Happy Smallidays!

I have a tiny human sleeping in a sling on my chest. She’s all curled up right now, not stretchted out to her 2 feet of length, which she often likes to do these days. She’s a snuggly little cuddle-worm; yes, I’m now blogging in babytalk. Can’t help myself.

So if you’re going to be snowed in, do it with a newborn! They keep you busy, require work, and provide many many rewards. If you don’t own one, rent one (i.e. babysit!). The many noises and facial expressions each one comes with will make you forget the sound of your smartphone, pager, crackberry, and/or inner voices.

Christmas was spent with our new little family, and yes, this was taken with a self-timer and a tripod (and required several takes - and we're still missing half of Mike's face!). We awoke to few snow flurries, and I made breakfast: mimosas, povatetsa (amazing Polish pastry bread sent from Mike’s parents every year), and my specialty, candied bacon. We opened presents and Skyped with both families. Mike chipped in for lunch, initiating his new tradition of making something new every year, which in this case was roasted tomato goat cheese open-faced sandwiches. We took a relaxing walk round the frozen pond, and then topped the evening off with some honey-baked ham, roasted tomato soup, arugala salad, and fresh-baked chocolate chip roasted walnut cookies, first playing Heavy Rain (Mike’s xbox 360 Christmas gift to himself), and watching Christmas vacation.

So we missed our families, but we really had the best Christmas ever! Babies make good presents....

Hope everyone had a falalalala good time this year!

My baby daddy came home!

That was, essentially, my facebook status update today. How ridiculous, right? But yes, it's true, M came home today and yin and yang are back in balance. What's even more wonderful, is that I managed to take a 90 minute nap! The exhaustion struck hard when M came through the front door, and so I napped, and napped, and napped some more! I then had what I call a nap hangover (which is why I don't normally nap), but I took a walk around our freezing cold pond and woke up again. Then, and this is the best part, I went to a yoga class... by myself! Best class I ever took, too; I just relished every muscle burn and difficult pose. It was such a treat.

So of course having a baby changes everything... that's complete common knowledge. But what I didn't expect was that having a baby actually changes you, as in your essence: your thoughts, your feelings, your goals, your interests... and to take the easy road, I'll just take on that last bit. It changes how you want to spend your time, who with, the places you go, even the food you eat. If there was any indecision before, it's gone, replaced with a strong sense of intention and an enhanced ability to be efficient. Intention- if I don't go to that party, I won't feel the least bit guilty. Efficiency - I can now cook, eat, clean, and practically tame lions one-handed. Baby-unfriendly places don't even sound good to me; if it's intellectually stimulating, fun in an adult way, or later than 9pm and won't accomodate my stroller, provide me with a changing table, or an easy way to nurse or bottle-feed my baby, forget about it. I don't pine for my pre-baby life either (like I thought I might); I just think, what a nice, fun, and happy-go-lucky time that was! Not a care in the world...

Anyone (perhaps childless but not necesssarily) who reads this and worries that I've warped into one of those parents everyone always fears about, hold your concerns. What I'm really getting at is that I am content; I always knew that I'd love my baby more than anything and love being a mom, but what I didn't know was that I wouldn't pine for the past. Maybe some day I will, but right now I'm satisfied with what I managed to experience before G, and now I'm even more excited to see what little G will experience, whether it be laughing for the first time, sitting up, or gaining head control!

One down, four to go...

So I'm sitting this on night two (out of five) of single parenting. Let me set the scene for you... it's 8:40pm, I'm in baby base camp (what I now call our two living room couches, as they are cluttered with baby gear (hats,blankets, baby books, pacies, and burp cloths), and half-finished projects (my half-finished Christmas cards, a half eaten salad, a half a glass of wine, "half" of my camera - I'm attempting to finally charge it and download pics, a half pint of blueberries from day time snack, half-wrapped Christmas presents, and a half-written paper. Maybe I should have entitled this blog "halvies." All I know it is a good day if I finished half of what I set out to do: half of dinner, half of the laundry, even half a shower!

But we're doing well, we're rockin out. Girlfriend is upstairs slowly falling asleep, eyes half mast, and I'm trying not to stalk her (too much) on the video monitor. Wow what an invention! It was expensive, and it's a little much, but oh the peace of mind it offers! I like how it has a sound bar; so if you don't have the sound on, it gives you a visual warning of your baby crying - literally turns red like "DANGER DANGER!" So yes, my eight-week old is on video surveillance.

So we're trucking away at it, growing older, that is, while Daddy is at a conference in NYC. We miss him, he misses us, but we're getting along. I am tired though! Like a bone tired that I suspect only new moms and maybe first-year residents experience... like even if I got 8 hours of straight sleep (would be amazing!) it would take a number of those before I could fully recover from the sleep deprivation I now feel. It's like burned into my forehead, eyes, neck and shoulders.

So I guess I should sign off and go to bed!

Lessons from a Five-Weeker

So perhaps you’ve come across several of these witty, knowing essays or comfort books that view parenthood from hindsight, that remind us all of older adults who with a wink and a nod speak volumes of having been there and done that with a newborn, toddler, and teenager. But now, it’s my turn. These are the most recent things I’ve learned from G:

1. At 3am, the standard footie pajama snaps will have me more perplexed than solving calculus problems.

2. There is a certain natural law to pooping, much like gravity: if I haven’t seen a poop in about 3 diapers, I’m in for a showdown involving at least 3 fresh diapers and 2 changing pads.

3. The dynamics of a five-week old’s facial expression rivals any academy-award winning performance.

4. My five-weeker has made my husband and I closer, on many levels, but partially because we are now battling a force to be reckoned with... in contemplating our next move, I find myself looking at him only to see the same bewildered expression on his face. Plan schman.

5. Five weekers don’t come with a manual, yet I seem to be poring over every baby book we have trying to solve our feed-to-feed mysteries.

6. The grunts, sighs, and gurgles that come out of my five-week olds asleep or awake little body are the coolest sounds I have ever heard.

Okay that’s six, so one for each week and and one to grow on!

My Tiny Human

Motherhood is kicking my ass. There; I said it. I’m actually typing this when I should be in bed, between my new baby and my concerned husband - he’s genuinely and rightly worried about the impact prolonged bouts of broken sleep might have on his already slightly manic wife. But I need to get these words out before I forget them again; I now inhabit one of two spaces; the stupor of the sleep-deprived, or the acumen of the adrenaline-pumped newly parented. In the former, I can barely remember my name; in the latter, I could’ve written my dissertation in a week.

In this rare moment of lucidity, however, I raced downstairs to type some thoughts into my blog... only to be interrupted by my tiny human (soonafter said tiny human vomited all over herself, me, and our brest friend). So I am now finishing this day after, and I can’t remember what I was going to say.

One thing I will say, though, is I think my baby sometimes switches places with another baby... one who likes to trick me into thinking she wants to eat when really she wants to sleep, or has me go through 3 diapers in a single change... but both babies are so cute I don’t mind guessing!

Which baby are you going to be today, Gracie?

The Road to Continence

WARNING: This post is rated “C” for candid...

So people often think about continence, or more likely, incontinence, as referring to one type of bodily fluid, but after having a baby, I assure you that there is more than one kind. I can count four, no five, if you count night sweats, types of incontinence that accompany the postnatal period. My goal here is not to disgust, but rather to educate... or at least come clean.

Let’s start with the most obvious: tears. Wow has new mama cried. And it takes so little; really no external stimulus required. Maybe it’s nature’s way of helping you to empathize with your new baby, who also has incontinence of the eyes. All I know is that SPCA commercials, music with any sort of meaningful lyric, and anything but the happiest of tones of voice should be kept out of the vicinity of new mamas. Although it won’t matter, they’ll cry anyway.

Dairy cow. That needs to be milked, particularly first thing in the morning, or else the second kind of incontinence.

The night sweats thing might have somewhat to do with the space heater now occupying our room, but it’s also hormones, I’m sure.

The remaining two I’m not going to divulge much information about here, because they’re rather private, but let me just say they are reasons number two and three of why a private room after birth is a must (followed only by the importance of the precious couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep needed for survival). There’s a lot of trauma that happens downstairs, and for a while baby won’t be the only one wearing diapers. And I’m not talking about poo.

