On ten years of baby blogging

I’ve had this blog, this space, this vat of digital weirdness since 1999 which was right after Nostradamus wrote his predications. I took a break sometime in college, only really bringing it back to life when I graduated from the University of Washington and had a baby. If there’s anything that can fill the time before facebook and Pinterest and Which Sex and the City Character Are You quizzes (Spoiler: I’m Steve’s Mom! This pizza tastes like garbage!), it’s getting pregnant and writing all about it like Newsies: Off-Broadway La Leche League. The newness, the questions, the fear, the cuteness. There is endless material, sometimes boring baby woop-woop but still something to add to the pool. Plus, there are other women swimming in the same pool, though they are wearing bikinis and their pools have countless hippie dippie moon-womb connection parenting books as buoys and how dare you ask when you can feed your baby a HOT DOG, Mona, you country yokel with a uterus.

As a teenager, I blogged with the strokes of teenage desperation, Tori Amos mp3 playlists and pining to be the gothic babe of the week, a real goal I had in 1998. I made all my friends log into their parents’ ISP email accounts because you couldn’t vote with a hotmail address and for one week, I was the gothic babe. I didn’t even have a Hot Topic on Saipan to put an outfit together, I had to piece it with opera gloves (why was that on a tropical island) and a choker I made from a stretched out scrunchie and a clip-on earring.

And there were a few posts about college life, how I really thought my professor was a genius, reposts of my submissions for creative writing class, but then I got pregnant with Nathan.  A real deal baby in my tummy singing Adele, “Hello it’s me, I’m all up in your uterus and now you have to pee.”  

It was a special time to write. And a really special time to have with this little chubby, off the scales baby. I did complain and still do about what scars remain from navigating new motherhood, but I also loved the life I had with Nathan. It was the only time I was a stay-at-home mom, a glorious blip on my life radar when I could take Target walks and let Nathan memorize the voice of Dr. Phil. It was experimenting with craigslist and formula and work from home jobs that never panned out.

Yes, it was also filled with trying to fit in with a crowd that made fun of me because I chose the wrong wine glass (sorry I drank wine out of a box, the only cup I knew was red solo) and pink Razr cellphones (if you have to google that, not because you are unfamiliar with the model but because you are unaware there were phones that flipped open and that we would tell people to call us after 9pm because that’s when minutes were free, log off this right now before I tell your parents and you will be grounded.)

I had trouble breastfeeding Nathan and befriending other women so literally everything was the tits. I found a lot of sanity by writing about this baby, about broadcasting to the world that there was a young Chamorro woman with a fat little boy in Seattle trying to make sense out of it all.

And now that baby who gave me so much fodder is ten years old. Happy birthday my sweet baby. You will always be my first baby, the one who made me a mom. The one who laughed at a box of Rice a Roni. The one whom I kept on my lap on a boppy pillow so I could type above you and write words like these.  Happy birthday Nathan.

breezeblocks and babies

-I have given away tons of clothes and shoes on my neighborhood Buy Nothing site and it feels good to have less. It feels good to say, “Hi, I have these shoes for women who want to be sexy but have larger than most feet and you don’t want to let society dictate what is and isn’t beautiful so here are some nice Jessica Simpsons pumps. Size 9.”

Giving away goods to strangers is so different from my island looky-loo upbringing, where having a lot meant you had it all shipped in somehow to Saipan, you had the space to place trinkets and clothes and JC Penney catalog goods. But I have no use for combat boots I bought in San Diego for $10 because I’ve never worn them even when this climate called for it or a dress I thought my body would have welcomed by now but since I can’t get it over my bulky shoulders, there will be no dress welcome party or afterparty on my body. It lifts up my heart to see less in my closet and get a message that the mom who picked up the lot loves the new clothes she has, the new to her dresses and heels that have another chance at making a woman feel good today.

-I have been unfriended by a few people on Facebook and Instagram, some surprising, some not. I’m okay with being unfriended by people on Instagram, especially if they are fitwrap sellers and other MLM marketing folk with whom I have little in common. We’ve never met, we never will and it’s okay.

There are some people who unfriend me who were friends in real life and family members. Of course I get a little puzzled when it’s someone I know know and I go into their active profiles and like a bunch of random photos as if to say, “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.” Because I am a petty shell of a human being who wants to say, “Don’t leave me!” without having to say it, type it, whisper it into the desperate emotion weather patterns that will let everyone know there’s a high chance of thirst in the forecast.

On Facebook, the unfriending is a little more sad, especially when Facebook reminds me that seven years ago we had a nice moment, a sweet exchange and now what remains is an algorithm of mutual friends but no real connection between us. How are you, friend? I hope you are well, I hope you still travel and drink good coffee and even though you took the moment to click yes to, “Do you want to unfriend Mona,” I’ll still treasure that time you asked me how I was and I said I was doing great because I still am.

I love the Alt-J song, “Breezeblocks.” There’s a line where he pleads, “Please don’t go! I’ll eat you whole! I love you so, I love you so.” Sometimes I look at my boys and sing that song in my head, those lines come to me in the moments when they seem so big, so close to leaving me, so full of flight and energy yet their faces still shine with the baby cheeks. I’m okay with friends going away, with clothes and shoes and material things saying hello to their new owners. But my babies? My sweet boys who laughed so hard as I tickled their bellies. I want to consume these moments, eat these memories so there’s no room to click unfriend, no way to block, no button to delete forever.

FullSizeRender (1)

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...