So, I’ve never been particularly “good” with plants. In fact, I’ve killed more succulents than I care to admit. But something about the pandemic, the endless hours spent indoors, and maybe a touch of Instagram envy sparked a desire in me. I wanted to be a plant parent.
My First Victim: The Peace Lily (RIP Percy)
My journey started innocently enough with a peace lily. It seemed simple, low-maintenance, and promised to purify the air – all things my city-dwelling self desperately craved. I named him Percy and even whispered words of encouragement (don’t judge).
From Plant Tragedy to (Mini) Triumphs
You’d think Percy’s demise would deter me, but it had the opposite effect. It ignited a weird, competitive spirit within me. I would keep a plant alive, dammit! Thus began a series of trial-and-error plant adoptions:
- The Spider Plant: Surprisingly resilient. It even sprouted babies! (Which, in my excitement, I promptly overwatered.)
- The Snake Plant: This one’s still kicking! I think it thrives on my neglect. We have a complicated relationship.
- The Herb Garden That Never Was: Let’s not talk about the basil massacre of 2021.
Embracing the Chaos of Plant Parenthood
Through all the triumphs and (mostly) tragedies, I’ve realized something important: being a plant parent isn’t about perfection. It’s about learning, adapting, and maybe even laughing at your own mishaps. Sure, my apartment might look like a graveyard of plant aspirations, but I’m learning. Slowly.