If I’m going to blog, might as well…blog.
Truth is, I’m trying to figure out how blogging fits into my writing life and my life, period. I write a great many things in different formats and venues, some of which have my name on them, some of which don’t. I wonder about blogging, every day when I fire up the computer, do my work, read other blogs, and see “WordPress” flashing before my eyes. In case you were wondering, the main reason I don’t do intense, issue-related blogging anymore is simply because I don’t have anyone who has my back anymore. It’s harsh out there – even if you’re just going to blog about pants for heaven’s sake – and if you’re going to wander into that minefield, it helps to have a real person who can commisserate with you and assure you that you’re (sort of) sane after you shut the computer off. Not asking for sympathy here, but that’s the deal. Hugs from little children are nice, as is amusing banter with older children, and perhaps a good, vigorous Rosary Run should suffice, but since I’m weak and earthly, none of the above quite cut it as far as recouping from online battles is concerned, so since I have to take care of myself, I have to …take care of myself.
Most bloggers go through periods in which they agonize about blogging, but I don’t find those kinds of agonies any different than the agony of wondering why write, period? It’s all the same thing, it’s all a battle fraught with matters of ego – if you have any kind of moral core at all. That is, quite simply, why should anyone care?
Well, they shouldn’t. But here we are, anyway.
Reading.
So here’s a post that’s been on my mind for a while:
The blogosphere is full of Mommybloggers. Pregnant, homeschooling, crafting, lactating, birthing, monetizing…mommybloggers!
You know what I don’t see out there?
Catholic Menopausebloggers!
Yeah, well.
I turned 50 this past summer, so it’s that time. I don’t keep track – because I don’t keep track of much of anything, really – but I think I’m done. Maybe 2-3 times over the past year, and not at all for six months or so?
Weird.
And the strangest thing of all is how few “symptoms” I’ve had. About 3 years ago – I know because we were still in Indiana, and it was winter – I had 2 nights of hot flashes. And that’s it. My heart races occasionally, which I’ve researched and found is a consequence of menopause as your hormones sort of run past each other and can’t get organized. I’m distractable, but then I always have been. I also don’t know how much of any possible mental/emotional symptoms I can blame on menopause or on Mike’s death. The most noticable symptoms to me have been that it’s harder to lose weight and my hair, which is definitely thinner and dryer. Witch Hair Coming!
I mean…if this is it…is this it? I’m very glad if it is. If this is it, it doesn’t deserve a book, much less a blog post.
I suppose if I were still married it would all be more significant to me. After all, I do have a five-year old. To go through menopause with a kindergartner is certainly unusual in these days and times. Up until the moment Mike died (when I was 48 and still apparently fertile) there was still and always the welcome possibility of another baby. But that’s over now. If Mike were still alive, it might strike me more forcefully than it does in the present situation, but now it really doesn’t matter since the baby days left when he did.
I have to say I’m glad. Not about the babies, but about the fact that this..er..transition..has been (I think. So far) pretty painless. All things considered.
What about you?
(Oh, and if you use the word crones you’ll be banned….)