One year ago this week I locked up the library for the last time. Each morning as I get ready I look at my librarian name plate. I think about the good times but I do not miss them at all.
This guest post is by the sharp-eyed and whip-smart Kerry who writes at Atomic Librarian. She found her way here through mutual friend and badass Cookbook, and today she’s exploring the topic of what it’s like for a childess person to read blog posts about children. I’ve often wondered what my childess readers think when I share gushing stories about her. Technically I qaulify under that large umbrella term “Mommy Blogger,” but I hope to provide interesting content for people who are not, and never will be, parents as well.
If I’m being completely honest, this post made me a bit sniffly at the end. So here we go. Take it away, Kerry!
So, it seems these days that my blogroll has been taken over by babies and small children. It used to be that the internet was all about the cat pictures, porn and weddings. All good things come to an end.
I am 36, never married and without kids. Unless something radically changes the trajectory of my life in the next week or so, I doubt that’s going to happen for me. Which frankly makes me sad sometimes, because I would have like to engage in a decades long genetics and social science experiment. I don’t care about others’ pregnancies, and those “Dear Baby, Today you are X months old…” letters irritate the hell out of me, because frankly that’s just bragging that the writer has a baby. Come on, when’s the kid going to be able to toddle over to a computer and find your blog? Put it in a scrapbook so the kid can enjoy it; my niece loves to look at the scrapbooks her mom has made for her and kiss the pictures and look at herself.
But I do like to read about little kids, even strangers like LittleBig’s Isobel. It’s been fun to watch her change over the past year or so, and to watch Carrie Anne and Anthony love and enjoy her–like the “oh crap, Isobel’s toys are too young for her–let’s go shopping!” episode. Partly it’s because I remember being a kid–a sad, anxious, weird little kid with a strange family. It’s reassuring to read about prepared, thinking, loving parents who enjoy and take pride in their children. And it’s nice to hear stores about the little people who are growing up ready to take on the world. It gives me hope. It makes me feel like I’m a part of their circle, a neighbor perhaps, who feels pride in the community. Right now, my best friend’s son and my niece get my efforts at love and being a trusted adult in their lives, a resource I never had as a kid. And they’ve done the same for me. When my niece was born I was so sick with depression that all I could do was make my way over to her house and hold her. I called her “Narco Baby” because I’d get an endorphin high off the physical contact and her baby stink, along with a little jolt of pride and self esteem that that was something I was good at.
We’re all connected, even by internet. And the more connections the better. Anything that gives me hope for the future is good, which is why I’m thankful for Little Big and her family.