Blogging despair

I blog because I have things in my head that I need to get out.

I blog because I like to write. It is probably the hobby that I enjoy the most.

I blog because I love making connections with other bloggers and being part of a community.

I blog because I hope that sometimes the things I say might help other people.

There is a voice in my head, though, that asks me, Is it enough?

I mean, it’s certainly enough of a reason to spend 15 minutes writing a few days a week. And whether I blog or not, I am likely to continue reading and commenting and interacting on twitter because those are things that bring me a lot of joy.

When all the cool kids were at BlogHer? I may have joked a bit on twitter about how jealous I was, but it really didn’t bother me. That wasn’t something that was for me. I don’t care about the parties, and the swag, and while I would like to meet people? Most of the people who were there seemed to me to be in a class above me. (And I know, I know, you’re going to tell me that’s not true. That I can run with the cool kids. You’re sweet. But no.)

But then I started reading people’s BlogHer recap posts. Or mostly not reading them. Because the more I read, the more resentful I started to feel.

And then I read Robin’s, and I was so happy for her. Truly. But I realized that I want to find a purpose like she did. I want to know how to do this thing that my heart is telling me to do. I want to make this something that matters.

And then I read Diana’s, and my heart broke for her. Because I understood, so deeply in my heart what she was struggling with. And if someone as amazing as Diana could feel like she wasn’t doing anything when her blog reaches so many people every day, then what the heck was I doing?

And then I found out that Robin was going to speak at Bloggy Boot Camp next year. I don’t think there’s anything I have wanted more in a long time than to hear Robin speak at Bloggy Boot Camp. And I wanted to tell her to come to the city closest to me. But then I realized that even if she did, there would be no way I could go. There’s no way I could justify it. We don’t have the money, I don’t have the time. The people in my life, including my husband would think it was silly and frivolous.

I would think it was silly and frivolous.

And I start to feel like, what’s the point? I know it’s not about the money, and I don’t want it to be about money. But at the same time, if this blog could make a little money, it would be so much easier for me to take it seriously. To take myself seriously.

Even without money, if I could feel like I had a purpose here, like I was genuinely making a difference, I’d feel better about pouring my energy into it.

But right now? What am I doing here? Am I just playing? Am I begging for attention? I am stuck in this awful loop where it doesn’t matter because I don’t make it worthwhile, and I don’t make it worthwhile because it doesn’t matter.

Life's Lessons: The house guests edition

I will not be talking about my baby's sleep today because it's bad luck. (Take from that what you will. I sure didn't say anything.)

I *may* be talking about my own sleep a little though.

1. When you have out of town guests coming, and you've saved all the cleaning for naptime, don't lie down with the baby "just for a minute."
   
2. Staying up until midnight talking to said guests? So not as fun as it was 10 years ago.
   
3. Real friends won't notice the dishes in your sink. Or if they do, they won't say anything.
   
4. Coming up with ways to entertain yourself and your friends is much harder when everyone has babies.
   
5. Apparently? I pack light and am an easygoing traveler. Because I don't bring every single item of baby gear with me everywhere I go.
   
6. On a related note? In case I haven't said it lately? Breastfeeding is awesome. Because I totally bring those everywhere.
   
7. Speaking of which, DH was home with the baby last night while I tutored. She screamed and fussed and tore his eyes out the whole time.
   
8. When I got home and nursed her to calm her down, he said to me, "I don't understand why you don't just leave her on there all the time."
   
9. Umm, yeah, sweetie. Thanks.
   
10. I am starting to think having a baby has made me a bit of an oversharer.
    
11. I can't even blame the sleeplessness for my loopiness anymore because I slept last night.
    
12. I said *I* slept last night, people. That's all I said. Nothing to see here. Move along.

That delicate balance

I love being a mom more than anything in the world. I love that I am able to stay at home and to be with my daughter all the time.

But I love teaching too. A teacher is always a teacher. Sometimes the fact that I am not teaching makes me insanely sad.

From the time, Baby Girl was about 3 months old until the beginning of the summer, I was tutoring one or two hours a week for a test prep company. I’ve been working for them forever, so I know the materials inside out. I loved working with teenagers again. I felt smart and competent. Hubby got time to bond one on one with the baby, I got out of the house, and we got some extra money to have some fun with pay off our student loans.

Win, win, win.

Only not. Baby Girl started getting fussier in the evenings. Her separation anxiety dipped and then peaked again. DH started having to work longer hours. I started to feel overwhelmed by everything I had to do, and resenting that I “had” to work also.

The last night I tutored before the June SAT was a perfect storm. DH was late getting home from work, so we didn’t get to eat dinner together. I practically threw the baby at him and ran out the door, frazzled. I got stuck in traffic and showed up late, making me even more frazzled, only to find my student was even later. And hadn’t done his homework. And was drastically unprepared for his test because of it. Then I got home to a screamy baby, a messy kitchen, and a grouchy husband, and I declared, “ENOUGH!”

So I said no to the next two students they offered me. And then they stopped offering. And oh, man, did I miss it.

So, now, we’re coming up on the fall test season. I have two students lined up, and a weekend class once they’re done. I’m excited, and I’m also scared. I know it’s only a few hours a week, but what it’s too much? What if I get overwhelmed again? What if I can’t take it?

But I have to. Because I think if I’m not teaching at all, I’ll always be missing part of my heart.

You're all cheering for me, right?

In which I get myself some cake

I’ve always been better at taking care of other people than of myself. It isn’t the worst thing in the world. I really do enjoy taking care of other people. It makes me feel happy, and that’s the kind of self care I can get behind.

What I don’t enjoy is being a martyr.

