I’ve spent many a night with the computer in my lap, fingers tapping at keys while the babies sleep nearby. The boy snuggles into his oversized lion pillow, his own comfort and luxury. He’ll make room for Miss N when she crawls in next to him and slings one arm across his waist, though she will deny that she is ever this affectionate with her little brother. I wonder while I take pictures of menorahs and squint at the computer screen and run my finger along the lines to catch the mistakes. Why am I doing this? I no longer write recipes, my focus shifted as I started to feel uncomfortable in my former blogging skin. If anything my posts are observational monologues. But why?
I certainly don’t blog for money. I’m not one of the cool kids with droves of people looking to read my blog. Dooce I am not. My own concepts of privacy stand in the way of me being a typical mommy blogger who spills all of her children’s secrets across the computer screen. They’ll embarrass themselves enough as teenagers, they don’t need me doing it now.
I blog because I don’t know what to do when words are not melting and electrifying out of my fingertips. In text I am articulate, or at least I like to think of myself as such. It’s the confidence of the written word giving strength to my voice. In real life where we open our mouths and the words should tumble out I am terribly inarticulate. Prone to trailing off at the ends of sentences, I flail my hands and have short bursts of laughter. When I write, it’s not as awkward. I don’t second guess myself in the strangulating way that I have while speaking.
I blog because writing is what I know best. I have a writer’s bump on the middle finger of my left hand. Years of having a pencil or pen pressed against the tender space has created a hardened callous and flattened the edge of nail. I do it because over the past two years my voice has sharpened, nestling into its own and I didn’t have someone handing it all back to me with a show of disgust and disdain at my carefully crafted words. I do that to myself quite well and in these couple of years I’d like to think I’ve grown at least partially more confident in my writing.