This is Preg. I built it for my wife.
Megan got pregnant a little over a year ago. The way I knew how to be useful to her was the way I'd been useful to patients for years — by paying attention, writing things down, and knowing what was coming next. I'm a nurse. She's not. So the first version of Preg was a single screen that told her how many weeks along she was. Then it had a journal. Then a place to count kicks. By her third trimester it had thirty screens, three modes, an AI that reads pregnancy textbooks, and a bulletin board where our families could leave hearts on the photos. Now it's on the web, installable on your phone today, and getting ready for the App Store.
Preg is on the web now — the same app, installable from your phone's browser in about a minute.
One app, three phases, both partners.
Preg has a phase switcher at the top. The home screen reshapes itself depending on whether you're in pregnancy, labor, or postpartum. Right now Megan is in the second trimester, so her home screen leads with the week count, today's mood prompt, and the kick counter. The day labor starts, the same app flips to a different home — contractions, hospital bag, 5-1-1 rule, the Send Labor Alert button — and after the baby arrives it flips again to feeding, sleep, and mood tracking for both partners.
The dashboard reads like a careful nurse wrote it.
Day and date at the top. A pregnancy progress bar. Week, trimester, weeks remaining, and due date — all visible without scrolling. Below that, today's journal prompt, a five-emoji mood scale, symptom tracking, the kick counter, and the medication checklist. None of it is gamified. None of it is colorful for the sake of being colorful. It looks the way the apps I've wished existed at work would look.
When labor starts, the whole app changes shape.
Nobody should need to remember anything on that day. The contraction timer runs the 5-1-1 rule for you. The hospital bag checklist is already filled in. Birth preferences are one tap away. Partner coaching cards are written in plain language for the support partner to read out loud. And the Send Labor Alert button is the largest, easiest-to-find thing on the screen — one press and the family bulletin board lights up.
After the baby — recovery, feeding, sleep, and both of you.
The thing that scares me most as a nurse is postpartum depression, and the way it gets missed because nobody asks the partner. Preg's postpartum mode tracks mood for both partners, not just the one who gave birth. It logs feedings, sleep, and diapers without making it feel like data entry. And it has partner prompts — small daily questions written in a human voice — so the supporting partner keeps showing up.
A private bulletin board for the people you love.
We didn't want a baby Instagram. We wanted a porch — somewhere our parents, siblings, and a handful of friends could see the ultrasound, leave a heart, write a one-line note, and not have it indexed by anyone. So I built it. It looks like a real cork board, it updates in real time, and it lives right here at Preg HQ. Family joins with a one-time invite code. When we tap Send Labor Alert in the app, a glowing card pins itself to the top of the board for everyone watching.
An AI that reads six real pregnancy textbooks.
The most useful thing I could give Megan was a small honest librarian. So I bought six of the books OBs and midwives actually recommend, fed them into a Vertex AI Gemini model with retrieval, and built a Cloud Function backend that answers her questions with citations to the actual page she'd find the same answer on. When she asks is this symptom normal at 22 weeks, she gets a real answer with a real source. Not a search result. Not a panic spiral.
Nine months of pattern, one screen at a time.
The Trends Dashboard has nine sections — mood over time, symptoms, workouts, kicks, a calendar heatmap, a trimester breakdown, an appointments log. Most of these were Megan's ideas. She'd notice a thing — my mood is always lower the day before an appointment — and I'd build the chart for it. Then it'd turn out to be true.
Yes, there are games.
Tic-Tac-Toe. Connect Four. A daily word puzzle. Chess. Checkers. All async, all turn-based, all synced through Firestore so a couple plays across the day — a move at breakfast, a move on a lunch break, a move after work. Megan is much better at the word game. I'm slightly better at chess. The scoreboard remembers.
Resources for the rest of the family.
If someone you love is pregnant and you landed here from their Village, this part is for you — short, practical guides for partners, grandparents-to-be, big siblings, and best friends. How to actually help. What to say. What to bring to the hospital. No medical advice, just the stuff nobody writes down.
Real merch, mostly sensible.
A small shop of things we'd actually want to own: the Send Labor Alert mug, the 5-1-1 tote, a hospital-bag checklist poster you can frame by the door. Printed and shipped on demand. One hoodie is permanently not for sale — Megan's. You can look, but you can't have it.
I'm not a developer. I'm a nurse. I made this anyway.
I want to be straight about that. I've never worked at a tech company. I used AI coding tools — a lot of them — to learn fast and ship fast. But every screen on Megan's phone is a screen I designed and decided on. Every paragraph in this app is one I wrote or edited. Every bug Megan reported, I fixed. The thing I had that mattered was ten years of watching how pregnant patients actually use their phones in a clinic, and a wife who is willing to tell me when something is annoying. That's the app that's coming to the App Store: the one that already works, for the two people it was built for first.