It’s been a while.
I let my domain subscription thing expire. I didn’t renew it. Where this blog has always sat, a ‘page not found’ message sat instead.
At first I didn’t care. It’s been six months since I posted, and nine months since I recorded anything important about the kids.
I find it hard to click on publish.
What if it’s awful? What if my writing is dreadful and somebody notices and thinks ‘wow, that’s really dreadful’? What if nobody reads it at all? Or worse, what if somebody does read it?
What if somebody I know reads it and wonders if I’ve lost my mind a little bit?
I’m forever doubting myself. I know I’m not alone in that. We all do it.
I feel more confident now than I have since before I became a mother, but this is still really hard.
The thought of not having my little online record makes me sad.
I’ve been questioned recently on how and why I share so much information and pictures of my family and our lives, and I see their point. The internet is a dangerous place, I know.
Then there’s the issue of consent. Is it right to share your children’s lives without knowing if they’d want you to? I don’t know.
I like to think that they’ll read this and enjoy it one day, but I don’t know.
Every year since I started writing this blog has been a life changer. Each one for different reasons.
This is the first year without pregnancy or childbirth in it, and it’s been the easiest one. 2016 almost finished me off, and 2017 has been a year of getting back up and dusting myself off. A year of working out who I am now, instead of just wondering.
And there is no record of it.
I’m beginning to regret that.