Acceptance

The problem with blogging is that you have to blog.  Once I made the statement on theis blog that I was going to, well, blog again, I feel sort of obligated to blog.  Although, since I've made this promise before and haven't stuck with it, I'm not sure anyone even visits this blog anymore.  That and since baby #2 I've been so busy trying to do everything that I haven't had much time to myself.  And back when I was blogging when I was pregnant with Sadie and when she was a baby I spent so much dang time on the internet.  It became an obsession reading other blogs, being involved in that world, and quite frankly, I started to think I was wasting a bunch of time.  So I stopped.  And then started.  And then stopped again.  And then talked about starting without being really serious about it.  Plus, I battled with what type of blog I wanted this to be.  Did I want this to be a forum for me to become a better writer, a humor blog, a blog where I express how much smarter I am than everyone else?  Or did I want to write about my day to day adventures with my kids.  Probably not the latter.  I love my kids, but there is only so much even I can talk about them.  Sometimes (most of the time) I just don't enjoy the topic of kids.  I'm already up to my elbows in kids, so when I reach out to an adult community, I want to talk about adult things.  My brain is dying.  Also, I doubt people care about my kids as much as I do.  A friend of mine told me a quote she heard the other day, "Kids are like farts; your own are tolerable, but everyone else's are horrendous."  While I don't think other people's children are horrendous (some, yes, but not all), I can't say that I necessarily care for reading about them all the time.  Unless they are my friend's kids, but even then I like to take a break from the kid chatter.  I went to a playgroup (snooze) one time where the conversation turned to nap schedules and I nearly (nearly!) ripped out my eye-balls with baby nail clippers.  Honestly, does anyone care about the nap schedules of other people's children?  Barf.