Disclaimer: This post is not directed to anyone in particular. So, no need for snark-ish comments. Peace out.
Believe it or not, the Mummy Blogger title has never really bothered me. I know for a fact that there are some people who cringe at the very thought of being called one. To them, the term mummy blogger is a demeaning one. To them, the term equates to an endless mind-numbing posts about kids, birthdays, poops, breast-milk, more poops and I think you get the picture.
I have quite a few American bloggy friends and man, the term mommy blogger…not a really positive one. But as I’ve said, the title does not offend me. Why? Because it’s true. I am a mummy blogger. I am a blogger who happens to be a mummy.
Simple as that.
I am proud to be called a mummy blogger because bloody hell try typing up a blog post whilst there’s a small person attached to your boobie. Or try drafting a grammatically and typographically correct post whilst under the influence of sleep deprivation. Or try keeping your idea for a post whilst the kidlets are having their full-on level 10 tantrums.
It ain’t easy. It ain’t easy at all.
We mummy bloggers are made of the Tough Stuff. That’s all I’m saying.
I wear the badge of mummy bloggerhood with pride and honour. Because mummy blogging has allowed me the opportunity to meet and become friends with some of the most real, honest, funny, talented, down to earth, loving bunch of people on the interwebs. And I, don’t even have to leave my front door. Surely, that is as good as it gets.
I am a mummy blogger and I am thankful that I am one. How else would I have landed that out-of-this-world Coke gig?
I love that I am a mummy blogger because I know years from now, my grown kids would read my entries and I know they would be grateful that their mama had digitally documented the mostly funny parts of their childhood.
I know that in my heart.
So yes, I am a mummy blogger. And I am proud to be one.
2011, Mummy-Time. All rights reserved.
[...] Being a mummy blogger rocks. Big time. I know it. Believe in it. And I really don’t care whether you cringe at being called one or not. It’s your issue not mine. It’s a label that you either own or rebel against from. I love being one. I am grateful for being one. End of story. [...]