When I was younger, my mom used to task me with watering all her house plants every morning, which honestly felt more like a chore than an honor.
I’d trudge my way from room to room, looking for any greenery that needed a little drink, and silently curse my mom for needing to turn our modest home into a d**n jungle .
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Of course, now that I’m older, I definitely understand where she was coming from because I need at least four plants in every single room of my own place.
I’m not happy unless I feel like I’m literally surrounded by beautiful green leaves, some attached to vines cascading down from their pots while others sprout up towards the ceiling with lush pride .
But here’s the thing: I’m absolutely, positively *terrible* at keeping my poor plant babies alive.
It’s not for lack of trying, either. I research each new addition to my home so I can determine where they’ll best be suited, I follow a strict watering schedule, and I whisper sweet-nothings to them every time I pass by so they know they’re loved.
Yet somehow I always end up with yellowing leaves that wither before my very eyes as if to say, “*You did this, you monster*!”
Okay, admittedly I’ve gone off my watering schedule once or twice. And yeah, maybe sometimes the “shady” spot I determined would suit one plant baby best turns out to be way sunnier then I had originally thought.
But it really feels like all it takes is the teeniest, tiniest mistake to wipe out an entire population of green fellas.
I don’t know, maybe I’m not cut out to be a plant mom, and maybe I should stick to buying the fake stuff from now on.
Or (hear me out), maybe plants are finicky little a******s who ask too much from us and give up all hope when we make one little mistake.
At any rate, this tweet just reminded me I haven’t watered my own babies today so let’s all say a quick prayer that they don’t punish me for that.
Last Updated on August 13, 2020 by Caitlyn Clancey
