Blogging: The New Commandment
Last week I sat down to write my final post. I felt that I was standing in the crossroads of blogging and mothering without any idea how to connect the two. I wasn't crazy about my blog becoming a journal of my journey to the motherhood dimension, but I was also hard pressed to find anything else to write about. I wake-up and mother, I eat lunch and mother, I sleep and mother. With my rock-and-roll lifestyle in my rear view, I made several attempts at writing about my (constant) breastfeeding activities. But such stories include descriptions of my anatomy, and I shant write about that when I don't know exactly who is reading. Like your shady uncle.
The simple answer was just to say my final farewell and end my blog, which like I said, I started to do one week ago. Previous to that I confided in couple of my colleagues (I just throw that word around sometimes when I feel too domestic) who included my most favorite Mormon Poet. Everyone was very encouraging and supported my decision. I didn't, however, tell Chup because he usually talks me out of making decisions based on my whimsical (postpartum) emotions. Darn that man I had matrimony with.
But as I wrote the promised post, I was hit hard with a writer's block which started in my head and slowly flowed to my gut wherein it manifested itself as a terrible, horrid stomachache. No matter how I fought through, the blockage remained. I was forced to admit that the time for blog-ending had not yet arrived. c jane (reluctantly) stay.
Last Friday I attended the always-intellectually-stimulating Segullah Writers Retreat hosted by my previously mentioned Mormon Poet. As she bounced The Chief from side-to-side in the sitting room she looked seriously at me.
"You didn't end it."
"I got a stomachache."
"I know what that means."
"It means you were about to do something wrong."
But why? Why was ending my blog to focus on mothering the wrong decision? Most Ensign articles would say it was the right decision. The question remained all week until finally today the answer was manifested in the Ensign itself--a magazine I skim through promising myself that one day, when I am really grown up, I will really read from cover to cover.
It was Elder Ballard's article encouraging us computer-friendly Mormon's to use the internet for good. Reading the article reminded me of the awesome posts I've read over the years (did I just say "over the years"?) that have made a difference in my life (did I just say "made a difference in my life"?) from open bloggers who have unselfishly offered snippets of their life with me. Just last week my friend ~J blogged about her hometown and that post, I kid you not (did I just say "I kid you not"?) made me love her even more.
I also used the blog-post of another friend to make a most-delicious bread salad for a party this weekend. Handy too, this internet world. Especially since this very friend--met through the blog community--has become one of my cherished (I did just write "cherished") chums.
And then there is this amazing blogging community. Throughout my pregnancy and subsequent childbirth Chup and I have been spoiled with gifts, gatherings, e-mails etc. Not a day goes by that we aren't blessed (seriously, so) with a visit, a package or even a onesie with hand-sewn brass knuckles. Somewhere in my three years of blogging I have become attached to friends both met, unmet, and also not-yet-met. I'd like to think that this is what Elder Ballard meant about using the internet for good.
Maybe I do have more blogging inside my soul. Maybe I can figure out how to do be a (gulp) mommy blogger. Maybe the public record of my life can serve a purpose. Even if all I do is nurse my infant, burp my infant, engage my infant and repeat. Welcome to my new life (does it sound familiar?)
So I blog on, my friends. More stories about Chup, The Chief and me to follow. My posts from here on out might wax and wane with inconsistent droppings of literary doo-das. I ask you to please remember, I am still trying to figure it all out. (!!!)
Of course, I want to thank you for reading my stories . . . and letting me read yours.