Blogger Yearns to be a MommyBlogger

I kind of wish I was a MommyBlogger. You know. A mommy who blogs.

Apparently, there are many of them. A few are even famous.

I don’t know if they like being called “MommyBloggers” though. Maybe it’s demeaning. Or maybe it’s just too limiting, like, too niche. They don’t blog about being mommies all the time. They are bloggers who just happen to be mommies.

But having kids provides so much blog fodder! And I think, more than anything, I’m jealous of the community. I mean, MommyBloggers have become a cultural force. They’re all, Hey, we’re mommies, but we have feelings, too, that we blog about! And SOMETIMES those feelings aren’t conducive with society’s impossibly high standards for motherhood! SOMETIMES we wanna throw our kids out the window, but we DON’T because that is WRONG and we recognize that! But SOMETIMES we FEEL like it! Also, we want more sex with our lame husbands! Or whoever! Someone cute, though!

At least, that’s what I imagine their collective conscience would say.

So, to recap, I would like to be a MommyBlogger because a) kids are funny/stupid and there’s always something to blog about, and b) the MommyBlogger community is just so awesome.

Of course, the biggest obstacle I’m facing right now is that I don’t have kids. So, technically, I’m not a Mommy, and therefore cannot ethically call myself a MommyBlogger. I have ovaries, and therefore one might assume that I have the potential to become a Mommy. I have a blog. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

I need to procure some kids. BRB.

First post. (Also, last post?)

This makes no sense, this starting a blog thing.

Full disclosure: I had a blog, years ago, when I was working at a job that required no attention or effort whatsoever. I spent my days surfing the internet and posting mundane stories about stealing toilet paper from the company bathrooms, or whatever crazy things I used to do in my early 20s before I made a living wage. Now I’m in my late 20s and I make more money (so I buy my own toilet paper), but I feel equally as miserable. I wonder, will I ever find true happiness? What IS happiness, after all? Can we attain it, or do we simply chase it all our lives, only to discover that the meaning was in the journey, that our lives cannot be summed up in mere words or feelings?

I have no idea where I was going with that.

Back to my original point. Starting this blog makes very little sense, because if I’m honest with myself, I can admit that I don’t have the energy or sticktoitivness (it’s a word – but should it be hyphenated?) to keep it up. Writing, I mean. To keep up the writing. I almost wrote “righting.” See? I have trouble using the correct words! Clearly, I should not be blogging.

I read several blogs regularly, and I always think to myself, My(self)! These people are so clever and interesting. And then I fancy myself clever and interesting too, which is entirely false and a slightly vain thing to fancy, and I think, I could start a blog that is clever and interesting and then maybe people – strangers, even! – will read it, and I will become beloved and popular and perhaps be offered a book deal!

Hey, it happened for that cat blog, with all the misspelled captions. Those guys are hilarious!

Seriously, though? Seriously, I don’t expect a book deal. I think I might crumple under the pressure if it happened (but don’t let that stop you, Penguin/Random House/HarperCollins! I’m right here!). I don’t handle pressure well. Or anything that doesn’t involve Milanos and watching reruns of Friends on my couch.

 So, yeah. We’ll see.