At day 21 of Grace’s sweet little life, I’d say I’m about 80% continent. I’m on my way back!

Plumpkins

About a week or so before I gave birth, my cousin Jenny called me with a request. In her usual fashion she asked me to agree to said request before stating it, and in my usual fashion I told her I had my fingers crossed, but yes, let’s hear it.

“I want you to paint your pregnant belly orange, like a pumpkin, and with a jack’o’lantern face, and take pictures of it” (this she gets out between deep inhales, the kind that accompany whole body laughs).

In my 9-months-and-counting tired pregnant state, I say “sure, why not, but I don’t have any orange paint... tell you what, I’ll let the committee think it over.”

Within 24 hours I start getting the following correspondence:

Letter 1:
Dear Soon-to-be Mama Kent,

As co-committee chairman from the Ohio sector, I am for the proposal to paint your belly as a jack-o-lantern. I want you to know that you don't have to present a formal proposal to me as I understand that time is of the essence. I too was proposed when I was pregnant to dance a lot and I did with a half smile on my face :) Now, I'm asking you to do the same. I vote yes for Operation Baby Kent Costume. This will be a great photo-op for Spot and his new baby sister.

Best Regards,

Shannon Beckwith
Co-committee Member Representative
Columbus, Ohio

Letter 2:
Dear Drs. Kent,

As committee chairman from the California sector, I am for the proposal to paint your baby as a jack-o-lantern. I want you to know that you don't have to present a formal proposal to me as I understand that time is of the essence. I'm already on board. I vote yes for Operation Baby Kent Costume. This will be a great photo-op for Spot and his new baby sister.

Best Regards,

Erica Bardin
Committee Member Representative
Santa Monica, CA

Letter 3:
Dear Drs. Kent,

As committee chairman from the Ohio sector, I am for the proposal to paint your baby as a jack-o-lantern. I want you to know that you don't have to present a formal proposal to me as I understand that time is of the essence. I'm already on board. I vote yes for Operation Baby Kent Costume. This will be a great photo-op for Spot and his new baby sister.

Best Regards,

Beverly J Logan
Committee Member Representative
Canfield, Ohio

And I would have done it; I swear! Gracie had other ideas, however, about starting her industry career as a festively painted fetal gourd. Luckily, Uncle Spot came to the rescue and agreed to take on the starring role as Plumpkin.

Graces us with her presence

Grace Carolyn Kent was born at 6:34pm on October 11, 2010 (Columbus Day), weighing 7lbs 6oz and measuring about 19.5 inches. She came, as Daddy predicted, 2 weeks early. Her place of birth is officially the Nation’s Capital, since our hospital (Sibley Memorial) is located in the District. Every moment with her has been a gift, one that no baby class, pregnancy book, or months spent planning and building a nursery could have prepared us for.

Sunday, October 10, Mike and I were enjoying a beautiful fall day in Maryland and decided to go pumpkin and apple picking. We drove out to Homestead Farm, just west of us, and brought home about 3 dozen apples and a couple of smart looking pumpkins. We drove home, relaxed for a bit, and then our friend Ryan came over and we had some tacos and left to see The Social Network (good, sad, movie, by the way, sort of a moment-in-time flick). Drove home went to bed, happy to both have the next day off...

So I wake up for my now per-usual bi-hourly potty break, do my business, come back to bed, and gush.... “Mike, Mike! Either I just wet the bed or my water just broke!” What I was actually thinking was, oh no! I’m officially incontinent! I cannot be trusted! I’m going to have to stop working early! I did not, repeat, not, think that my water broke. It wasn’t the volume I had expected; I fully intended to go my whole 40 weeks and then some; I hadn’t really felt what I thought a contraction would feel like; and I had always pictured us laboring at home those first 8 hours. But of course we got up, called the OB on call, who told me he didn’t think it was my water, as this happening before labor starts is rare in first time moms. He told me to walk around to see if more water would come, which I did, and it did. So, I showered, we gathered the pre-packed (thankfully) bags, a little bit of food, and started for the hospital around 5. When we arrived, an OB nurse checked me and told me that no, she didn’t need to look at anything under a microscope; my water had indeed broken, and I was going to have this baby today. The last part she had to repeat a few times, since I was still in denial!

