Finding My Niche

Over the weekend, I attended a writers’ conference. One of the seminars centered upon building a brand and finding your niche. It was a great presentation but it left me feeling a little lost.

The point to finding your niche is to become an expert at a topic you are passionate about, writing about it and marketing your work. There has to be money in the topic. Somewhere, someone has to be buying and selling something surrounding the subject. It has to appeal to businesses or trade publications so that you can sell your work.

This left me questioning what my niche is, exactly. Once upon a time, it may have been finance or credit. And it could still be, possibly. My hobbies include concert going, scrap booking and just about anything that the marketing types would call “experiencing,” such as hot air balloon rides or visiting new restaurants and bars.

Lately, however, my life has centered on being a mom and all things to do with babies and toddlers. I would never consider myself to be “an expert mom,” as I have sort of been fumbling through the motions figuring this whole thing out. My own mother has been deceased for ten years, so I don’t have her to turn to when I have questions. I rely on friends, my sister and mommy message boards for advice. I suppose I could take these lessons and pass them along to others like me. I try to keep my topics here diverse, as not all of my readers are parents and I don’t want to bore them. Try as I might to avoid the subject, this blog seems to gravitate to mommy issues. I should add that the "niche blog" would be its own entity, separate from this blog.

The problem is that I hate “mommy blogs.” Unless I know the author or her children personally, I tend to not care or be bored by their stories and pictures. I don’t want to be “that mom.” I don’t want it to be personal for other reasons as well. The internet is a scary place where weirdoes congregate. I don’t want them to learn too much about my children. If I did a real mommy blog, I would probably take a page out of Michael Jackson’s book and put masks or paper bags over my children’s faces before taking a picture that I would post. Or, if they were really bad that day, I’d use plastic bags.

Maybe that’s where the answer lies. Maybe I need to be that mom that does things a little differently; the one that isn’t offended when the Elmo Camera says, “Work it baby! Give it to Elmo!” Or I could be the mom who openly admits that she lets her daughter stay in her jammies all day and feeds her leftover cold pizza for lunch and apple juice that isn’t organic . The mom that’s different or alternative.

Or maybe I should just write about concerts.

An Open Letter To The Church Ladies

Dear Church Ladies:

Today I attended services at The Church of the Good Shepherd UCC in Alburtis, PA. I don’t consider myself to be a particularly religious person. I grew up Catholic and hold a lot of bitter sentiments toward the church's ideology. My husband is a member of your church and would like to raise our children to believe in God and Jesus Christ. I’m not opposed to the idea. I think that churches can teach positive values. Since your sect seems fairly open minded in regards to women and homosexuals, I feel most comfortable with your beliefs.

I’m not all that thrilled with your congregation, however. As an outsider and self proclaimed “Chreastian” (someone who tends to only attend services for Christmas and Easter), I just don’t feel very welcome in your church. One of the first women that spoke to me started asking questions about my daughter. They were not your typical, “What’s her name? How old is she?” kind of questions. I believe the exact question was, “You don’t bring her here much, do you?” My response was that we were just coming out of a long winter where she did not have a flu shot. I also told her that I am pregnant and also did not get a flu shot. I don’t think I’ve even gone to a grocery store since October. The flu in our house this winter would have been disastrous, possibly even dangerous. She didn’t say much else but when it came time for the neighborly “peace of Christ be with you” handshake part of the service her eyes immediately dropped to my bulging tummy and my ring finger. Isn’t it good manners to make eye contact when shaking someone’s hand?

The minister was fairly friendly today, although on other occasions he has passed along a guilt trip for not showing up. I know it’s his job to make sure people attend services. I won’t keep showing up if you’re going to be an ass to me. But I won’t dwell on past incidents since today you were cool. You didn’t even beg for money during your sermon, which from what I hear is commonplace. I don’t know if your wife was in attendance today or not. It seems that other times I have been there she was missing. I will forgive this, though, as I’m sure she’s very busy keeping that glass house of yours clean.

