This post was written for the express purpose of Project Mom Casting. Don't you think I should totally be in a reality tv show/movie about mombloggers and other crazypants internet people!?!?!
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My point of view about being a mom, a blogger, an active participant in social media, and a human being who makes lots of mistakes and generally has crumbs all over her cleavage is this: there's no point in being anything but honest, even though that means the internet is probably going to yell at you.
Do you guys remember that comment war on my post about MAYONNAISE?
It helps that I have a sense of humor the size of my ass.
I started blogging over five years ago when I was a single, messy twentysomething living alone in San Francisco with stupid cats (SEXY!) and going on lots of bad Craigslist dates. I gained something of a following.
I blogged about my lifelong struggle with weight and weightloss. Even more people could relate to that.
I eventually blogged about the dissolution of my first ("starter") marriage. How, two weeks after my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and given just months to live, my husband left me. OVER THE PHONE.
Folks were a little surprised about that story.
I blogged about everything embarrassing in my life, which was everything in my life because I am a messy, spilly, wholly inelegant woman.
And now I blog about how I am 35, still struggling with weight, but somehow living in Napa(!) with my husband(!) and even more(!) stupid cats. And our one-year-old daughter.
I had to start my life over, and I did. That's what my blog is about.
In a more immediate sense, well. I do pretty much nothing right, and then I tell the internet about it.
In terms of being a mom, this means I drank wine when I was pregnant. I breastfed my baby for a few months but I also supplemented with formula and then switched to formula and suffered the wrath of both the lactivists AND the pro-formula feeders. Sometimes I feed my child organic vegetables that I steam-cook myself, and sometimes she eats processed cheese puffs that aren't a color found in nature. Sometimes my infant watches a LOT of Yo Gabba Gabba. (How else can mom make a conference call?)
Because you asked, my end game is to be a wildly beautiful, successful, happy and well-adjusted person whose child requires only like, the barest amount of therapy. In the meantime, I'll just keep blogging it all. I firmly believe that one day I will manage to leave the house in a non-boob-stained shirt.
Oh, and this is me: