Every time I've spilled my guts out to you, friends, I've spent the next day in a state of angst. Did I reveal too much? Did I really need to go that far?
But then I recall some of the blogs that I adore and remember that it is the human-ness that appeals to me. I love the serious and the raw, the humility, the humour, the nonsense and the revealing.
I put myself in your place and ask if I feel judgmental after I've read something deeply personal that you've written. Never. I feel connected to you when you honour me with something classified.
I told someone recently that sometimes I suffer in silence. This has been especially true with motherhood.
On the one hand I want to have the most current information available so I read everything I can. But I'm realizing, as you practiced parents already know, much of parenting is learned through doing. And each phase comes with a set of challenges (exhibit A to the left - he's now able to climb onto the kitchen table) as well as overwhelming marvels.
I've been wrestling with the breastfeeding dilemma on my own, listening to the limited advice my own mind had to offer. Your comments were refreshing to my cyclical thinking. I loved reading about your experiences. Each comment has been a small gift that has filled me with light.