Not to imply that my life is anything but constant, breathless excitement...

I realize I haven’t updated this blog in several weeks. Which is particularly despicable considering that I first intended to update it every day (save, perhaps, the weekends). Before signing up for my blog account, almost every day would pass with an event or an idea that would strike me as something interesting I’d be able to share on a blog. And the point of the blog, I thought, wouldn’t be so much to entertain others as to sort of mark my way as I traveled through married life, to create a bread-crumb trail of this short time as a housewife.

See, I’m terrible at keeping a journal. I don’t know how people can write in a diary on a regular basis. If someone were to read through my childhood diary, they’d be well-informed about October of 1995, Easter Break of 1997, the crushes of Family Camp of 1999, 2000, and 2002, and a brief period in high school when I broke up with my first “boyfriend”. (Incidentally, I wish I hadn’t kept such a detailed account of that last event. To my memory, the boy was a socially awkward, baby-talking egomaniac. My family still mentions his name in order to make me cringe, and if my diary didn’t pine so dramatically for him I’d be able to insist – with a clear conscience – that I had never seriously liked him. But… I digress.)

I started a journal again this past March. I had gone to a job interview at Barnes and Noble and realized, once there, that I hadn’t brought any paper to take notes. In haste, I shelled out lots of money for a simple, spiral-bound notebook. I didn’t get the job, but I did look more prepared holding that notebook. And I was able to write down “contractual position” and “software company.” Whew.

So after coming back from a trip to Miami with friends, I made myself pick up that fat, empty notebook and start a journal. I told myself I’d keep it up, even for five minutes a day, and even if my entries looked like this: “Chicken for dinner tonight. Went to Walmart. Brian and I bought nectarines on sale. Have eaten four. Also have eaten half a bag of jumbo marshmallows. Bo is cute.” Not a lot of pressure, right? And I did it for about a week. And then I stopped.

And I realized I needed to start my blog. Also, I’m not sure where my notebook is.

The point is, I am committing to updating this blog. Every day. Even if the entries look like this: “Spent an hour looking online for gender-neutral crib bedding and baby nursery ideas. Got my period yesterday. Eggs and toast for dinner. Bo is chewing on a toothpaste box. Might watch a movie tonight.”

I won’t blame you if you stop reading. But to me, it’d be more of a shame to look back at this time in my life and wonder what the heck I was doing. Like how I’m wondering, for example, about July of 1995. Did my batteries run out or something?