For those of you who missed my Instagram announcement, Baby Blasik is on the way!

And, honestly, we couldn't be more excited/nervous/in over our heads (in the best way possible) to welcome a third member to the small but sweet Blasik clan this November—which means the 2019 holiday season will no doubt be our best yet.

Today marks 16 weeks, and now that my secret is out, I'm looking forward to devoting more blog space to pregnancy (and all that entails) as well as our journey preparing for a little one. Luckily, I have a few friends that have paved/are paving the way for me in this new life phase, so I won't be completely in the dark. But if you're up for it, I'm always appreciative of advice—give me your best pregnancy/birth/new parenting tips, please! (But leave the horror stories for your non-pregnant friends.)

Here's a little "bumpdate," courtesy of For the Love of Fancy.

How far along: 16 weeks! Baby is the size of an avocado [4.6 inches and 3.5 ounces].

Due date: November 7th.

Sickness: I'm officially over the morning sickness! I had it a lot easier than some people I know, but the first trimester came with daily nausea (especially on an empty stomach), lots of food aversions (I couldn't eat chocolate for a month!), and major digestive slowdown. That's all seemed to have passed, though, fortunately—so now I'm just enjoying the "honeymoon" phase.

Cravings: I didn't have the biggest appetite in the first 10 weeks (for reasons explained above), but once I turned the corner, it came back full force. My biggest cravings currently are fresh, crunchy salads (especially Caesar salads, which is new for me), pineapple and watermelon, cereal with cold milk, fried chicken (so random!), and hamburgers. Not the healthiest stuff, but life is all about balance.

Aversions: Chocolate was the main one for a while, but no longer as much (thank God). I also didn't want anything homemade for a stretch of time, which is strange, but I think I was just turned off by the thought of cooking. ;-) Scott and I ate out/ordered in several nights in a row at one point.

Physical changes: The bump is growing! I can still fit in regular clothes but I prefer to wear maternity jeans, leggings, and comfy dresses. My weight has fluctuated about 5 pounds since I found out I was pregnant (mostly from bloat/indigestion), but I'm back to where I started. Figure the weight gain will happen soon, now that I'm out of the first trimester! On the downside, my skin has been very dry and pretty problematic from all the changing hormones. BUT my hair is getting real thick and growing like a weed—I desperately need a haircut.

Girl or boy: We find out in a week! Our second ultrasound is next Thursday, and we're dying to know. As far as guesses go, the general consensus from friends/family has overwhelmingly been a boy, but I keep going back and forth. No preferences here, just an eagerness to find out and start shopping accordingly. However, we'll be keeping it a secret until our Gender Reveal party for family in July (so expect another blog post around then). So much to look forward to, guys!

When I quit my job as a full-time Content Coordinator at a wedding magazine to pursue freelance writing and blogging in 2016, I struggled with the idea of working from home. I've always been more of a team player than a trailblazer, so having colleagues around to bounce ideas off of and learn from was what ultimately sparked my motivation to work hard and accomplish set goals. (The occasional after-hour meetups for cocktails weren't awful either.)

Left to my own devices, however, staying productive and on-task was a challenge I had anticipated. For a few months into my new freelancing gig, I definitely spent more time browsing the internet than actually writing (and trying to justify my procrastination by calling it "research"). Which, of course, made me feel secretly guilty and embarrassed when friends and family would pose the dreaded question, "What exactly do you do all day?" First of all, ain't none of yo' business. Ahem, what?

But at some point during the last 2-3 years of working from home (on and off), I've figured out a simple schedule that suits me as a freelancer, a student, and a wife—so that my career stays a priority even though I never step foot in an office, and I fall into bed every night feeling accomplished rather than ashamed.

Emily's Typical Day in the Life

(For all you nosy people who've asked what it is I do all day.)

Ta-da! Nothing much to it, eh?

Obviously, this is just rough sketch; no two days look exactly alike for me. (Every other Friday, for example, I'm either teaching a nutrition class downtown or counseling at Birth Choice for half of the day.) But that's honestly what I love about freelancing: the flexibility! I tire of monotonous routines really quickly, and I remember being constantly restless with a normal 9-to-5 office job. That said, I definitely miss the camaraderie that comes with working with a team. Freelancing can get awfully lonely at times, but when that happens, I just make sure to prioritize my relationships or make new friends in other aspects of my life. Everything in balance, you know?

