A Cop-Out

I am belated in responding to the earlier comments on what kind of blog this should be. Thank you Claudia, Anna, Stacey, and Jo (and Carlos) for your thoughts. I've kind of decided that really... I won't decide. I let another two friends in on the site, but I honestly don't think they're even reading. I will tell my mom that I have it, but she wouldn't know the first thing about how to go about finding it. My husband knows I have it, and also knows I prefer my privacy, and I trust him. I'll copy both he and my mom any particular post I would like them to read. And I'll work on outside writing, so Mom and T. can go ahead and read other things and be proud. So if I want to vent, I can. I've never been someone to share intimate details about my marriage to just anyone else, and since there is at least one other person reading this that knows T., I wouldn't consider writing anything about it I wouldn't tell a friend, and admit to T. I talked about.

I used to write in journals, years ago. I would write anywhere, in all my notebooks, on stationary, backs of envelopes, wherever and whenever I felt the urge. I reserved the most private of my thoughts and weird story ideas for a journal that I never bothered to hide, because what kind of person reads someone else's journal? Well, my boyfriend did. More than once. I know this because he would then decide that we needed to discuss what he'd read. This, understandably I think, dampened my enthusiasm for writing anything down, so this blog is an enormous leap of faith for me. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed writing, and I really want to continue it.

Claudia, I'm afraid anyone looking here for discussions of Eastern European economic policy will be sorely disappointed (if you are looking for it, please check out Claudia's blog Halfway Down The Danube, which is very interesting and has pictures of her adorable kids too). As much as I'd like to talk about things like politics, there are so many people that do it better than I ever could that I'm not particularly inspired to try myself - it's more fun to read their sites. So I'm stuck with stories like the following:

Tonight, Peanut rediscovered her ability to do raspberries. So nursing has become a wet adventure. I made the mistake of laughing when she interrupted a nursing session to blow raspberries on my breast, and now she thinks it is a fantastic fun thing to do, and ends up not finishing a meal in less than an hour. She has also decided it might actually be useful to roll from her tummy to her back - she has been able to do it for a while, but has stubbornly refused to more than a handful of times. We crouch over her, dangling toys, "Go Peanut! Yay, Peanut! You can do it!", with crazy grins on our faces and artificially chipper voices. We are genuinely pleased she's doing it, but really, it is only exciting for so long.

That's it. My brain is officially empty for the night. Probably because T. is watching Adult Swim in the same room, and, while very entertaining, it is enough to deaden anyone's brain. Quote I just overheard: "Like my hydraulic penis. Which is huuuuge".