Four years ago today, I started writing on the Internet. I had no idea what I was getting into exactly (and if I had I might have chosen a more clever blog name). My former student Angie had started this thing called a "blog," and I was intrigued. Maybe some of my students would be interested in reading about my pregnancy--especially since I had vehemently sworn I would never have children (yes, my fingers were crossed; no, I didn't really think I'd never have kids). They would get a big kick out of me, their stern English teacher, lamenting about hormones and food cravings.
And so I wrote.
It was mostly funny stuff, and I used up some of my creative energies by alternately writing between my voice and Sydney's. I told my family, but they thought it was weird. Weird that I was writing. Boring that I would write about my life. Odd that Sydney would have a voice when, of course, she couldn't really talk. Yet my former students hung around and encouraged me to keep at it.
I wandered around the blogworld with some trepidation. I saw people commenting, but it was still so foreign to me. Comment? On a stranger's blog? What would they think of me? I still don't comment on all the blogs I read because I have my moments of insecurities about my own writing. The first blog I ever commented on was Diane's at violetismycolor. I remember she had written a post about Oak's Park, and I was just so thrilled to find someone who lived in Portland. And then she commented on my blog, and it made my day.
After a year I moved from Blogger to Typepad, and here I have remained to give voice to parenting moments, teaching moments, personal moments. In four years I've gone from being a childless, former English teacher working at Red Robin as a waitress, to being a mom of one staying full-time at home, to being a mostly at-home mom of two working very part-time at teaching.
In four years I've written about buttons and backyards, food and family, joys and depression. I've been pregnant three times and had two children, my oldest who is now 184 weeks old. I've lost a friend and two grandparents. I've run out of gas, literally and figuratively. I've cried as I've typed up posts of frustration, laughed as I told funny (or not) jokes, smiled as I've shown off pictures of my family. I've even been bored with blogging, and probably bored a few of you a time or two.
In four years I've received more than 4500 comments, and this marks my 650th post here at Typepad. Some blog moments I think I'll always remember, like how I found Raehan through Catherine Newman's BabyCenter journal, or the poem I wrote about Sydney for her first birthday, or the post that brought ccap and Inkling's first comment, or even the times I've met bloggers in real life. I've discovered that my family finally decided to start reading my blog, and even some of my friends who thought I was a crazy lunatic a couple years ago when I was talking about what I do here at Creature Bug. I've struggled with how to review products while remaining true to my stories, wondered if anybody really likes my writing, worried that I spend too much time on the computer, regretted not commenting more often.
And still I write.
Even after four years, I still second guess my writing. It's silly to spend so much time wondering if I should put a comma here, or here, or there, but I do. That's why I don't post every day. I'd drive myself crazy, and probably everyone else as well. But one thing I always do every day and that's think about the people I've met over the course of these four years. I am thankful for each of you, even those who you who observe my little world in silence, because every time I look at my sitemeter or read a comment one of you blessed souls have left me, it lets me know I'm not alone in this crazy life.
I write because I want to capture the joys and trials of this life I'm living. I write because I have something to say. And I write because someone is listening.
Thanks for the last four years.