From Green Thumb to Paranoid Plant Parent
I always considered myself a relatively sane individual. That is, until I became a plant parent. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my little green roommates. They brighten up my space, purify the air (supposedly), and add a touch of life to my otherwise chaotic existence. But lately, I’ve been getting this…vibe. It’s as if my prized Monstera Deliciosa, Herbert, is silently judging my every move.
Maybe it’s the way his leaves seem to droop ever so slightly when I reach for that third slice of pizza. Or the way he seems to thrive after I’ve tidied up my disastrous living room. Whatever it is, I can’t shake the feeling that Herbert is privy to all my messy human flaws.
Now, I’m not talking about a full-blown drought situation here. Just a slight… delay. But judging by the way Herbert’s leaves seem to wilt dramatically every time I walk past, you’d think I’d left him stranded in the Sahara. It’s like he’s saying, “Really, Susan? Again? You couldn’t set a reminder on your fancy phone?”
Exhibit B: My Fiddle Leaf Fig is Thriving (and Judging Me for It?)
Here’s where my paranoia really kicks in. You see, Herbert isn’t my only plant baby. I also have Fiona, a notoriously finicky Fiddle Leaf Fig. Now, Fiona is a drama queen of the highest order. She throws a tantrum (read: drops leaves) at the mere whisper of a draft and demands to be worshipped under a skylight for optimal sunlight exposure.
Here’s the kicker: Fiona is thriving. Like, seriously flourishing. Lush new leaves, vibrant green color, the whole shebang. Meanwhile, Herbert, my ever-so-patient Monstera, seems stuck in a perpetual state of mild disapproval. It’s like Fiona is judging me for even thinking about neglecting her, while Herbert is silently lamenting the fact that he ended up with the “chill” plant mom.