Phew, that was long! Thanks for reading!

I'd love to know, is this pretty much what you expected from a part-time freelancer? Does it sound like something you'd love or hate? 

Where all my Freeform fans at?!

(Judge my taste of television all you want, but me and the YA soap network go way back.)

ABC Family has been my go-to channel for years, dating back to my early teens when reruns of Gilmore Girls aired every day at 4pm, just in time to grab an after-school snack and settle in for an hour of witty Lauren Graham banter. I was always excited when the 13 Days of Halloween rolled around each year, followed by the 25 Days of Christmas a month later—even though I must've seen every one of their holiday movies at least fifteen times by the time I graduated high school. ABC Family gave me a few of my favorite childhood shows (including Boy Meets World) and even introduced me to my first on-screen crush (Smallville's Tom Welling). Years later, the popular high school drama Pretty Little Liars would catch my eye and carry me through a post-college slump. (Again, judge all you want, but that shit was addicting.)

I'll admit, I was a little confused when ABC Family changed its name to something lame and pretentious like Freeform, but I can't say I blame their marketing team for wanting to put distance between itself and the "family-friendly" label of yesteryear. The shows now are much more Desperate Housewives' sex and scandal than 7th Heaven's family values, but that's what it means to keep up with the times, I suppose. And in the interest of staying relevant, I should probably get to the point of this post: Freeform's The Bold Type (now on its 3rd season) is my newest religiously watched TV show. Just in case you need a new teen adult drama to binge, here's 8 things I love about it:

1. It's so wonderfully feminist, I could cry.

While I do claim to be a feminist, I've grown tired of the childishly simplistic "men are all sexist pigs" mentality that has swept the nation recently as a result of the #MeToo movement. (WHICH, FYI, IS A MOVEMENT I AM IN FULL SUPPORT OF. Please don't @ me.) But in my opinion, The Bold Type conveys feminism as the positive, powerful force it has the potential to be without throwing masculinity under the bus (or making women out to be helpless victims). Like I've always said, men and women working together to create a better reality for everyone is what I like to see, and TBT does this well.

2. It's not afraid to be bold, hence the name.

I won't spoil any of the storylines, but from the beginning of the first season, I was pleasantly surprised by the depth in which the show covers "hush hush" issues like sexual assault/harassment, career insecurities, societal pressures, racism, and women's health—you know, the hard-to-talk-about but oh-so-common shit that a lot of women battle these days. Tough topics in television can easily come off as overdone or reductive, but TBT's writers manage to tackle these real-life struggles with grace and tact—all the while showcasing both the vulnerable and fierce sides of its female characters.

3. It makes me miss working in publishing.

Hard-hitting deadlines, high-end cocktail parties, emergency gal pal meetings in the fashion closet, and badass female editors who rival Yoda in wisdom... TBT makes the corporate publishing world look SO glamorous, and part of me can't help but miss the fast-paced life I used to dream about being a part of.

4. It reminds me why I got out of publishing.

Office politics, mandatory weekly events, long hours with minimal pay, and the stress of always having to be on your A game? Yeah, I'm so over that lifestyle. (Can't say it's not fun to watch though!)

5. It takes place in New York City.

Okay, so this isn't unique to TBT. But I have a special place in my heart for the Big Apple, and I love any or all shows set there. (Takes me back to my love affair with this show in particular.) Even though I'm not sure I would ever realistically want to live in NYC, there's something about the thrill and adventure of a big city that sucks me in every time.

6. It's risqué without being trashy.

Rated TV-14, TBT doesn't shy away from sex, but I don't catch myself blushing halfway through every episode either (hello, Sex and the City!). These characters aren't saints, by any means—and honestly, where's the fun in that?—but they know how to keep it classy (for the most part).

7. It has style.

8. It's about sisterhood, first and foremost.

As someone who has experienced the power of sisterhood in so many ways, I can't help but get behind any TV show that puts female friendships at the forefront of its plot. The three main characters, although a world apart and so very different from my own circumstances, remind me a lot of me and my two besties and the impact we each have on one another. That's the beauty of sisterhood: it's universal. No matter where you live or what your life looks like, most of us can relate to the light-as-a-feather feeling of pouring out one's heart and soul to another woman (whether it be a mother, sister, close friend, or colleague) over a bottle of wine or pint of ice cream. I'd take that over a run-of-the-mill romance anyday.

