I was paralyzed with fear that the time would come, years and years from now after I had done and seen all I wanted to do….and I wouldn’t be able to cross off “mom” on my list of plans due to my feelings for my first love. I couldn’t see myself raising a family with anyone else, but seeing that far ahead, didn’t make sense. Like I said before, us getting off on the same “station” where the timing was right and both of us were ready… that seemed like a dream. I couldn’t count on that. I couldn’t plan on that. 

So I tucked my little dream of having 10 mini indy’s and Jacksons away in the back of my “maybe someday” planner and I hid it on a dusty shelf. It was time to focus on what was real, what was possible, what was right in front of me.

So I went to work.

By the summer of 2019… I had been living in LA for seven months. My brand, Lonely Ghost that I launched in march had taken off and grown more than I could have ever anticipated. My book is still in messy chapters, but was coming along great. I had started drafting up ideas for a documentary that I would start on hopefully a year later. I was well on my way to achieving my goals.

Once again, I was using my plans like a guide map., Like an instruction manual for life. And it seemed like things were falling into place. At this point, Jackson and I were talking every night, and seeing each other whenever I was in Utah. We did the day dreaming thing we always did, but this time it was different. It didn’t feel like a distraction or a waste of time. We were very honest about our feelings at this point in our lives, and I had made the decision I was going to give us one more shot. A real shot. We would both give 100%. And if it didn’t work, we would both know that we had tried absolutely everything. It felt really good, for the first time in a long time. Hopeful.

All of that, and I was still finding time to travel. I was on a roll. That summer alone, I had traveled to 10 countries. Some of which I had never been to before. Ireland, Croatia, Greece, Zimbabwe. In fact, I was visiting Costa Rica for the first time when I received the most earth shattering, foundation shaking, craziest news of my life.

I was pregnant.

I know you all came here for this, and not all of the whining and dragging on about my kindergarten aspirations. So I want to give it to you. But I feel the best way to explain this part of my story is to share with you a journal entry I wrote, only hours after I had found out.

JULY 25TH 2019

Wow.

Where do I even begin with this one?

Today, I found out I was pregnant. 

Even I just had to read that again. I. am. pregnant.

Im emotional as I type this, because my entire life I have pictured my future kids in mind. With everything I do. Every important event in my life, funny story, heartbreaking day, I imagined telling you. Now it’s finally real. For the first time in my life, as I type this, it’s real. A real person will read this someday. You. My baby. I have tears running down my face imagining you reading this letter when you’re 18, or 22, or however old you want to be when you read it. I love you so much already for just giving me this.

Now let me tell you the story of how I found out… about you! But first, a little back story. 

I was in Zambia for the last two weeks, and one of the days there, we spent in an orphanage for newborn babies. It was my heaven. I have been going through a lot lately, and this was better than any therapy I could spend money on. Just sitting there, holding baby after baby, fresh from heaven. I sat there with a tiny little girl. With the most perfect, tiny little face. She didn’t cry once, or hardly even make a sound… but she said so much with her eyes. We just stared at each other. For the whole entire half hour she was in my arms, we stared at each other. Almost like I was in a trance. I studied every movement of her eyes, looking up at the ceiling, then down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. She was so curious about everything. I wondered what it would be like, to be that fresh. That new. What was her world like? I wish I could remember. But somewhere in those long minutes of us staring at each other, it was as if time stood still. Without really thinking it too much in my head, I felt so strongly that I was going to have a baby. Soon. It was one of the surest I’ve ever felt about anything, and It didn’t scare me or anything like that. In fact, I had never been so calm. I even turned to Cat and said “I’m going to have a baby soon.” With a smirk on my face. Probably assuming I was making a joke, she just said “oh okay. With who?” Laughing a little bit. “I don’t know. I’m just ready to have a baby.” I said back to her. “Well good, I’m excited.” She said back, smiling.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember that thought lingering. That sureness I felt in the orphanage. I probably chalked it up to hormones and daydreaming, and went back to fantasizing about Leonardo DiCaprio. Because the thing is, of course I didn’t think I was going to have a baby soon. That was nowhere near the realm of possibility in conjunction with my “plans.” And I talk about these so called “plans” a lot, and I don’t really know what they all entail. All I know is that among those big plans, in big bold letters, underlined in red were, the words “I WILL NOT HAVE KIDS YOUNG.” Because, I felt that I had so much “life” to live before that. Whatever that means. I had felt this way for years. Would I dream of having little babies? Of course. It was my favorite daydream. My entire life all I’ve wanted is to be a mom. But again, it would have to wait. It wasn’t apart of my plan.

So once that moment in the orphanage was over, it was easy to convince myself I was making it all up. That I was just caught in the pureness of a brand new baby. And someday, I would have plenty of babies after I had traveled the world, built successful businesses and graced the cover of Forbes or something. I don’t know.

It was only a few days later that I noticed a box full of tampons in my suitcase. And that’s when I started to do the math in my head. When was my last period? I started to stress out, but in the back of my head I think I always knew it was coming, and like many times before, I was just being dramatic.

