I pretty much swore—up, down, and back again that I would not be a mommy blogger. Sure, kiddos and the lessons we learn from them are incredible fodder for writing. Teaching dozens of children on Guam taught me that. Kids are the best; they are hilarious, thought-provoking, and they can completely crush you in both beautiful and tragic ways. But still, it was a resounding “no” to mommy blogs. I did not want to add another drop to such a saturated section of the blogosphere.
Now, I think a lot of mommy blogs are great. They offer some clever tips and candid moral support, and I frequented them plenty during my pregnancy. I just did not want to write one of them. And I still don’t, but I’ve been examining my motives why.
One of the reasons I wanted to avoid writing a blog dedicated to the art of motherhood is that I wanted to be cool—to be unchanged from this mama deal, or at least, I didn’t want it to swallow me.
If I must be a social media/blog mommy, then by golly let me be looking totally cute and thin with a baby perched on one hip in a carefree fashion as I glide through life, smiling with my fancy diaper bag (that doesn’t look like a diaper bag) and an iced coffee. None of this here’s-my-birth-story for perfect strangers to read and photos of me nursing my baby while simultaneously showing everyone my rather maimed abdomen, while I offer some coupon links at the bottom of the post. Heck no.
I wanted to remember what it was to be single or without a child, and remember that photos of my child are most likely not the highlight of anyone’s day besides her close relatives. I questioned the wisdom of sharing a lot of personal information on the internet. Children are people and deserve respect and privacy as they grow. My goal was to be well-rounded, to not obsess over everything baby-related in a public forum, and to remain open to and interested in people with all sorts of lifestyles whether or not they were moms like me.
I still feel this way, but a few things have changed. And being a rational person, I knew things would change. I knew my body would change. My skin has stretched and plumped and housed a beautiful, smart, and takes-my-breath-away baby girl. I knew it would be precious to hold my girl, but I didn’t know just how precious and how natural it would feel. My life has, in some ways, been consumed by her existence. A giant, glassy wave of beauty crashed over me, pulled me in, and I am left beautifully marred and tragically whole. In a way I feel like I was made for this and that I have in some odd, twilight zone way always been a mother.
Yet, I have mourned the girl, the girl who traipsed through Malaysia right after a political uprising and hitchhiked down a mountain. The girl who instigated shenanigans with college girlfriends and could fit into those size 4 jeans. The girl who could just hop in the car and chill at the beach. The girl who left everything to live with strangers on a tiny island in the Pacific. Her. I missed her.
What I am learning, is that I still am that person, for that person has always been changing and growing. And just as I learned and grew from other experiences and roles in my life, so I will from this one. The weight of motherhood is surpassed only by its joy. What pure delight to see our Talitha Rose smile, and what satisfaction it brings to know that I am doing my best to care for her.
Will I be able to continue blogging with no mention whatsoever of my little puffin? No, probably not. She is an ever fixed mark (thank you, Shakespeare) upon my heart, so motherhood will be an aspect of my writing, just not the focal point. I am still working on what my niche is in the blogosphere, and I am excited to hone my skills and invite you, dear reader, along for the journey. May we all be encouraged and God be glorified. For now, life goes on, and it’s filled with newness and a lot of talk about poop. But there are also whispers of wonder: “My word, we made her.” Oh wait, this totally isn’t a mommy blog.
Photo Credit: Creationfoto by Barbara Sanders
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