Let’s be honest, folks. Plant parenthood is a wild ride. One minute you’re basking in the glow of successfully coaxing a new leaf from your Monstera Deliciosa, and the next, you’re Googling “can plants sense fear?” (Don’t worry, I’ve been there).
Confessions of a Serial Plant Whisperer (Or So I Thought)
It all started innocently enough. I, like many others during a certain global event that shall not be named, decided to invite some greenery into my humble abode. A spider plant here, a peace lily there, and before I knew it, my apartment resembled a miniature jungle (or at least what I imagined a miniature jungle would look like). I was officially a plant parent, armed with a watering can and a healthy dose of optimism.
Oh, the naiveté! My early days of plant parenthood were filled with the unshakeable belief that I, with my carefully curated Spotify playlists and pep talks, could nurture any leafy friend back to life. I was practically Dr. Dolittle, but for ferns and succulents.
