I miss blogging.
I think blogging might be part of who I am. My generation has been putting our thoughts to the Internet since middle school. I remember spending far, far too much time creating a “buddy profile” and clever away messages on AIM… and oh, how many screen names I had! My friends and I changed our screen names like we changed our shoes.
I remember having a personal LiveJournal account and an account to share with a friend. I remember blogging through MySpace, writing notes on Facebook, and eventually having far too many blogs to trace.
My last blog was travel-focused. That’s what I do. My husband and I sold nearly everything we owned at one point and moved into a 1973 Winnebago Brave. We quickly found that to be far too unreliable and unsafe, so we upgraded to a truck and a trailer before officially hitting the road. We loved it, but something was missing. We decided to have a baby.
We started our night planning to have a baby in two years, after our trip to Alaska. We ended by scheduling an appointment with my doctor because kids like Alaska, right?
Now, here we are. Our little one just turned one and as much as we love travel, we live in an apartment instead of a trailer and it isn’t the main thing that defines us anymore.
We are husband and wife, travelers, outdoorsy, a little bit Paleo, church-goers, attempting to be do-gooders, and best of all, parents. We’re parents. We have a kid. For real.
I stopped blogging because of that kiddo. I love him so much its crazy. I wanted to protect him and his rights to privacy, spend our days together living instead of recording the moments for a blog, and spend less time getting online to post and read comments.
I still think all of those things are important… but I also think it’s important to foster and nourish the parts of me that are just me. I love being a wife and a mother more than anything, anything, anything… but I also love writing in a coffee shop, water-jogging on the side of a pool while I get lost in a good book, doing step-aerobics while I watch re-runs of The Biggest Loser, sitting in a lawn chair and listening to the birds while I eat more chocolate than I’d like to own up to.
So here I am. I’m here to write about my kid without writing about my kid. I’m here to talk about parenting without sharing anything might embarrass my someday-pre-teen, without sharing his name or showing his face.