So now we had moved into our rather nice birthing suite, and I was instructed to roam the halls for an hour and a half, and that then they would start me on pitocin. I did, and it was so weird! I still didn’t feel any contractions. We called the parents, and ambled along. Once they started me on pitocin, I was hooked up to a prenatal monitor that could follow the baby’s heartbeat and my contractions. I could still get up and out of bed, but I had to make sure I took the IV pole with me (I almost forgot once on the way to the restroom and was snapped back. I started feeling contractions around 9 or so, and unfortunately they came rather irregularly. Light, then manageable, at first, but they got increasingly more intense. Nurses continued to come in and ask me how my pain was, which was first a 2, then a 3-4, and steadily rising to a 5-6. Mike rubbed my arms and back, and I sat on the ball for a bit, but soon I was lying in the fetal position, eyes closed, holding onto the bedrails for dear life. My contractions were intense but irregular, with the pain not quite matching the monitor. At that point it was getting pretty difficult to manage the pain, since it was hard to know how long to hold out during each one before the rest came. Mike convinced me that the time for the epidural had come, that I was suffering, and I had reached a point where it was good to get one since the worse the pain was the harder it would be for me to sit still during the epidural.

In came anesthesiologist Dr. Miller, my angel! My epidural didn’t just remove pain; it added joy! Ah it was wonderful. I rested, Mike and I napped, chatted a little on the phone, watched a little TV, all the while as I numbed up and dilated. When they first checked on my post-epidural, I was 4cm; by a little after 5:00pm, I was 10cm. My favorite OB from the practice just so-happened to be on call that day, and although she was supposed to be off she stayed late and delivered Grace. We had a funny, light-hearted L & D nurse, and we listened to some of my favorite tunes as I pushed and rested, and listened to our doc tell funny stories. Mike was a champ of a birth coach; I just focused on him and he helped me push and breathe and relax. After about 40 minutes of pushing, little Grace made her way into the world.

We’ve been home about a week now, and we’re just settling in to our new routine of baby-makes-three. Grace is back to her birth weight, which is awesome! She’s a good sleeper; usually I have to wake her to feed her; we’ll see how long that lasts. :) Her little faces just crack me up; one second she stares off with a far off dreamy look in her eyes, and the next she’s all business and has her feed-face on. We’ve had the help of a post-partum doula, Joanna, which has really helped make the transition to parenthood a whole lot smoother. Hope this finds everyone doing well, enjoying fall leaves, football, and pre-Halloween candy.

Love,
E, M, & Miss G

Erin tackles the budget.

Not the nation's, just the Kent Family Budget, but this is still revolutionary.

There’s a perverse pleasure that comes with accounting. This I have now realized after completing a month as the new family accountant. For the three years plus of our marriage, the number one thing Mike and I always (politely) struggled over was the Kent Family budget. He saves, I spend, ‘nough said. He would take time every Saturday, for an hour or so, quietly (and in a sinister way) pouring over the “books” (i.e. Wells Fargo online activity statements) calculating how much we (really, me) had spent that past week, compared to our estimations for the month. I’d hear a “what’s this $80 spent at xyz?” or “you really spent that much at Whole Foods?” I’d get defensive in any number of ways, explaining to him that (a) it’s more expensive to be a girl than a boy, (b) Michael Pollan would defend my choice of quality over bulk in the food department, because after all we aMERicuns spend less of our household budget on food than every before, and (c) why am I always the villain?

Oh, readers, maybe some of you can relate, I mean isn’t this the oldest marital argument since the dawn of capitalism? And I say “marital,” but there’s got to be one accountant and one social chair in every partnership. For us it didn’t happen until marriage because we didn’t “blend” our finances until then, i.e. I got away with purchasing freedom and zero accountability.

