Lost: My Touch

So I've been thinking about what the hell to write about on here for the past few weeks.


I remember back in the day, being selfishly disappointed when a favourite blogger announced they were knocked up and were either:
A) Starting a new, separate mommy blog;
B) Starting a new, separate mommy blog while poorly and sporadically updating their wonderful/funny/expletive-laden current blog;
C) Quitting blogging altogether to harness their energy into raising their soon-to-be snot-nosed little baby.

I initially vowed I would do none of those things.

But you know what? I can't think of a DAMN thing outside of my current pregnancy misery and joy. I didn't want to turn mommy blog. My perverse sense of humour, my horrific language, and my general disdain for most things on earth don't seem to mesh well with a blog about growing life inside of me.

The reality is that I will be the same person no matter what, but at the same time, I can't honestly think of other amusing things to write about.

I have lost most regular readers and commenters. Most of my blog traffic is misplaced searchers, leaving us both sorely disappointed when they search terms like "sexy socks".

I have, quite possibly, lost my touch.

When I leave the house, it's either for house move related things, or else baby things. Doctor's appointments. Prescription refills.


There is a fear that I shouldn't get too invested in relationships here because I will only become a housebound, hermit zombie after this babe is unearthed from my nether regions.

I haven't joined prenatal classes because I have a horrific hernia, I'm a wuss, I'm weak, and the amount of body pains I am experiencing because of the bloody "miracle of birth" is astounding. No one, and I mean NO ONE, even hinted that it could be this hard physically. And I'm only half way there.

So... yeah. A part of me wants to tell other stories. Tell more things about life outside of this. But it just feels like there isn't much to say.

I used to be funny. I think. At least a little. Then the husband stopped laughing when he read my posts. And many readers left. And life carried on.

So... I think I've lost my touch.

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Oh. Hai.

So... yeah, I've been here.

Oh, shit, looks like Blogger ate my last two month's worth of every-other-day posting.

Geesh, how could that happen?

Didn't you guys notice? It's totally not that I have been actually NOT writing anything on the blog. No, that's just crazy talk. Crazy talk.

I mean, normally auto-draft comes in and saves everything, but... uh... Blogger totally ate the posts. Posts, I must say, that were the highest caliber of writing you could ever hope to see on these pages. Brilliance. Wit. You would have laughed. Cried. Stopped for a moment, holding yourself in the fetal position on the floor.

Also? I know this is shocking, but I am a super anxious person.
I know, I know. I bet you're floored.

Anyway, just been spending the last week researching cars and SUVs and flying dogs as cargo and generally not sleeping or eating... but most certainly losing my mind. You know, the usual.

After all the discussions, it came down to logistics:

Meet our new Great Dane-approved SUV. Also, please stop judging me, the other dog is just peeing. I thought I would refrain from adding dog poop to this post. But just this one.

So, yeah, I'm pretty sure my dogs are the most expensive dogs in the world. I hope they enjoy the tour of the Canadian countryside. They had damn well better, because I am guessing that me and the hubs won't be speaking to each other by day two.

We've got a wee drive ahead of us.

Thank goodness for satellite radio.

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