Hey Jakey,

"Today's parents - older, more established and socialized to voicing their emotions - may be uniquely equipped to document their children's' lives, but what they seem most likely to complain and marvel about is their own. The baby blog in many cases is an online shrine to parental self-absorption."

Or how 'bout:

"A blog like this is narcissism in its most obscene flowering," she said. "But it's necessary. As a parent your days are consumed by other people's needs. This is payback for driving back and forth to gymnastics all week long."

And:

"Blogging makes parents more relaxed. But the question is, at who's expense? How will the bloggee feel, say, 16 years from now, when her prom date Googles her entire existence?"

Hey. I resemble those remarks. I don't mean to, but I guess I do. I'm having a mixed reaction to a New York Times article that's calling me self-absorbed, narcissistic and in need of validation. Y'know, I was all of that before I ever blogged.

I never knew when I first signed on to Blogger that there was an entire sub-cultcha of people writing regularly about the travails of parenthood. I honest-to-god thought I was doing something unique and precious. I'm just tapping on keys and sending my musings into cyberspace because 20+ years of sitting in front of a computer has left the writing muscles in my right hand terribly weak and atrophied. Plus, my handwriting is atrocious. I never dreamed that anyone besides you would read this, Jakey, or would want to.

And here's a question: What's the difference between "blogs" and the diary entries written by those Civil War matrons that Ken Burns reads in that documentary? Or those pink fuzzy books with lock and key that are (were) kept by love-struck, mooning teenage girls for time out of mind? A journal is a journal is a journal. Okay, I'll admit, when I realized that anything I wrote here was available for public consumption, I changed my demeanor just a wee tiny bit. The written equivalent of tugging on your skirt to hide your slip.

But other than that, this is all for you, dear heart. Cuz I would love to know my mother the way I feel you'll know me after this is all said and done. Love you!