Leah’s phone was full of baby checklists: swaddles, bottles, carriers, sleep sacks. She could tell you the exact size diaper her daughter would need at every stage, but if you’d asked her, “What do you want this first year to look like?” she would’ve blanked.
By month three, she was running on coffee and panic. Her days blurred into feeds and naps. Somewhere between “you’ll miss this” posts and “enjoy every second” advice, she realized: no one had given her permission to have a vision for herself, not just for the baby.
One afternoon, while the baby slept on her chest, she opened LunaBoard with one hand and typed four words: “My First Year As Mom.”
Drawing a Circle That Includes You
She started with three sections:
- Baby’s World
- Our Family
- Me (Still Here)
Under Baby’s World, she added the expected things:
- Milestones she was excited about (first laugh, solid foods, first trip to the park)
- A few favorite outfits and blankets
- A picture of a calm, cozy nursery - not perfect, just safe
Under Our Family, she dragged in:
- A photo of her and her partner pre-baby, laughing over takeout
- A picture of grandparents holding a baby (not theirs yet, but soon)
- A text block: “More help, less martyrdom”
Under Me (Still Here), she scrolled way back in her camera roll and added:
- A picture of her painting before pregnancy
- A screenshot of a playlist she used to run to
- A photo of a coffee shop where she loved to read alone
Just seeing all three sections on the same canvas was a radical act.
Naming What You Actually Want From This Year
Leah created a small text box at the top: “If this year is successful, it will feel like…”
She finished the sentence three times:
- “Connected, not perfect”
- “Supported, not heroic”
- “Messy but honest”
Then she added a few realistic hopes:
- “Shower alone most days”
- “One creative hour a week by the end of the year”
- “At least two date nights that don’t involve talking about nap schedules the whole time”
These weren’t Instagram captions. They were anchors.
Turning Support Into Something You Can See and Ask For
In Our Family, Leah started adding specific people:
- Her sister, who lived 20 minutes away
- Her best friend from college, who wasn’t a parent yet but had already said, “Put me on bottle duty”
- Her therapist’s website, dragged in as a link
Next to each, she placed a sticky note:
- “Ask her to come over once a month and just hold the baby while I shower/nap.”
- “Text her when I feel like I’m ‘failing’ - she’s good at talking me down.”
- “Schedule monthly check-in even if I feel ‘fine.’”
She also added a text block for her partner: “What I need from you this year” → short, clear bullets, not a vague “be supportive.”
It felt less like complaining and more like designing a support system.
Micro-Moments Just for You (That Don’t Require a Six-Hour Break)
In Me (Still Here), Leah started a list of tiny, doable things:
- “Drink one full glass of water before coffee”
- “Step outside once a day, even if it’s just the porch”
- “Put on a playlist I like during one feed”
She added images to match: a glass of water on a windowsill, a pair of sneakers by the door, album art from her favorite band.
Then, for later months, she added bigger ideas:
- “30-minute solo coffee outing at 6 months”
- “Art supplies on the kitchen table at 9 months”
- “One-night away trip by the end of the year (even if it’s a hotel 10 minutes away)”
She knew not all of them would happen. That wasn’t the point. The point was to remind herself, visually, that she existed beyond the role.
Letting the Board Evolve as the Baby Does
As the months went on:
- Some hopes got ✅ stickers (“Shower alone most days” became surprisingly achievable once she lowered her standards for “alone.”)
- Some got ❌ (“Baby music class every week” turned out to be too much.)
- New images appeared - a baby laughing in the bath, her partner wearing the baby in a carrier while cooking.
On the hardest days, Leah didn’t open social media. She opened the board.
She’d tap the voice note she’d recorded during an early, teary night: “You’re doing enough. Future you would be proud of you already.”
The vision wasn’t about controlling the year. It was about not disappearing inside it.
Frequently Asked Questions
Isn’t a vision board just one more thing on my already overloaded to-do list?
It can be, if you treat it like a craft project. But a simple digital board you add to in five-minute bursts can actually save you energy - by reminding you what matters this week and what can wait.
What if my first year looks nothing like what I hoped?
That’s part of the story. You’re allowed to change your board as reality changes. Crossing out “daily walks” and replacing it with “three walks this month” isn’t failure. It’s honesty.
Should I make this board just about the baby or include my own goals?
Include both. A healthy first year includes your baby’s needs and your own. Splitting the board into Baby/Family/Me can help you see where you’re pouring energy and where you need to refill.
Can I share this board with my partner or keep it private?
Either is okay. Some moms like a private board to be fully honest. Others share a version with their partner to make invisible needs visible. You can always keep one board just for you and another shared one for “family goals.”
Conclusion & Gentle Next Step
Leah didn’t “balance it all.” Some days, just brushing her teeth felt like a win. But having a quiet, visual place where both the baby and she mattered changed how that year felt.
If you’re heading into your first year of motherhood - or in the thick of it - consider giving yourself a canvas that holds more than nap schedules. Start a new mom vision board on LunaBoard and let it remind you, gently, that you’re in this picture too.