Initially as I contemplated re-entering the blogging world, I vowed this would not be a 'mommy blog.' However I started to get the feeling that may be an unrealistic expectation and I'd be setting myself up for failure.
Another unrealistic expectation: committing to updating this x-number of times per week, month, millennium - you get the idea. The last time I tried blogging, I'd spend an inane amount of time trying to recollect all of the SLEs (Significant Life Events) that had occurred since the last time I posted (usually several months). Therefore I have no expectations this times, hopefully meaning I won't disappoint myself. I figured since I'm a relatively new mom, I deserved a fresh blogging start, and may even be somewhat successful in using this as a medium to keep track of some of the significant milestones the wee one, whom heretofore shall be referred to as A, reaches.
It was actually a few friends who suggested I try sharing my experiences. After all, I'm supposedly a writer, though I consider it a bit of an abstract art. I'm certainly no better at this than any number of other bloggers out there. That being said, next to talking, writing was always my favorite form of communication. The bonus of writing is that when you get sick of me, you can just stop reading and close this window instead of wishing I'd just shut up and stop talking.
So while I have no real expectations or hopes right now, this will be place for me to share milestones, observations, rants and perhaps even the occasional useful or semi-entertaining piece of information or insight. I wish I had a poignant reason for starting this, some impassioned speech about hoping to change the world and improve the lives of others, one blog post at a time. However I'm not feeling overly articulate tonight and my real motivation for doing this is probably that I just really enjoy talking about myself sometimes. There, how's that for candor?
About Me
- TamIAm
- Wife, mom, new runner, wine drinker and coffee aficianado, listed in no particular order yet all intrinsically linked. I used to pass runners in my car and think they were certifiable. Now I've completed two half-marathons and survived my first Canadian winter as a runner. I don't own a treadmill, so sometimes running means donning four layers of clothing and going out in -30, while my eyelashes slowly freeze my eyes shut. Sometimes I wonder if calling myself a runner is like Britney Spears calling herself a musician - a sweet sentiment, but somewhat misguided.