Photo by Freeform.

For the first time in the history of our family, the siblings and my dad teamed up to surprise my mom—otherwise known as The Karen, because every badass needs a The in front their name (e.g., The Terminator)—with a trip to Pigeon Forge this March in dual celebration of her 60th birthday and my parents' 40th anniversary.

• Hopsmith Tavern (for legit frozé and fatty apps).
• Cafe Roze (for a nourishing lunch + matcha).
• Barcelona Wine Bar (for amazing tapas).
• Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams (for dessert).
• The Mockingbird (for weekend brunch).
• Frothy Monkey (for hot apple cider and outdoor seating).
• Draper James (for some window shopping).
• Five Daughters Bakery (for paleo and vegan donuts).
• 5th & Taylor (for dinner).
• Acme Feed & Seed (for Sunday brunch + live music).
• Crema (for hipster-made coffee).
• Country Music Hall of Fame (for a fun history lesson).
• Caviar & Bananas (for a light meal or quick snack).
• Union Common (for a fancy cocktail or glass of wine).

Ever since the midterm elections, I've tried to put into words how I feel about the current state of our nation. More specifically, the division between our country's two opposing sides and the blatant intolerance with which each regards the other. It's nothing new, people say; but that doesn't make the palpable vitriol pervading our society any less appalling, or the lack of empathy any less troubling. Families, friends, colleagues, and communities are all seemingly at odds these days, as more and more of us forego a listening ear and compassionate tongue to vindictively voice our own infallible truths—or worse, hurl targeted insults at the other side—as if there's no tomorrow. (I'm guilty of this as well.)

But every time I've tried to spill my heart on the subject, the words fall flat. Even conversations with my best friends prove inconclusive and unsatisfying, my thoughts forming nothing more than a muddled mess of anxious frustration. Which is why Ally's email just about brought me to tears. The founder of Windrose Magazine (get your copy of Issue No. 2 here!) and my lovely friend sent out a newsletter a few weeks ago that had me speechless, except for one single thought: Finally, someone who gets it.

Immediately, I messaged Ally to ask if I could publish the contents of her email here on my own blog, because there's truly nothing I could say or write that, in my opinion, would resonate more deeply or have as big of an impact. She somehow flawlessly put down on paper what's been eating away at me for months, and I'm beyond happy to share this piece of perfection with you today. (Better late than never.)

◊ ◊ ◊
"As long as we have stories to tell to each other, there is hope."

There was something significant about turning 27, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It didn't occur to me as I celebrated with my family in Rayne, or even when I got back home on the evening of my actual birthday.

A week later, on a walk around the block to get out of my head, it finally hit me. Twenty-seven. The age you were. The age you'll always be.

And I started crying. Softly at first, and then uncontrollably, as I thought about the years that have passed without you.

You died when I was 19, an age I know now was too young to truly comprehend what your absence would mean for the rest of my life. It didn't fully dawn on me then that you would never walk down the aisle at my wedding, or scare my children with your ghost stories, or offer up your honest-to-God opinion when I confided in you anything at all. You wouldn't be there when I needed you at 20 or 25 or 30—which, I'd come to learn, would be the years I'd need you most.

You fought tirelessly your entire life, and when you finally let go, I felt relieved that you were no longer suffering. But almost eight years later, the sadness that lingers from your not being here is somehow stronger, heavier than the day I lost you.

I think of your bold authenticity, contagious laughter, tenacious spirit, and no-fucks-given attitude (that I still envy)—and the memories of our dumber moments make me smile through my tears. I remember how you used to make fun of me and stand up for me in the same breath, how at times you were the only person I could trust to have my back.

The truth is, I could've used all of that these past few years. As I grow older, there are just some things I don't want to talk about with anyone else, and were you still here, I know you'd pour me a large glass of wine (or vodka, let's be real), listen intently to every doubt and fear going 'round and 'round in my overactive brain, and then teasingly tell me to stop being so dramatic—because life's too short to sweat the small stuff.

But we'll never have those conversations, and that kills me.

You left this world only a week after you turned 27, your golden birthday. It's strange to think that we're now the same age, and I can't help but wonder—as strong and fearless as you were—why my life will go on when yours was drastically cut short. I feel guilty for that, to be honest. And yet, at 27, I feel inexplicably closer to you now, too. Which in and of itself might be worth the aching loneliness of wondering what if.