I suspect you've noticed a change in my blogging habits this past year. Grant it, it's been a slow fade, somehow I've made it to a place where blogging is scarce. Life just got busy. I inherited more responsibilities at work, and I had a second child. That translates to double the work and half the time to complete it.
I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. Busy is good for me. I need to be busy. I want to be busy. I just don't want to be so busy that I forget to document the precious moments of our lives. Last week Eric was in Nashville with some coworkers, so after putting the kids down for the night, I snuggled up with the tablet and starting reading my blog.
I cried. It's the story of my journey through motherhood. The plot is thick and full of the ups and downs that come along with raising young children. I saw myself mature and grow in areas. I watched as my relationship with the Lord began to take deeper root in the soil of faith. My marriage blossomed. My confidence bloomed. It was my story, right there on paper (ok a screen) in real time. In my words; raw, emotional words. This blog, it's a treasure. Tucked in the archives are stories I had forgotten, fears that seem trivial now, and milestones that would have gone unnoticed had it not been for this outlet.
The thing that struck me the most was that my favorite posts to reflect upon were not the ones with a play by play of our weekend, or the "link ups," or the recaps of our many adventures. The posts that were the most uplifting to me were the ones with a million grammar errors and spelling atrocities. The posts where I threw caution to the wind, took off my masks and wrote from the heart. The posts where I was raw and real, the posts where I couldn't see the screen in front of me through my tears, those are the posts that I cherish. Those also happen to be the posts that seemed to connect with my readers.
We have enough "Polly Perfect" gals out there. I guess that's why the more vulnerable and transparent posts resonated with so many. You get it. You get being so tired you can't see straight. You understand the constant battle between enjoying the moment and trying to survive it. You are tired of the facade so many live trying to impress messes like us with their well mannered, wonderfully groomed children. Me too. I want to know that someone else has kids who hate sleep. I want to know that I'm not the only one who gets ill with my husband or loses my cool with the kids. I want to know that other people have months were Murphy's Law takes over a depletes the bank account...again. I want to know that I'm not alone. I want you to know that you're not alone.
As I looked back through the pages, I not only saw areas of growth. I also saw areas of demise. Somewhere the exhaustion of motherhood took over, and I started replacing time with my husband with an early bedtime. I became a housekeeping Nazi and started spending more time vacuuming the floor than playing in it with my kids. The months of depression caused me to gain 50 lbs. Then the quest to lose it has caused an unhealthy obsession which has resulted in dietary extremes and even more weight gain. It's funny what you can see when you step back.
I guess this is really long way to say that my blogging habits have changed. There may be days or even weeks that go by without a post, and that's ok. This isn't a popularity contest. This is the story of my journey through motherhood. And even though I can't promise you a post every day. I can promise that when I do write, it will be raw and real. After all, this is my Mommy Memoir.