As the days went on and on, I began to worry. I texted Jack  and he reassured me time and time again that it was impossible and not to stress. But in the last two days, the stressing was inevitable and  for some reason, the only way to cope with the stress, was to think of all the positive outcomes - instead of negative ones. This was truly what got me through the last few days. An 18 hour flight home from Dubai was spent imagining what you would look like. What your little personality would be. What I would name you even. It was like I was playing pretend, as if I was a little kid again. Daydreaming and fantasizing about this future of mine. It got to be so exciting, that I was almost a little sad when I was brought down to earth and realized the possibility of me being pregnant was actually so slim. That I was over reacting to begin with.  Even though realistically, I did not want to be pregnant. I had just moved to LA, I had just launched my brand, my life - my big plans - they were just beginning. As fun as that imagining was, I knew that I had to stick to the plan. 

But in the back of my mind, I still wondered. 

Today, I arrived in Costa Rica and still no sign of a period. I started to get a little more concerned, even though,  in the back of my mind I still thought that there was no possible way. We spent the day at another orphanage and I was reminded of that feeling I felt. The one in Africa. This time, I watched the little kids run around and I wondered what mine would look like. Would I ever get the chance to find out what mine and Jacksons kids would look like? Would they get his defining features? His dark eyebrows and blue eyes? My smile?  My mind started racing, and I knew I needed to get a test just to end all of this stressful thinking.

Courtney and I walked around the streets, asking anyone we knew where we could find a pharmacy. No one spoke English, but we got enough of the same “right, then left, then right, then left, then right, then right, then left, then right” from a few people that we finally ended up at the right place. It was fun. The mood was light. We talked about other things, actually, mostly forgetting all together that we were on our way to purchase something that could potentially change my life forever. We walked in, I asked for a test, and in less than a minute we were out the door. I remember at the checkout counter, opening my mouth to ask for another test. I thought about how most women are told to take more than one, to make sure.  But just before I could interrupt the cashier, the thought occurred to me “you’re not actually pregnant, so why would you waste your money? The first one will be negative so there will be no point in taking more.” So I just let her ring me up. 

We walked back, and as we walked, Courtney asked “What will you do if you are?” And I just laughed. “I have no idea.”

We got back to our hostel and I walked straight into the bathroom, peed on the stick and then set it on the counter. I didn’t even let myself peek, because I just wanted to be certain. Several things went through my mind like, “I should film this, just in case.” But once again, I had the thought, “you’re not pregnant, so what’s the point.” 

At 5:45 on the dot, I stood up, picked up the test, looked down….and I gasped.

Like an audible “oh shit!” gasp.

Two lines.

Clear as day.

I looked at myself in the mirror. For a long time honestly. My head was empty. No panicking thoughts coming through. No excited thoughts. Absolutely nothing. I was numb.

After about 5 minutes of silence, reality set in and I started crying. Crying for many reasons. Reasons I still don’t exactly know. Probably scared. Scared of what the world would think. Scared of what my parents would think. But most of all, I was terrified because this was not. apart. of. the. plan.

At once, all of my “plans” flashed before my eyes, and I felt like my life was over. I was mourning over the life I would lose. 

I prayed a lot that night. More than I have in years.  I remember crying out, saying out loud,  “I can’t do this.” Over and over again. The only thing going through my mind was my once again shattered plans. Plans I’d have to rebuild. Plans I didn’t want to rebuild.

And then….I had the most overwhelming feeling of peace. It covered me like a blanket, there in that tiny hostel. You can call it god, you can call it “the universe” but I heard a voice in my head that simply said,

“This has always been your plan.”

And all at once, I was calm. I started to think about every time that my world had been rocked and my plans had been shattered. I thought about your dad. The first time we broke up. 18 years old, walking through my door after he had dropped me off and collapsing to the ground. It felt like the end of the world. “What now?” I remember thinking.

And for the first time in my life I saw everything so clearly. Like it took me 4 years to finally understand. I thought about going to Hawaii, all on my own. I thought about how that trip gave me the confidence to plan a trip to NYC just me and my friend, two months later, And how 6 months after that, I was traveling all around Europe for 2 weeks. How I spent the next few years seeing the world, something I had always dreamed of, and likely wouldn’t have done had Jackson and I stayed together and gotten married on October 21st, 2018 like I had always planned on. I wouldn’t have been in Paris at the exact moment that France had won the World Cup. I wouldn’t have moved to LA and built a brand like I had always dreamed of. At the time it was impossible to see, but my eyes were finally opened and I understood so perfectly.

That was part of the plan all along.

Now here I was, positive pregnancy test in hand. A baby inside of me.

They say dads don’t become dads until the baby is born, but mothers become mothers the second they find out they are pregnant. 

As my hopes and dreams flashed before my eyes and I wondered how much my life would change… I felt it. I felt the change in myself. I was finally becoming the thing every teacher since kindergarten had asked me what I wanted to be. I was finally a mom. And all at once, it made perfect sense.

This was my plan. It always was.