On diaper bags and losing myself.

When I announced that I was pregnant, a writer friend of mine said, "Oh my...you are going to have SO much new material for your blog!"  Another friend said, "Are you going to become a mommyblogger now?"   I'm not sure if the second comment was said with disdain or not, but I surprised even myself by how little I've come to this site over the past 40 weeks.  I think the mommyblogger comment caught me off guard as there is something about that label that makes me feel stabby.  Perhaps because it forces you to join in with a group of people who regularly discuss their sleepless night, love affair with strollers and which organic diapers best suit their little ones behinds.  And really, the demographic that enjoys that sort of content is limited and also somewhat over saturated.

And while those subjects become central to one's existence when there is a miniature person in your life, I think part of me was/is scared that I'll lose a lot of myself in this process.  My friends who are mothers assure me that you actually blossom into an even broader version of who you are meant to be once you become someone's mommy, there is that small part of me that is attached to my shoe collection, my travels and my bucket list and fears that once Dylan makes his appearance, my conversations will deviate from amusing to the consistency of his poops and later display a bumper sticker exclaiming how he made the honor roll at his school.  

I suppose what I'm saying in my typical long winded fashion is that I'm trying to figure out where I go from here writing wise.  I've looked forward to becoming a mommy since I was a wee one myself, so I'm not decrying this new phase in life that is upon me.  It's more that I still want to have this as an outlet...and being that my life is soon to become full of all things Dylan, there may be more of that in here.  And I'm coming to terms with that and hope that you all will too.  Because if there is anything that supplies one with tales of the ridiculous, it's trying to segue from a sophisticated (ha! sort of), completely adult life into one that revolves around a baby that's primary skill is projectile poo'ing.

(And did you know?  Marc has never changed a diaper before?  In his 40 years?  I can't WAIT...although that being said, I also have this vision of coming home and seeing Marc outside, rinsing Dylan off from a safe distance with the hose rather than deal with anything stinky up close.)

So we'll see.  In the meantime, I have only a few more weeks to go and then the bomb of a new baby will be going off in our home.  I can't wait.