So I’m contributing to a new blog. It’s called Mommy Blog: Thoughts from the Trenches, and was conceived by my friend Daniele. She’s invited a number of us to contribute, and I’ve got one thing in there, something you, O Reader, may have read before because I didn’t have the mental wherewithal to create something new last night.
Anyhoo, it’s about being a mom and the perils, mental and emotional — and spiritual, I suppose, that accompany the occupation. It’s not there to give advice about teething or thumb-sucking or discipline; it’s there to give voice to the precious and confounding issues of motherhood.
As I’ve noted, I’ve contributed exactly once and I’ll write again soon. Sometimes I’ll paste in oldies but goodies from Mirror, but sometimes I’ll write fresh stuff, too. Meanwhile, I have read all the posts, and I’ve enjoyed them.
My participation is interesting, though. It forces me to confront, yet again, a fact I’ve found unnerving in recent years: I’m not a “young mother” anymore. This has less to do with my age– many first-time mothers are made at my age; many women older than I have children younger than mine– than with the ages of my children. Mine aren’t babies, aren’t toddlers, aren’t so very young anymore. They are still young, and I must remember this for the Future Me, the me who will look back on their ages now and think how young they were. But, compared with the other contributors to the blog, I’m not in the trenches anymore.
What am I saying? I most certainly am. I am in the trenches, still. I’m just in a different sort of trench, I guess. But still on the front lines.
