BIRTH STORY

I started my family later in life, later than most. At thirty-nine, my medical chart labeled my pregnancy “geriatric,” a term suggesting sunset years rather than new beginnings. It was absurd. There I was, creating life, not a swan song.

Two years later, my second son made an early debut, landing us in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). He was born at thirty-three weeks and barely three and a half pounds. His body was still finishing the work of becoming ready for the world.

In those early days, he couldn’t coordinate sucking, swallowing, and breathing. He was fed through a vein with Total Parenteral Nutrition, individualized and adjusted daily to meet his needs, while his body developed the maturity needed for digestion.

His tiny diapers were changed regularly, diaper rash cream smoothed on each time.

Curious, I picked up the tube and read the label. Synthetic preservatives. Artificial fragrance. Petrolatum. Talc. These substances, again and again, touched my preemie’s thin, permeable skin.

So much care and precision went into his feedings. And yet what was applied to his skin, what his body could meaningfully take in, received far less thought.

I wanted my baby to grow stronger. To be nourished in ways that would build resilience, not merely maintain the status quo. I didn’t want to surround his vulnerable body with inert substances that offered nothing, or worse, with compounds that could quietly undermine his health over time.

The cream wasn’t just a physical exposure. It was a philosophical one. It asked whether my child’s vitality mattered enough for me to remain awake, discerning, and willing to choose consciously on his behalf. I couldn’t unsee what it revealed.

How readily the “standard” becomes unquestioned. How easily we allow habit, protocol, and assumption to think for us.

Early exposures shape what an infant's body learns to recognize and tolerate. My son's skin barrier was incomplete. His detoxification pathways were still maturing. Synthetic compounds were being applied repeatedly to him before he had finished forming the mechanisms to process them.

I wanted care that didn't ask his body to work harder than it could. I wanted ingredients that belonged to living systems, ones his developing tissue could recognize and use, rather than compounds it had to learn to defend against.

I refused to accept that compromise for my son. If his nutrition deserved such precision, so did what touched his skin. I set out to create what I could not find.

That meant ingredients as safe and nourishing as a baby's first foods. Plant-based. Certified food-grade. Certified organic. It meant omitting water to remove the need for preservatives and emulsifiers that can burden delicate skin. It meant supporting skin's natural intelligence rather than forcing it to adapt. These standards weren't aspirational. They were necessary.

The botanical butters I created transformed how I cared for both my boys' skin. They gave me true peace of mind.

Other parents were scrutinizing labels, questioning what they'd been told was safe, and searching for care that honored their children's vitality. They needed this choice, too.

Cocoa LaBear was born from that commitment.

Every child is born to bloom.