Dipping in One Big Fat Toe

I picture a little girl in a red bathing suit standing by a pool. The curve of her belly is bigger than the round of her bum, upon which rests three little ruffles. She is armed with flippers, a kickboard, a snorkel, inflatable arm floaties and ten pounds of sunscreen smeared over her face. Her pudgy leg hovers deliberately over the water as she very gingerly touches one big toe to the surface and swishes it around. She is very carefully testing for sharks.

As I stand at the edge of the interweb, about to dip in one big fat toe, I feel like the little girl in a red bathing suit – no idea what I’m doing and probably armed with all the wrong things. I don’t know exactly what this blog will is yet, but I know pretty clearly what it is not:

  • It is most definitely not a fashion blog. If you are coming here for fashion advice, you must be in very desperate times indeed, my friend. My clothing of choice are a pair of baggy sweatpants, my husband’s t-shirts and large hoodies (though he only allows me to wear the ugly ones because I make his clothes dingy with repeated use), and some thick woolly socks. In the summer, I love muumuus. There is not much more one can add to make this point after that admission.
  • It is not a mommy blog. At least, I don’t think it is; I’ve never read one. At least, it won’t be snapshots that make my life seem perfect, nor will it extoll the joys of motherhood without also discussing the trials. That said, my family is the most important part of my life, so I will probably post about it often. Likely in the form of pictures of the baby that I’m trying to fatten up because I like to squeeze his rolls. And once in a while a picture of my hubby being a goofball.
  • It is not an education/teacher/social justice blog. I feel great passion for this work and it is one of many driving forces in my life. However, this will not be my virtual soapbox, though I may hop on from time to time.

As I pondered a potential audience for this blog, I found myself rejecting every idea, but one. I didn’t want to write toward a specific audience for fear that over time I would increasingly write to please them. I didn’t want to pigeonhole myself into a niche and distance myself from what is authentically me. I was left wondering with whom would I genuinely want to share all of myself? My husband hears everything firsthand and knows me the best. Who else do I want to understand me so deeply?

And then the answer became clear.

My son. And all my future children, if I am lucky enough to have more. And maybe their children, too.

So, Booger, this is for you. And children I hope to meet one day, it is for you too. I hope that one day you will be able to read this and really know who your mom was and how she became the mom you know. I hope you will really be able to know me – my faults, my passions, my learning, my growth, my joys, my stories, my love. Maybe by the time you a) exist and b) can understand this I’ll have learned to get out of my head and be able to share some of these things with you face to face.  But, then again, maybe by then I’ll be senile, so just in case…

For you I can be real and stay real and hopefully make real even better.  Everything that I am is made better because of you.


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