I do have to call the minister’s leadership into question as it appears that he lets a lot of you Church Ladies, especially those of you involved with the various choirs, run the show. I chose to attend Christmas services at a different church this year because your choir chose to have its cantata on Christmas Eve rather than a traditional service. To me, this gives the impression of wanting to show off to the people who don’t attend services as much, capturing a bigger audience. The problem with this is that I have a toddler and another baby on the way. Stretching what could be a 45-minute service out to an hour and a half is taxing on her and taxing me, especially my balance and bladder. I had to hold both the baby and my pee for a very long time this morning. I also got a little dizzy. And I was patiently waiting for my daughter to throw a fit or blow out the diaper under her pristine white bloomers. But we got lucky today. Since I only attend services twice a year, I have no reason to believe that this is not typical. I can’t make it through the hour and a half every week. I just can’t. As I mentioned before, I grew up Catholic. We had services on Saturday nights so that we wouldn’t have to get up early on Sundays. Those services also only lasted 25 minutes or so. I’m conditioned for a sprint, not a marathon.

Perhaps if I got the warm fuzzy feeling at your church, I would visit more often. Perhaps if we could compromise on how long and involved the service is, I’d feel more comfortable and even enjoy what’s going on. But this just feels like an awkward chore, or like high school gym class all over again. Everyone is checking me out and it’s too long and physically laborious. I guess I’ll just see you all again at Christmas, unless you decide to do the Cantata again.

Love,

A Chreastian

Ten Things I Will Miss About Being Pregnant

I figured I would give the opposotion equal time after my last blog.

1. Feeling the baby move. I know it’s cliché but it really is the coolest thing about being pregnant, even if my husband thinks it’s creepy.

2. Having an excuse to take it easy. Naps, heavy lifting, having an excuse not to go somewhere because you’re not feeling well will be missed.

3. Only having one kid to keep under control. God help me on this one.

4. Non-leaky boobs. I really don’t need an excuse for extra padding. My girls are big enough.

5. Healing quickly. It always amazes me how quickly my cuts, scabs and blemishes heal when I’m pregnant. I'm like that cheerleader on Heroes. Lord knows my c-section incision and pain will not go away that fast.

6. Thicker hair. On my head anyway.

7. Sleeping peacefully. For the most part, as long as you exclude getting up to pee five times every night and rolling over 20 times so that my shoulder doesn’t fall asleep.

8. Maternity pants. Pants with elastic waists are so comfy.

9. Looking fat and not being judged by skinny people. This is the one time where you can work a big belly and not have the Judgy Judgersons give you a look of disgust.

10. Not having my period. My doctor has advised against endometrial ablation along with my tubal ligation, despite my asking, “If you’re going to close the factory, what is the point of continuing to send smoke out the smokestack?”

Ten Things I Can't Wait To Do When This Baby Stuff Is All Over

1. Try Zumba. It looks like so much fun! And I will need to work off the baby weight.

2. Drink a big glass of sangria. Oddly enough, sangria was the last alcoholic drink that I had.

3.Wear my wedding rings again. I’ve been wearing a fake on my swollen fingersfor a few months.

4. Eat a hoagie. I’m too paranoid about this whole listeria thing.

5. Breathe normally. I’m now in that uncomfortable stage where my lungs are being crushed, causing a lot of fatigue.

6. Finding a guilty pleasure late night show on TV to watch while nursing. Last time, I learned a lot from the Trivial Pursuit game show at 4 AM.

7. Drink a giant iced tea from the kiosk place in the lower level of the Lehigh Valley Mall. I’m thinking pineapple tea would be good.

8. Whiten my teeth. Despite avoiding caffeine, they are turning yellow.

9. Stop answering the question, "How are you feeling?" I do feel kind of crappy but I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear about it.

10. Sleep on my stomach. No more pins and needles on my shoulder, unless I choose to do some acupunture.

It's Not All Wine And Roses. Sometimes, It's Just Whine And Bitch

This is going to sound like a big ol’ pity party, so feel free to skip this one. I just have to vent and move on.

