Goodbye, Mommy Blogger

mommy blogger For more than five years, I’ve graced you — or possibly upset you — with the blogs I’ve put out here. And for more than five years, it felt right — and incredibly fulfilling. I was in my mommy blogger prime, and I wore that badge real proudly. Being able to put thoughts and opinions on a website for others to view and share is fulfilling in a way that only writers can understand. For women to feel comfortable in their own thoughts or lives after reading my own perspective or story truly is a privilege.

I got to be your token divorced and single mom — until I got remarried and other women realized they hated their now-former husbands, as well… and well now there are a few more ladies who can take that torch. You got to see me go from that stage to a new one.

Then, slowly I found myself in the “middlehood era” (I made that term up) of parenting. The not-close-to-toddlers-but-not-yet-even-tweens years. The awkwardness-of-maybe-still-playing-with-Barbies-but-don’t-tell-my-friends age. When your kid is trying to figure out their personality and independence, yet I still have to remind them to look both ways before crossing the street.

This is when my motivation to talk about #momlife slowly started to dwindle. Diaper duty is long gone, and my kids now wipe their own asses. I don’t homeschool or craft things well, playgroups aren’t on my radar any longer, and honestly, I’m still unsure of what gentle parenting is (which means I probably don’t do it). I’m not even able to find the mindfulness to read others’ work because I simply can’t relate anymore — or I’ve already been through it and then some. It’s not personal; it’s me.

I miss writing. I miss sharing with complete strangers, whom most likely I will never meet, my stories, my opinions, my views. I’ll gladly take the horrific comments I get when posting in favor of LGBTQ+ rights and the sympathetic ones when speaking of divorce. To the friendships I have made because of words on a page that touched your heart, it meant I got to write something you felt an emotion for. It was a connection to let you, the reader, and me, the writer, know that someone out there understood them.

Now we’re here. I haven’t written in months, am very much in the midst of the “middlehood era,” and I’m not sure what to share because I don’t even know what I want to read.

Do you need to know how my kid learned about how to access TikTok via her friends? Would a recipe for taking Publix popcorn chicken and dividing it into bags and calling it lunch prep suffice? I barely even drink now, so those cocktail recipes seem like I’ve given them to you under false pretenses.

Are we ignoring the kids and putting more focus on ourselves and our relationships again? Lord knows I can tell you about some adult toys to add to your collection. 

What do the parents in the middlehood era need from others? Because I need that, too.


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