I’ve pretty much figured out the kind of Blogs I like – Blogs by Mums who aren’t trying to fit the mold. Blogs which are funny. Blogs by Mums who are self depreciating, and can laugh at their own inadequacies (we all have them)… blogs by people I can see elements of myself in.
So, it’s no wonder I am a little in love with Single Mum Speaks (@babyorbankrupt). A back story that will charm you, and characters that you’ll be able to imagine in a real life sit com. It’s on my list of Blogs I regularly pop over to, in case I missed something. Min and Piglets escapades will brighten up your day, as they so often do mine.
#coolmumclub, check it out. You’ll love it, I promise.
Why I Blog
My blogging journey is a long one.
In fact, I have never met anyone else in the blogging world who has been blogging for as long as me. It’s a bit embarrassing really, given that I have so far failed to reach the heady heights of what I would call “being a superstar blogger,” which is an imaginary situation which consists of me being paid megamillions to sit at a desk in front of some French doors in a tastefully decorated room (possibly Art Deco), curtains blowing in the breeze that rolls in from the sea just beyond, tapping away at my Macbook with a chilled glass of wine by my side.
Because that’s what happens when you’re a writer, right?
My life as a so-called writer (yes, I just called myself that. I got brave) did not start that way.
My life as a blogger started with a bunch of emails.
You see, back in the early 2000s, I lived in Japan. And Japan, as I am sure you’re aware, is very far away. Every week or so I would go to the internet cafe (this was in Ye Olden Days, when I didn’t even know how to use the mouse on a laptop, let alone own one), slide myself into a booth next to a man looking at an unsavoury form of manga, and email.
I emailed my friends, I emailed my family…and I told them about my adventures in Japan. How I had survived earthquakes, cyclones and Japanese pop music. How I had become an unlikely fan of WWE wrestling because it was the only thing on TV in English. How my students kept telling me I had a high nose and a small face.
I never thought anything of these emails. They were just me, prattling on about how much I missed Ibiza compilation albums and Smirnoff Ice (oh, the early 2000s!) and about my ludicrous crushes on various Japanese TV personalities, and mindless critiques of Japanese music videos. But then I realised that it wasn’t just my friends who were reading them. It was also their parents. Their PARENTS. And they LOVED my writing.
Well, I thought, if my friends’ parents approve of my writing, maybe it isn’t so bad after all. Why would they be interested in my 21 year old ramblings about hiding under the table during earthquakes and missing Pret A Manger?
Eventually (after some prompting from a friend’s parents in 2008), I started a blog.
It was basically just my diary, but online.
I wrote about everything. My drunken escapades, my disastrous love life, my infuriating co-workers, even a miscarriage.
And then it all crashed and burned.
The infuriating co-workers weren’t too keen on being described as such, and the job was even less keen.
I learned my lesson, and retreated into silence.
And then, in 2012, I made a decision that was to change my life.
I was going to become a mother. And I was going to do it on my own terms.
The love life was still disastrous, and time was running out. The miscarriage had made me only too aware of the ticking clock, and all I could see was a long slow decline into a lonely and bitter spinsterhood. I wished I could be childfree and happy, but I knew I never could be. I would be bitter. I would be Miss Havisham in the attic in a yellowing bridal gown, being mean to small children out of spite. I would be miserable and self-pitying. No one would want to know me.
Something had to be done.
After a fateful night spent wrestling with my conscience and my declining fertility, I booked a ticket to the Fertility Show, and from then on there was only one way I was going, and it was straight to the sperm bank.
Well, the sperm bank was in America. So actually it was straight to the internet (it’s a bit like internet dating, you know, but without the small talk). And so I became the proud owner of a nitrogen tank full of sperm (well, the clinic did. And I had to pay £400 for the privilege of them “looking after” it).
That sperm (well, and my egg, if we’re being SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE) became this
which, after a very long nine months, finally became this
It has been a long journey, and my blog has been there every step of the way. Mostly it has been private and anonymous, but then in August I went public once again.
I am a blogger, and I am proud.
Cue tears, Oprah, and the heartfelt speech I’ve been planning for when I finally win a blogging award.
Actually screw that, I’m going for the Booker Prize.