I found one of those quirky, tacky quotes the other day that actually made me stifle a laugh. "Don't let anyone tell you something is impossible....in fact....with appropriate thrust pigs CAN fly!" Please don't tell anyone I like this quote. It's embarrassing, like being a member of the Minnie Pearl Fan Club.
But for whatever unknown reason, the quote hit a nerve. I was inspired by the hope it instills. And whenever doctors tell me I have old, decrepit eggs that won't ever be viable pregnancies, I'm going to pull a Scarlet O'Hara and say, "With appropriate thrust, pigs can fly! GOOD DAY, SIR!" And then I'll stomp out on my heel and slam the door behind me. It will be awesome and pathetic at the same time. Can NOT wait.
Speaking of discouraging ass hats, I read the article in the SFGate about the Mommybloggers. Ugh. I hate that term. It's so demeaning and more than a little sexist.
But what bothered me most about the article, aside the fact it was written poorly and without any pertinent facts or figures whatsoever, were the comments. They were brutal. I came away from reading them with the very clear opinion that people hate bloggers. More specifically, female bloggers with children.
I can't imagine why people would discourage others from writing blogs. More than likely, these "Internet Diaries" have saved many an innocent person from being the victim of a psychopathic attack by a repressed, emotional wreck with no outlet for their angst. Millions of lives have been saved by random ranting blog entries. Hallelujah!
But I've been getting the feeling that many people resent the pollution of their online world. These are the people who criticize others for not following the clean, neat little rules of the Internets. Their motto seems to be "If you can't be a sheep, don't log on."
However, bloggers seem to be sheep, too...a different type of sheep. The type of sheep that march to the bleat of a different drummer, perhaps? Couldn't resist. My bad.
The blogger sheep/lemming/follower is the type of person who is a little exhibitionist, mixed in with a tiny smidge of narcissism and self-loathing. The results of this mix of crazy can sometimes be brilliant, when it's not a hideous mishmash of incorrect grammar and poor sentence structure. I plead guilty.
I've always been a little bit of a blog-junkie. I love reading them, although most are a mess and not worth my time. Once in a while there is a gem that's worth bookmarking. Those are the writers I admire. They put themselves out there for all to criticize, hate, and flame.
There are examples of writing that have touched me and evoked fairly strong emotions. Just by reading the words of a complete stranger, filling me in on the struggles in their life, I have been brought to tears. These are the blogs that make all the work of trying to find something shiny amidst the muck and mire worthwhile.
After my miscarriage, I sought out women who have experienced something close to what I did. I couldn't relate to 99% of what I read. These poor women were sorrow-stricken and hysterical with grief. I simply wasn't that distraught. The only way to describe my feelings during that time is to use the word "empty."
However,
I did find one blog that resonated. Before this woman finally conceived and gave birth to a lovely baby girl, she had a horrible time with infertility issues. I liked her writing style, and was transfixed by the fact she had experienced five miscarriages and was close to my age. She also wrote in a way that described her experiences with brutal honesty, dry humor, and a bitter resentment that made me feel closer to the truth of what miscarriage is for a woman.
Miscarriage is this: Loss. An evacuation of hope. A reason to give up. A line being drawn in the sand. You either step behind it and give up or step over it and dare to move on. Miscarriage points a finger in your face and screams, "Choose."
And then you pick up the pieces and start all over again.
