It's not that I don't love you, blog. Of course not. Don't ever get the idea that it's you, this is totally me. All my fault. It's just that I"m a different person than I was when we met, and I've grown to need so many other things. You really haven't grown at all, blog. You are still basically the same as you were in 2004.
Silly breakup metaphors aside, 6 years ago, when you could almost count the number of parenting bloggers on both hands, when an arena existed in which this goofball could be Kind of a Big Deal (hi Jo!). My lifestyle was the absolute opposite: I never left the house after 7PM except in an effort to get a baby to sleep. My mainstay of social contact was through a screen, by way of writing rather than talking. I rarely drank. Maybe one beer. (Guinness helps make milk, you know...) And I never, EVER went anywhere without the baby.
A friend of mine said that the reasons I had as many facebook friends as I do (actually we were talking about Mafia Wars *shame*) is because of my "fake internet persona". I laughed at the kernel (melon?) of truth in that. These days I have very little tolerance for stay at home motherhood, I drink more than is good for me, I don't even bat an eyelash at daycare or joint custody, and most of my social contact comes from grownups who might not even have kids and have never met mine.
I'd take the whole blog down if it weren't for the links to adoption posts that were pieces of a larger discussion (remember that? when discussions took place between blogs?). If it weren't for texting and facebook I'd hardly be stringing words together at all. My ability to compose anything longer than 140 characters is severely compromised. I hate everything I write, including this post so far.
I can't say right now what kind of resolution this blog identity crisis will come to, if it gets resolved at all. I could take it in another direction, I could abandon it and start fresh somewhere else and blog about hair or something, or I could just continue going long stretches without posting and then feeling guilty whenever I see the bookmark. Maybe you'll get some more drivel three dye jobs from now.