Your pregnancy, kept.
A flower for every week, drawn at your baby’s true size. A page you write on. A private place for the sounds and photographs you’ll want in twenty years.
Every week turns a page.
One small ceremony, once a week: the new flower opens, and the new page waits for whatever you want to put on it.
No feed, no streaks, no notifications begging you back. The week changes when you are ready — Zohra does not roll over at midnight and leave you behind — and it asks for a minute in return for a book.
Everything lands in one timeline.
Bump photographs, letters to your baby, milestones, voice notes, and the heartbeat sounds from appointments — anchored to their week, in order, and made into keepsake cards set like a letterpress studio set them.
On the free tier your memories stay on your phone — not encrypted on our servers, not on our servers at all.
It was built for 3am.
Pregnancy anxiety keeps its own hours. The dark pages are authored — plum and candlelit — never an inverted white screen.
And then, a name.
Rose is here.
Forty weeks of pages stand behind that sentence — the flowers, the letters, the sounds. They are not going anywhere.