So fastforward to the end of August 2010. I’m feeling a little more settled at work, moved in at home, and the calm of having finished grad school is finally kicking in. Meanwhile I’m hunkering for a one-last-getaway before Baby K arrives, and I want to go on a weekender trip over Labor Day and stay in a nice hotel. So when M asks me if I would like to take a shot at the budget for the month to find the money to go on said vaca, I surprise myself by saying yes. And when I open his spreadsheet of estimated monthly expenses, it hits me: why have I been shying away from this for so long? I *HEART* Excel and have for a long time. I have what some may call religious feelings about it. Why make a list, for example, when you can put it in a spreadsheet? The power of sorting? Of formulas, particularly my fave, concatenating? Doing the budget Erin-style allows for all this and so much more, and puts me in the financial driving seat. Of course we have money for that this month! I made it a line-item! Hey hon, I noticed you went to Starbucks three times this month; are we overdoing it, just a little?

Now I still have some challenges, like my “miscellaneous” category, which is way too big. As the months go on (oh yes, this is not an interim position - I love it too much!), I may incorporate a little more post-hoc anaylsis to try to figure out how we can save more in the “small stuff” category. And, as M can attest, I might be a bit obnoxious in my revelry of this new found financial prowess. But here’s the take home: it’s empowering. AND enlightening. So calling all of you social chairs and spenders out there - you know you are. Take over the family budget; try it on for a month. I *highly* recommend using Excel, Google Spreadsheets, or if you’re really inclined, some program like Quicken. It just might make you look like the good guy.

So what should M take on now? I’m thinking of having him take on role as breast-feeder for while... oh wait...

PS: I am more than happy to provide guidance with Excel - it's one my favorite things to help people with. Let me know!

If a blog falls in the forest... or a rather large bellied pregnant woman...

... and no one reads it, is it really there?

So to anyone out there reading this, I’ve decided to rather shamelessly self-promote in the only way I know how: update my Facebook status. So perhaps you are here reading because of that! In that case I’ll need to entice you to keep you coming back, or at least to encourage you to become one of my “followers.”*

So how do I go about doing that... especially when all that’s really on my 35-week-pregnant brain is the fact that I’m starting to feel like my prostate is enlarged** (no, wait...). Or the fact that as I review quality of life questions for a research paper I’m working on at work, I can’t help answer questions such as “Due to your physical health in the past four weeks, have you accomplished less than you would like” in the resounding affirmative. I consider transitioning from a reclining position to upright as a big accomplishment for the day, one that has me counting. “OK, 1... 2... 3!” in order to move. Oh and the “cute” waddle that was introduced into my walk about 3 months ago has become a full on momentum necessity for forward motion.

Yes, yes, this is all temporary, but I wanted to rationalize why I might not have a good-plot story this week; I’m not outside of the house or office enough for that now. And while I’m not above attempting to pass a B-movie action plot off as my own life, well, who am I kidding. So I’m regaling you with pregnancy mishaps instead; how shameless indeed! At least it’s not potty humor, though (oh wait, I already talked about peeing).

One final observation for the day: if anyone out there has not been pregnant yet, I *highly* recommend that you take pictures of your belly button along the way, starting at oh, say, the fourth month, maybe, or just before your belly pops. The metamorphosis is amazing. I went from normal, boring belly button, to slightly oval, to Crater Lake style, to a slit, and now it looks like a tiny navel orange stem. Will it completely pop out? Not sure, but I’m told if it does, like a turkey, it means I’m done.

________________________
*Which means very little, I think: you won’t get emailed updates or anything like that. It’s more symbolic (yet functional: in the paraphrased words of Mike Birbiglia “turns my self esteem from a -10 to a -5.”
** What I wouldn’t give for a good pee. The kind where you really have to go, but when you do, it’s awesome! And then you’re set for hours. Not the kind where “oh my gosh I might not make it” to be followed by, “that’s IT?” And yes, I am fully aware that I do not have a prostate gland.

Radio Blues and Baby Moons

Two significant things happened to me last week:
1. Mike and I went on our last baby-free va-ca.
2. I was a guest on Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me!

