Why blog?

No one has ever asked me why I blog, so maybe there isn't much interest in the answer. But there must be very good reasons why I have continued blogging -- I've written 605 posts over the course of three and a half years. That means that, on average, I have met my goal of writing 15 posts a month for the past 42 months. I can't think of many other personal goals I have actually met with such regularity. (Certainly not exercising!)

It's not like I have a lot of free time, and it's not like I don't have other interests. But day after day, year after year, I have chosen to blog rather than, say, exercise, watch a movie, read a book, or bathe.

Just kidding. A shower only takes ten or 15 minutes. A good blog post takes at least an hour.

There are a lot of reasons why I blog. I enjoy the process of writing. I benefit mentally from having a creative outlet. I find writing therapeutic; I was already in the habit of keeping a diary during emotionally intense periods in my life, and early parenthood certainly qualifies. Through writing, I discover a lot about myself and have the opportunity to analyze my choices. I was afraid I would be too private to be an effective blogger, but it turns out that I like having readers. Many of my real-life friends and family seem to appreciate the updates on my family life, and I appreciate their feedback.

But mainly I blog out of fear.

Fear of losing, fear of forgetting, fear of failing to appreciate -- fear of the moments passing me by. Despite taking hundreds of pictures and writing dozens of blog posts, I've already lost the experience of what Laurel was like as a tiny newborn. And that was only four months ago! What was Isaac like back then? That's long gone.

Sure, I can still remember what happened a few months ago, or even a few years ago. And I have a good written and photographic record, more than most people have. But the truth is that it would take a much better writer than myself to depict the full sensory and emotional experience of having a brand-new baby. And I could write a daily ten-point list about Laurel and never come close to capturing the specific wonders of her.

But it's not just the new-babyness I want to preserve. It's all of it. I can't stand to know that this golden time is passing. When Isaac was a baby, every few months I would anxiously say to Craig, "He's perfect right now! This is the best it's ever going to be, and it's going to be over soon!" I was genuinely stressed out. But Craig would point out that my assessment of what was "perfect" was continually changing, and in fact I thought each age and stage was more perfect than the last. This hasn't really changed, and Isaac at age three and three-quarters is just about as perfect as he has ever been.

This can't last, though. At some future point I'm going to look at him and wish, even if momentarily, that he was three again.

I recognize that this must sound like a foolish concern. If we are lucky, our lives keep moving forward, we keep aging, and our children do too. Isaac joked the other day that he wasn't going to get any older than he is right now, and I felt a chill. Of course I want him and Laurel to grow up -- that's what children are supposed to do.

I know I can waste so much time and energy feeling wistful for the past that I fail to appreciate the present. I'm also very good at day-dreaming my way through the day, going through the motions without really paying attention. That's part of the grief I feel at the moment having passed -- that perhaps I wasn't paying enough attention to it in the first place. So I need to try harder to be mindful of the now, to appreciate the present.

But even more than that, I need to remember that the present doesn't entirely belong to me. My experience with these young children, as important and precious as it is to me, isn't the point of my having had children -- this is only the first of many steps in their lives. (And it's only one of many steps in my life, too.)

And no matter how often I blog, no matter how many pictures I take, I simply cannot preserve the true preciousness of this moment. So maybe the best thing to do is to set down the computer and go play with my kids.