So I just got finished reading the entirity of Mr. Nice Guy's excellent blog about becoming a daddy. I laughed, I cried. Really laughed and really cried. At work. (how embarrassing!) Not only did it give me some much needed hey-I'm-not-the-only-one-who-loves-my-new-daughter-madly-while-simultaneously-wanting-to-just-shake-her-sometimes goodness, it gave me the bright idea of starting an anonymous blog about stuff...mostly about trying how to figure out how the hell to become a mother. Because I was not born a mother. I was never that interested in becoming a mother. But then one day biology hunted me down and sat on my chest and shook me by the shoulders and said "listen, I'm going to make everything you hold dear suddenly implode unless you get pregnant NOW". So I did.
And now I have a daughter. The cutest six month old that ever existed. I love her voraciously and fear her and what she's doing to my life. It was a pretty...how shall I say...so-so life to begin with. But it had its moments. I'd stumbled into a marriage (also something I never planned for myself) that was sometimes rough but mostly the best thing that had ever happened to my happiness levels. I had a boring but serviceable job that let me do things like read blogs all day on a frighteningly regular basis. I had gone through some recent therapy and self-helpy art groups that had helped me throw some long-time monkeys off of my back. I lived in a city that I pretty much dug. Life was better than ever.
And now it's better than better than ever. But it also feels more precarious. More like I'm always on the verge of something big and/or life changing and/or euphoria inducing and/or tragic. And it's fucking unsettling.
Hence this blog. I don't really expect anybody to read this. I just need a place to be a bad speller, bad writer, bad parent. If you like other people's navel gazing (I know I do), then welcome. Let's talk babies or being a working parent or being married or books or movies or growing up in a psycho religious household. Whatevs.
And now I have a daughter. The cutest six month old that ever existed. I love her voraciously and fear her and what she's doing to my life. It was a pretty...how shall I say...so-so life to begin with. But it had its moments. I'd stumbled into a marriage (also something I never planned for myself) that was sometimes rough but mostly the best thing that had ever happened to my happiness levels. I had a boring but serviceable job that let me do things like read blogs all day on a frighteningly regular basis. I had gone through some recent therapy and self-helpy art groups that had helped me throw some long-time monkeys off of my back. I lived in a city that I pretty much dug. Life was better than ever.
And now it's better than better than ever. But it also feels more precarious. More like I'm always on the verge of something big and/or life changing and/or euphoria inducing and/or tragic. And it's fucking unsettling.
Hence this blog. I don't really expect anybody to read this. I just need a place to be a bad speller, bad writer, bad parent. If you like other people's navel gazing (I know I do), then welcome. Let's talk babies or being a working parent or being married or books or movies or growing up in a psycho religious household. Whatevs.
But at the very least let me vent some psychoses here. Where else can a girl let her dirty laundry air out?
P.S. Anonydads are welcome, too. "Anonymom" was already taken, so I had to go with "moms" which makes it sound like peni are excluded...they ain't. I fully expect to find my husband on here some day ranting about how his wife is so anally fixated on what kind of bananas go into her daughter's virgin mouth but yet she can't be bothered to clean the kitchen floor before letting her daughter lay down and tongue it...stuff like that.
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