Item 1 took us to the Homestead Resort in Hotsprings, Virginia, about a 4 hour or so drive through some pretty beautiful country. I was a bit anxious that it would be a little too much like Dirty Dancing, but without Patrick Swayze. And there was definitely some DD undertones, but no talent show or tackiness to be found. Our activities were limited to walking me around - I now take myself for walks, rather than go on walks.* But it really was lovely. In between summing up the courage to forego the elevator and walk up multiple flights of stairs, we managed to go on a beautiful gorge hike, hit the spa (at least I did), and get in some major pool time. Relaxing was had. We met some nice folks at the overpriced** Labor Day buffet who gave us some tips about surviving our first East Coast winter. And while getting some ice cream, a sweet older lady told me that I “really didn’t need any.” So it was good times all around! And for the record, ice cream is 100% required to maintain sanity and promote fetal development during pregnancy.

Item 2: still can’t believe I was actually called back from Wait Wait. I was sitting at my desk at 6ish on Wednesday night, my cell phone rang***, and I actually answered it,and it was Emily from Wait Wait, asking little old me if I wanted to be on the show as a contestant, the following evening. Unfazed by my bumbling, slightly psychotic answer, she let the offer stand, despite my hemming and hawing about the fact that I was chosen for Bluff the Listener (why me? the universe apparently does give you what you deserve!). See, Bluff the Listener is clearly the hardest segment on that show - for all those unfamiliar, you have to pick the real news story out of 3 very improbable ones. Other segments on the show include the A Casual Encounter with the Week’s News and the aforementioned Limericks (or the Not My Job celebrity host plays for you). So the first one is a bit intimidating if you get it wrong, because you don’t want to embarrass yourself for not paying attention to the news in front of the other NPR listeners, but Peter Sagal (the host) often sort of helps you out, and my track record with this segment is pretty good. I’d give myself a B, B+. Limericks, on the other hand, I get an A in; you just have to pick a rather obvious rhyming word. And for both of these segments, you just need to get 2 out of 3 right - totally manageable!
But Bluff the Listener on the other hand, you get 1 and only 1 chance. So hard! And I have about a D- track record. But I carpe-diemed my way onto the show, because when NPR knocks, you answer! And, despite having Mike next to me and attempting to decipher my nervous chicken scratch writing so he could Google the 3 stories and give me a thumbs up on the right one, our dynamic duo still lost. Moral of the story: cheaters never prosper, and they certainly don’t get Carl Kassal’s voice on their home answering machine.
________________________
*Note the distinction: once I started waddling, I started referring to myself in the third person when referring to physical activity.
**(but tasty - they had legit fresh donuts that came off the little oil bath conveyor belt! Do I detect a donut fetish in this blog??)
***(which is rare given the bad reception in the office and my penchant to not have it close by)

Adventures in pregnancy #1

Last night I found myself playing tug of war with my sleepy husband; we were engaged in one of those totally absurd pregnancy moments, the how-to-put-the-”G”-shaped-pregancy-pillowcase-back-on-the-pillow endeavor. After many grunts, giggles, and exasperated sighs, we succeeded, but only after cursing the Snoogle company for such an apparent design flaw... can’t they just put a zipper along the hemline of the pillow? Sometimes I wonder if part of the challenges ubiquitous in baby gear are there simply to remind you of the real challenges that come with parenting. So you can’t figure out how in the world you’re going to assemble that high chair? Wait till you’re on zero-sleep night number 3. Swaddling got you stumped? Wait till your two year-old vomits all over you as you both are stepping out the door, you already 15 minutes late for work. I think Nietzsche is still alive and designing Snoogle pillowcase for this very reason.

Since this episdode is entitled, “Adventures in Pregnancy,” I’ll give you another. Just went to our childbirth education class weekend before last. I arrived expecting to leave anxious, but I couldn’t have been more relaxed upon leaving, if only for one reason: the anxiety level in the participants around us made me feel like a regular octo-mom. Oh the questions that were asked! I suppose it was the demographic: you show me northwest DC, and I’ll show you some over 30 (and up) power-elite mommies-to-be. The questions that came up involved every possible pregnancy hot-topic, most starting with “I’ve done research on...” and “my doula says....” and so on. Of course that space was exactly the space to ask those and any other questions (I’ve heard that you pay to place yourself on a waiting list to pre-reserve a room, is that true? What happens if you have a personality conflict with your L&D nurse? I’ve done research on epidurals, and among the risk factors is that it can literally fry your baby’s brain (last one more of a dare-to-engage than a question). It’s just that I think I learned more about the patient demographics of my hospital in my birth class than I did about birth. It’s all good though; my husband learned about the art of counterpressure, and I got free donuts.

