You Say It’s Your Birthday

 

It’s not my birthday, per se. It’s the blog’s birthday — The Fordeville Diaries turns three today! {Well, technically yesterday, but that was 9/11.}

Three years. 265 posts. Ah, they grow up so fast, don’t they? Where does the time go?

It has been quite a year, if I do say so myself. Let’s recap:

  • I had a geriatric pregnancy.
  • I had to give up wine (see “pregnancy”).
  • I decidedly took up no further home renovations.
  • I was published in a book.
  • I read my work on stage and almost passed out.
  • I had my third child!
  • I resumed drinking wine and extreme caffeine consumption.
  • OMG, I was published in another book.
  • I was chosen as one of BlogHer’s Humor Voices of the Year.
  • I was unable to shake the tight grip of social media addiction on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

So, yes, a lot went down in the last 12 months. And I wrote about it as much as I could. My posts weren’t all winners, but these are the ones I like best from this past year:

Facebook is Broken

I Don’t Watch Homeland. Can We Still Be Friends?

The Soul of New Jersey

A Very PBK Christmas

I Was Here First

Groundhog Day, Motherhood Edition

The Dessert Bar Baby

Target Always Wins

When 40 is the New 78

The Curious Consumer & Restoration Hardware

 

Recently, I have been posting far less than I did in the past. Because babies are needy and I can barely string together sentences most days. I’d love to tell you I’m trying to go back to my old ways of writing more, but the truth is that I’m enjoying my time taking in the scent of my baby’s head. These are crazy days with an infant, but also sentimental ones for me. So when I’m able to write, I write. When I can’t, I can’t. I’ve stopped putting pressure on myself to do more, because the last thing I want is for this to feel like a job or an obligation. Then I might have flashbacks to my days of gainful employment, and that would make me think of some of my old bosses. This would make me stabby {although I think I now have a pretty good idea for a future blog post}.

But I can honestly say that I still love doing this just as much as I did the first time I hit “publish” on a post. Possibly even more. This blog is a sacred space to me, and feels like a big piece of who I am. It’s where the remains of the day end up archived for me without having to tie them up in pretty ribbons. It’s sometimes messy. Sometimes sad or raw. Sometimes sentimental. And, hopefully, every so often, it’s a little funny — mostly at my expense.

So, what’s next?

I wish I knew. I wish I could tell you I had some grand vision for the blog — some strategic business plan — but I don’t. Would I love to grow it more? Sure. Will I look for opportunities to do that? Yeah, when I can. But I still love it just as it is, and am grateful for every reader and every comment. You guys are fabulous enablers.

So I think the plan is just to keep at it. I hope you’ll stick around for the ride.

In the meantime, let’s have cake and coffee and wine and ice cream and more wine. Because that’s what birthdays are for.

 

 

 

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Comments

  1. HouseTalkN says:

    Clink! Chug! Happy Bloggy Birthday!

  2. Kizz says:

    Happy Blogiversary!

  3. Anna says:

    Happy Bloggy Birthday! I’m glad your enjoyin the baby, who will change a lot more quickly then the Internet.

  4. Heather says:

    Happy 3rd birthday blog! Keep writing — i love every single post!!!

  5. Meredith says:

    Congrats! And yes–always, always have more wine :) Have loved your blog for so long, Kim. xo.

  6. Marcos says:

    Happy Birthday Fordeville Diaries! I look forward with great anticipation to reading about another year of Caffeine, Parenting, Wine and Chaos (rinse and repeat)!!! Well done, my friend…well done!

  7. Happy blogiversary! You’ve had a great year. And you just enjoy that baby smell. The writing will always be here.

  8. Happy Birthday, baby. Wherever you go and whatever you do, I’ll follow. That sounds creepy, but, I mean it in the most loving way. I love you and your beautiful words. Eat a cupcake.

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