So I was drinking a cup of coffee and reading a parenting magazine while my wee children ran partially-clad and feral over my feet when I stumbled across the brilliant suggestion to the stay-at-home mom of starting a parenting blog as a plausible-ish way to explain a multi-year career absence.
Perfect, thought I.
I'm doing it.
Not only will "focusing on my blog" sound like an utterly productive use of a few years (whereas gestating, birthing, and raising children from squalling infancy obviously does not) but I'll have a chance to kvetch about the trials and tribulations of gestating, birthing, and raising children from squalling infancy. Also, it's something I can do while my partially-clad children run feral over my feet.
I've decided to write under a nom-du-plume. That way, I don't have to worry about my mom and my Aunt Martha reading it. It also means, dear reader, that you don't exist and not even my mom or my Aunt Martha will read this.
So be it.
My expectations are low. That is key, in my experience, to ensuring projects turn out well.
I live in a yellow house in the suburbs with my three and a half year old, my baby who is almost one, my dog, my husband and our unborn fetus whose head is trying to make more room up there in my rib cage as we speak. I have nicknamed him/her Agent 3.
I am one of the many hordes of parents whose main parenting goal is to do a much better job of it than my parents did. In my case, that means I've decided to parent in a more joyful fashion.
I have many advantages that they did not. For starters, parenting is a verb now. It wasn't when my parents parented. Of course, this may just make things more difficult -- I mean not only do we have to gestate, birth and raise children from squalling infancy but we have to parent them too.
So be it.
I intend to do so joyfully. Honest to Betsty.
Betsy B. Honest