32 and 32

Years and weeks, that is... years old and weeks pregnant. I don’t know if that strange-but-sweet coincidental time point was the tipping point or not, but something made me want to get back to the blog. Which in and of itself is a little strange, because I’m not per se a “blogger,” but I did start blogging a year ago and change, at a very different time of my life. That was for an event I was training for (which I’ll revisit), not a “lifestyle” kind of thing. So now, I find myself wondering if I could try the I’m-a-blogger* hat on as an ongoing, indefinite thing. But I am uncertain for many reasons:

(1) Time. Really, who has the time to keep it up? Well, plenty of bloggers seem to, ones who also keep families, hold jobs, dabble in hobbies, sport and compete, and consider themselves dedicated show-watchers (or all of the above). So time can be found, I suppose. And one of the appeals of blogging, to me, at least, is the episodic quality on which blogging is based. It can force its writer to maintain a sort of regularity with it (as rigid as one chooses), which might satiate the desire to write a little every or every-other day, without a level of formality or structure that keeps one from writing every or every-other day.

(2) Audience. Who will read this? Better yet, do I want anyone to read this? Before, during my first and last other blogging experience, I made the blog a blog and not a journal precisely as a tool of using a (mildly) public audience to keep me honest about my training for... (to be revisited - too much of a tangent at this point). So now, what is the excuse, for anyone to read this, or for me to want anyone to read this? I suppose it’s the lonely-girl-15** in all of us that wants to know that there’s someone, out there, who might take an interest in our thoughts, fears, dreams, and better yet, quirky little observations on life. Which brings me to...

(3) Ego. Really? Haven’t I always thought that there’s something a little self-promoting about the blogging genre? It’s completely based on self-publicizing, and it’s (almost?) always written in the first-person, vomited out into cyberspace for all the world to see, or more likely, ignore. I suppose there are worse transgressions, which isn’t an excuse, but... well... okay. I am stumped on this one. Can’t rationalize this away, but I guess I will procede because...

(4) Posterity (Strikethrough)

(5) Memory. I have these running little thoughts in my head, and random times during the day*** and sometimes I actually think they contain little sparks of brilliance. Or wit. Or both. But I rarely write them down, so they’re usually lost forever. This kind of space might allow me a little more opportunity to get them out of my head and into the world, for better or for worse.

(6) Practice. By this I mean blogging-as-writing-practice. So as uncertain as I am about this whole endeavor, it will at least get me writing. And you can’t be a writer if you don’t.... write.

(7) Posterity - yes, really. Perhaps the best of all uncertainties and biggest reasons why I might actually stick to this, is that 32-weeker in my tummy, the one who’s at present jabbing me inside my ribcage****-- a sort of game we play now after dinner, who one very-soon day is going to introduce herself to the world. Baby K, that is. Although I have a private writing project going to her, I thought it might be kind of, well, neat, to leave her a little blogacy, one that when she’s old enough to read and understand, might dismiss as being perfectly uncool. Which is totally ok—thinking your parents are uncool is one of the age-old rites of passage, as certain as sunsets and taxes. But still; Baby K, this blog’s for you.
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*I rather enjoy playing with punctuation in my writing... all of it, rather than keeping to one mark like Faulkner and his dash, and it’s much easier to find the freedom to do so in creative spaces like this one. Makes me feel a little like Dave Eggers to ramble on in a footnote, but hey, I love Dave Eggers.
**or whatever her age was
***one might call them “microblogs,” although one might be incorrect.
**** For nulliparous folks out there, imagine you had a little creature inside your diaphragm jabbing you with a fork right under and between your ribs - that is the only way I can describe the sensation.