I have a habit, a long running habit, of waiting for other people to take care of me. Of expecting them to jump in and offer to help me even if I didn’t ask. Of being disappointed when people don’t see exactly what I need, even when I’ve made every effort to hide it from them.

If you aren’t sure yet whether I’m completely ridiculous, let me share a story with you.

A few months ago, my husband and I were at a little market near our house. We were there to look at plants for our garden, but they also had the most beautiful display of baked goods.

If you don’t know this about me already? I like cake. A lot.

As we walked by it, I eyed up the cake. I slowed my walking, paused even, looking at it out of the corner of my eye. I stood there, waiting for my husband to say “Do you want anything?” or “Let me get you a treat” or “You know what you totally deserve? Cake.”

He didn’t. Of course.

So we left without cake. And I tell you that this happened a few MONTHS ago, so you realize that I still think about it. About that cake that no one got for me.
See? Ridiculous.

So, this past week I went to the Farmer’s Market for some lettuce. I went fully knowing there was a girl there who sold homemade cupcakes. And I bought myself some cake.

When my husband asked me what I got, I told him, “Oh, lettuce and melons and peaches. Oh and a cupcake.”

He got a puzzled look on his face, “Why did you get a cupcake?”

“Because I wanted one.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Huh.

Life Lessons:The graduates

1. Baby Girl and I are officially Baby Swim graduates. No applause necessary.
   
2. I’m actually very proud of us, considering how we started. We have come a long way.
   
3. We have come a long way in a lot of things actually. We’re doing pretty okay.
   
4. Which isn’t to say we don’t still have bad days. We so do. Both of us. Bad.
   
5. And we’re still not sleeping. I think we’re sleeping less.
   
6. But, despite all that, I’m really starting to think we’re going to be okay. That I don’t suck at this mom thing. And she doesn’t suck at the baby thing.
   
7. Just in time because she’s almost not a baby anymore. (Sob!)
   
8. Speaking of bad days, my dentist suggested I let her chew on a frozen washcloth when her teeth hurt since she isn’t crazy about teethers. She looked at me like I was insane.
   
9. Someone else suggested I give her a bowl of water to play with while I was washing dishes, so she’d think she was helping. It took her 3.2 seconds to dump it on the floor.
   
10. I think I’m going to stop listening to suggestions for a while.
    
11. But anyway, what was I talking about?
    
12. Oh yeah, so we graduated from swim class. Baby Girl is practically drown proof.
    
13. I’m getting there, too, sweetie. I’m getting there.
    

The big car seat

Last week, we took the infant car seats out of our cars.

Baby Girl is 10.5 months old, and even though she isn’t quite too heavy for the infant car seat, we decided it was time. We had one convertible car seat already, and DH found a very felicitous clearance on them at Target so we could get one for the other car. We went out to the driveway at 9:00, after I put the baby to bed, and installed the big car seats in both cars.

And I cried.

My husband gave me a funny look. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss the infant car seat.”

“But this one will be more comfortable. And it has better head protection. Don’t you like our baby’s head? Why don’t you want to protect her head?”

“...I like her head.”

“Okay then.” And he continued tightening the car seat.

But it’s sad. It IS sad, right? I didn’t think we were here yet. I’m not ready for her to grow up.

. . . Which is not to say that sitting in a rear facing convertible car seat is the mark of a grown up. But still.

When I had a newborn, I couldn’t wait for her to be able to smile. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to roll. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to crawl. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to talk.

(Okay, I still can’t wait for her to be able to talk. Although she might be signing now? She claps her hands when she wants more food. I’ve decided she means more. Or maybe she just likes clapping.)

But now I miss her being a bundle in my arms. I miss her letting me cuddle her 24 hours a day. I miss being able to put her down on the floor and have her stay where I left her. (Wait. . . what?)

I’m afraid that she’s not my baby anymore.

But I like her now too. She’s so much fun. I love her laugh. Her tiny teeth are absolutely adorable. She likes bread and cheese and crackers, just like mama. She can get down and dance like it’s nobody’s business.

So maybe it’s okay. Maybe we’re ready for the big carseat. Because I really do like her head.

My bloggy funk

In my head, I am a great writer.

I mean, I know I can write. We're going for honesty here, so I'm going to skip the kind-of-fishing-for-compliments-self-deprecating false humility. I know I can write. I can write well.

But I don't.

I love blogging. I love visiting blogs, connecting with other bloggers on twitter. I love being part of the mom blogging community. These days, though, I feel like I can hardly call myself a blogger. At best, I'm someone with a blog. A "precious," "cute" little blog.

And there's nothing wrong with that. I mean, I appreciate when you say those things. I appreciate that you're here at all, especially since so many of you have such wonderful, popular, and Important blogs. I mean that. I have the best blogging friends in the world, and when people like you say my blog is cute? It makes me smile.

But really I want more than that.

I want this to be What I Do. I want to BE a blogger. I want to have a blog that does something that matters. If any of that even makes any sense.

Sometimes, I think about taking a blogging class, about joining a blogging forum, to figure out what I need to do to make my blog bigger. To make it something that can matter. In my heart, though, I know what I need to do.

I need to write. And I'm not.

Why not? Because I'm tired. Because my life seems so mundane. Because the baby is climbing on the TV. Because I'd rather waste away the day on twitter.

Because I'm afraid.

What happens if I try and fail? What happens if my funny isn't funny, if my heartfelt isn't moving? Why would anyone really care what I have to say?

So how do I overcome this paralysis? How do I keep moving forward? How do I become the blogger I want to be?

This is a response to the prompt about my goals and what is stopping me.