December 07, 2007
I have a confession to make.
As well as eating of the humble pie.
I followed a link someone had to me the other day only to discover the category they had me in. It was a first for me. It was a sign of the times. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times - oh wait. Someone else already went down that route.
Said category I was in was "Mommy Blogger".
And, well, I guess it was accurate.
I used to smirk at those women who wrote about their kids. Mommy blogger! was the implication. Don't you have a life? Jesus Christ, go back to the Mayfair! (yeah I don't know what the whole "Puritan" and "Mommy blogger" connection is there, just go with it.)
In many blogging circles the term "Mommy blogger" is the ultimate insult. It had an implication of being unserious about writing. To some, "mommy blogger" was used to infer the worst kind of insult -
"Botox user!"
"Racist sympathizer!"
"Squirrel shagger!"
"Oh yeah? Well you're a MOMMY BLOGGER!"
(Pause for collective gasp of horror.)
See, as a non-mommy blogger I had a life, complete with matching job, boy and vibrator (it comes in a cute tartan pattern. The vibrator, not the boy.) I have a dog, too. Non-mommy bloggers have dogs. Mommy bloggers have Diaper Genies, SUVs and practical shoes. They don't have lives. They also have hoardes of people who read them who are also mommies, albeit perhaps without the blogs.
And although I wanted to be a mommy, I most definitely did not want to be a mommy blogger. Mommy bloggers were the disdain of the non-mommy blogging community. That, and mommy bloggers had posses who would kick your ass without using spellcheck. Best to avoid that sitch.
Then I got pregnant. It's not like it was an accident, it was something I had been trying to do for a great big long goddamn time. Once pregnant, I found (especially towards the end) that all I had to talk about was the pregnancy. But the truth is, I write about whatever's occupying my mind. I had a rough pregnancy. I had a twin pregnancy. I spent a lot of time peeing in bathtubs. It kinda' makes you think about one subject a lot.
And now I have my babies. I have them here and time is flying and in no time I'll be back to work and my children will be supplying me with dodgy looking desserts from their Ea-z Bake Ovens and performing complicated trigonometry. But until all that starts, I am home with them. Some days it's just me and them and I love that. Some days it's all four of us at home and I love that too. But work, there's no room for that in my thoughts just now, not just because I'm on maternity leave, but because at work there's been a huge re-organization, I'm not sure where my work will lie, and if I think about it I'll just get stressed out. So I spare my brain power.
My blog has always been about what's on my mind. There are a few topics I can't discuss here - I talk about Angus' and my disagreements, but there are limits to what I can or should discuss. I can't talk about my family visits because The Others in my family read this site, and I am just not interested in getting my father and stepmother in trouble. I'm not working so I don't talk about work.
I talk about my babies a lot.
But that's kind of ok with me.
In case you haven't guessed, I'm very in love with my babies. But it's more than that - I love all kinds of things about them. I love that I have a boy and a girl. Seriously. I feel like a kid in a candy store with that, I have a son and a daughter. And you betcha' I dress them in pink and blue every chance I get, mostly to stave off the "Are they both boys or girls?" question, but also because I love standing with one foot in both kingdoms. I have a boy. And a girl. I will have Barbies and trucks and Lego and princess castles and I do not care which sex plays with which - it's all encouraged.
(I lie - I'll totally encourage her to be as masculine as she wants, and he, as feminine.)
I'm not gloating, honest. I'm not "Ha Ha Herman, Charlie Brown" about it. I guess I just feel like I won the lottery. I feel bowled over. I'm a Mommy. No doubt I lost people who read when I got pregnant, as not only do people going through fertility treatment sometimes need to bail on pregnant blogs to protect themselves, but suddenly I was less angst, more pregnancy around here. Maybe I lost people when the babies were born, as suddenly I was less angst/less pregnancy and more "My baby can beat up your baby. Also? Hearts and flowers and ponies and tralala I love poopy diapers." (Which I don't, they're just a part of life.)
The angst is still there, but a part of my angst has abated thanks to the babies. I'm not saying children are a one-way ticket to mental health, but for me they're in part a catharsis - I guess I feel like I can be a better mother to them thanks to the therapy I've been through. Maybe I'm wrong, only time will tell, but I have infinite patience with them due in no small part to the work that needed doing on myself. Some re-plastering, a splash of paint, and I think I'm a better person inside so I can be a better person for them.
I owe a mea culpa to any woman who is a mother and writes about her children. It doesn't make you a mommy blogger. It just means you write about your life. In that same vein, not every post will be about my children, but right now it may tend to be overly baby. I hope you stick around. If not, I understand.
I write about all that I am, and I am many things. I am a woman. I am a partner and a lover. I'm a friend and a hard-worker. I'm damaged and repaired and hopeful.
I'm also a mommy.
And a blogger.
And all of these surround me and define me and make me complete, albeit with a few Band-Aids here and there.
-H.
PS-the doctor visit - both babies are still in the 2nd percentile, proving that no matter how much you feed them, some babies refuse to give up the anorexic chic look. They're both very healthy, just tiny. 8.8 pounds, both of them (Nick finally caught up and weighs the same as Nora!) They don't want us to change formulas, as both babies are hearty eaters and very healthy, they're just small.
As for the shots, Nora screamed once at a volume that could combust glass. Then she looked at the nurses with a "Is that all you got? Bring it, bitches! I can take it!" look, and once she realized the shots were indeed finished she promptly fell asleep. Nick, on the other hand, not only bled like a stuck pig but was as one commenter said - he looked at me with such hurt, such a look of "Mommy? I thought you loved me? How could you betray me like that, hooooooooow?"
Man that hurt. Hurt me, I mean. Him, he recovered with a bottle and a cuddle, but I sure hated feeling like I offered him up as an experiment.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
09:15 AM
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