I'm from Bogotá.
Motherhood found me
in the middle of everything.
Social communicator. Master's in social media. Former professional nanny — which, heads up, I thought would give me a head start on this whole mom thing. Spoiler: nope.
Start with the blog
The plan had a deadline
My husband and I met in 2017. Got married in 2022 with one very clear dream: Canada.
One day we looked at each other and just said it out loud. We're going.
Just like that. No map. Just the certainty that it was time.
First visa: denied.
There we were, in silence — deciding if that was a sign from the universe to stay, or if that's just how immigration works. We went with option two.
Applied again. Knowing exactly what it meant: if it came through, we were leaving everything. Family. Friends. Our favorite restaurant. Our whole life.
It came through.
On December 27, 2022, we landed in Toronto. Full Canadian winter — not the "oh it's cold" kind you feel in Bogotá with a scarf. This is minus-twenty-degrees-that-goes-straight-through-you cold.
OMG. What did we do?
Happy. Terrified. Both at exactly the same time.
If you made this decision too. You know.
What nobody puts in the plan
We worked whatever came our way. I was a nanny for two years — I love kids, and at least it paid the rent.
We lived in a basement. Then a shared house with friends. Then our own apartment.
That's how you build this. Brick by brick. Winter by winter.
And we always said: baby by end of 2026. We had everything calculated — age, savings, the perfect timing.
(My age more than anything else. But don't you dare call me old or I'm shutting this whole blog down.)
We. Had. The. Plan.
And then January 2025 happened.
The surprise that changed everything
I had gallbladder surgery scheduled for January 13th. The pre-op blood test came back negative for pregnancy.
Perfect, I thought. Everything normal. No drama.
Spoiler: not everything normal.
My baby was already there. Inside. Invisible to the test, but completely real.
Fourteen days later — January 27, 2025 — I walked alone into a mall bathroom with a test in my hand.
I waited.
I looked.
It didn't show two lines. It showed one word:
pregnant.
I stood there staring at that word like it was going to change its mind.
It did not change its mind.
I told my mom over a video call. Crying and laughing at the same time, unable to figure out what I was actually feeling — I think it was everything, all at once, all mixed together.
I told my husband over a video call. Not with the romantic surprise I'd always imagined. No balloon. No cupcake. No perfect TikTok moment.
Just me in a mall bathroom. Shaky voice. Watery eyes.
And all I wanted in that moment was to hug someone.
I couldn't. Everyone was thousands of miles away.
Happy and bittersweet. Both things. At the same time.
Have you ever needed to hold someone who wasn't there?
"God's plans are perfect" — we've always said that.
What an incredible way to prove it.
The loneliness nobody warned you about
Nobody tells you what it actually feels like to raise a baby far from home.
It's not the language. It's not the seven-month winter. It's not figuring out how healthcare works in a different country — though that has its own horror episode, don't worry, we'll get there.
It's the 3am loneliness. And it looks a lot like this:
- — The question that feels too dumb to Google.
- — The fear you can't quite name.
- — The baby crying and you've been trying to figure it out for forty minutes.
- — A slightly stuffy nose that, in a baby that's only weeks old, feels like a five-alarm emergency.
(It's not. But at 3am, it absolutely is.)
Is this normal? — the question I asked myself about a million times.
My solution: artificial intelligence. Yes. I mean it.
AI became my best friend in the middle of the night. Doesn't judge me. Doesn't sigh. Doesn't say "well, back when I was a mom…" — which is the phrase I hate most in the entire known universe, said with all the love in the world.
It just answers. Always. At any hour.
And missing your mom — that one doesn't translate well into any language.
Mine came. She stayed four months with us. And I still had moments where I missed her like she was thousands of miles away. I thought I'd made peace with the distance.
Spoiler: nope. But it's what we have. And we make it work.
This is not a manual
I have the tools. Social communicator. Master's in social media. Years of understanding how stories are told and how communities are built.
I just needed something real to say. Something from the inside — not from the manual. Which, as we've established, doesn't exist.
Mama Unscripted exists because I needed a place to process all of this while I'm actually living it:
- — The surprise pregnancy.
- — The first year.
- — The fears I don't share with everyone.
- — The 3am questions.
- — The beautiful moments and the ones that are definitely not.
No pose. No filter. No pretending I know what I'm doing.
Because I don't. None of us fully do. We're all just figuring it out with varying amounts of caffeine.
And if this helps even one first-time mom anywhere in the world — it was all worth it.
If you're reading this with a cold cup of coffee,
full of doubts, or thinking "is this normal?"
Welcome.
There's no manual.
But you're not alone.
And even if you don't know exactly what you're doing —
you're doing it right.
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