I feel stuck. I’m tired and lonely. I sit in my house all day with my baby, playing Peek A Boo and watching Sesame Street videos. When I do leave the house, I’m exhausted by the time I get myself ready, the baby ready, pack the diaper bag and load the car. Just the thought of it makes me want to crawl into bed and take a nap.

I feel very isolated. I’ve made plans with friends several times over the last few weeks and they’ve been cancelled or changed without so much as a phone call. Then when I ask what’s going off, I’m told that the plans were changed to another time that already took place. I swear I’m not this pathetic around other people. I don’t know anyone in my area. I’ve tried to look for mom’s groups but there’s nothing around here. The ones that I’ve found either have very rigid rules for participation that I can’t commit to in this condition or they don’t meet all that often. I was able to join one of the latter but so far, in the three months that I’ve belonged, they’ve only met once to discuss a book that I have no interest in reading.

I could drop the baby off with my mother-in-law and go off on my own somewhere. But I’d still have to do all the prep work to get there. She also has her own stuff going on right now. I don’t want to interfere. And where would I go anyway? Plus, I always have some anxiety dropping her off, not to mention the mommy guilt.

My days have been mundane. I have no good stories to tell. I struggle to find fodder for this blog. I don’t mean to sound so “woe is me.” I’ll be too busy soon enough. So I guess I’ll just go back on You Tube and watch the Elmo’s Ducks video for the five thousandth time today.

You Can't Join My Play Group If...You Get All Up In A Pregnant Woman's Business

How to recognize them: If you’re pregnant, they’re watching you, staring at your every move. And they never know when to shut the fuck up.

Frequently heard saying: “You should drink eight ounces of water every hour.”

“You’re not going to drink a Diet Coke, are you? There’s caffeine and artificial sweeteners in there!”

“Don’t put that hot dog in your mouth!”

“Slow down! Walking too fast is going to get your heart rate and blood pressure up!”

“That’s too heavy! You can’t lift it!”

Why they bug: They’re not doctors. Their advice is not based on any medical authority whatsoever. And how I treat my body and my pet fetus is none of their business. Eight ounces of water every hour amounts to 192 ounces of water a day. I would pee every three minutes. Artificial sweeteners and caffeine are fine in small amounts. Hot dogs are okay as long as they’ve been cooked well. Getting your heart rate up is perfectly fine as long as your temperature is not also going up. In fact, exercise is good for you and will actually keep your blood pressure down. It’s okay to lift 50 pounds up to 20 weeks and roughly 20 or so pounds after 20 weeks. You won’t miscarry. Lifting heavy things is more of a concern for a pregnant woman’s back and balance than it is for causing early labor. But, if you want to carry this for me, maybe I shouldn’t stop you. I’m tired from walking too fast...to get away from you.

Their retort: “You think you have all the answers, don’t you? Just wait until you go into labor early!”

My response: Yeah, I do. Do you want to know why? I asked my doctor. She graduated in the top 10% of her class at med school. Did you? She isn’t concerned about any of these things. I can’t imagine why you would be.

The Sunshine Bores The Daylights Out Of Me

It’s such a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining. Although the air is somewhat crisp, no more than a light jacket is required for comfort. After a harsh winter, a day like this should be welcomed, right?

Wrong.

All I want to do is take a nap today. I got up early to clean the house. Spent the morning keeping the baby out of trouble and working on her physical therapy. She is now exhausted and napping contently in her crib. And I’m beat. I want a nap, too.

I know I should be out taking advantage of this gorgeous weather. I feel this horrible internal pressure telling me to not put on my jammies and get under the covers. I should take her to the park when she wakes up. Or, at the very least, I should go shopping or something. I hear a million people telling me that I should get out of the house.

Beautiful days and the pressure they bring are evil. People always say things that make me feel like I need to get some sun. Phooey. I hate that pressure. The sun makes my eyes teary. And it’s not that warm outside. I like being a pale recluse with insomnia. I am the thing that goes bump in the night. But I know it’s not good for my kid to not get fresh air. So I will suck it up and go to a park or to a store. I will take her out in public and pray that she does not have a diva like meltdown.

Tomorrow. It’s still going to be nice out, right?