I’m Like That OBGYN

I keep getting asked, “Where have you been? What happened to the blog? Why haven’t you been writing on it?” To which I reply, “I’m like that OBGYN.”

Anyone else remember that Friends episode?

I was functioning like the OBGYN who spends all day looking at vaginas, comes home, and doesn’t want to see another vagina because frankly there can be too much of a good thing. So for me, writing crap all day sucked whatever juice I had. I couldn’t turn to the blog and focus any energy on it. It was the equivalent of a vagina. This blog is my vagina. (Is anyone else impressed by how many times I worked vagina into that paragraph?)

But I quit the crap job and I have had a summer to pull myself back together. I have the distinct privilege, at this point in my life, to be able to choose what I want to do. And writing content that made my eye twitch, that I hated, for shitty money, trying to wrangle three children whilst doing so, wasn’t good for me.

This blog has always been a joy. It has been a way to connect with other mothers, other parents, to promote acceptance, and knowledge, and empathy in an age where internet trolls are quick to rip down anyone who even poses a question. Now not to beat a dead vagina, but sometimes one needs to take a break from the thing you love to get some perspective. And that’s what I did.

The blog is a mashup. It’s not just a parenting blog, not fully lifestyle, and it even has some poetry (go check out that category if you haven’t already– I don’t mean to brag but Vaganus is a work of art). There are political posts which I’ve been told are “preachy” (by a close friend whom I love and adore), and a decent amount of F-bombs scattered in the midst of lovely stories about my children. It’s hard to pinpoint a category in which it fits, and thus it is hard to promote.

There are simple ways to drive a lot of traffic to your blog, like DYI crafts with your kids and how to posts. But that isn’t my interest and it isn’t my niche. For one, my kids are always butt naked during craft times. For two, I usually spill my wine all over our project. And for three, not be a dick, but I don’t want to spend time writing about how to make turkeys from an imprint of your child’s big toe. There are a lot of other lovely bloggers out there that do that way better than myself and I just can’t.

I may never make money on this blog. I know this. I hear this. But I just don’t really care.

**I mean listen, if you are a billionaire out there and you’re reading this, please do not be under the misconception that I would turn down your money. Feel free to contact me privately to discuss large sums of cash.

But I don’t want to squish this blog into a category for the sake of marketing. I don’t want to stop writing about politics because some people think that me telling them how they’re wrong is “preachy”. I don’t want to forgo interesting debates on sensible gun laws because that alienates some readers. And I really, sincerely, don’t want to post photos of my kids gluing pom poms onto construction paper.

This blog feels like an art project that I’m constantly messing with; sometimes I’m using paint, sometimes crayons, and sometimes I blast Alanis Morisette and bedazzle it in my underwear. If there’s one thing that ties this shit show of a site together, it is me. In all of my imperfect glory.

Thanks to everyone who has kept reading, kept checking the site, even when I’ve packed up my vagina and took a hiatus.

You guys are the best.