Once you stop writing, it is so, so hard to get started again.
I had to lay off the weekly posts when we first found out I was expecting as they would have weeks and weeks of ‘laid about all weekend, ate Cheerios’. How I was feeling about that time now lives in long forgotten conversations with M and buried in text message threads.
I love this blog. It’s been a record of our lives since we before got engaged, which…is nearly six years. I don’t want it to go anywhere but I’ve no idea how to blog about being pregnant, or being a mama, or my kid for that matter. My tin foil hat is firmly rooted on my head and I know *exactly* how much information someone can glean about you from your online presence. It’s great when it’s for coupons and putting the right media in front of me; but, when it’s about my kid, I get nervous. They haven’t consented to any of it. My personal ‘do I blog this?’ barometer is would I feel comfortable saying the same thing to Matt Lauer on Good Morning America? But for my kid? I just have no idea what they’d feel comfortable spilling to America over their Cheerios.
We live in an incredibly uneven digital world. I’ve seen naked photos of kids I do not know, posted by famous blog parents (and even some via friends of friends on Facebook). In Europe, your data cannot leave the continent and French law now allows for children to sue their parents over images that are shared of them. The world is full of evil, and no matter how locked down you think a iPod or Facebook account is, the fact remains, once it is on the internet, anyone can get it if they want to badly enough.
I don’t want to stop writing but I, swear, the only thing I can talk about this coming baby. So, for now, may heaven have mercy on my friends, subjected to an endless barrage of texts.