2009-02-08

Probably one of the hardest things to me about this day is not... I'm not sure how to describe this. How about not being able to be open with this. Husband and I talk about this, but right now there is no way to explain her to Amy and Emily, so we don't talk about her in front of them. I think our moms don't have a clear grasp on the date and what it might mean to us. And it isn't something about myself that I put out there, although I know that there are people in my life who know.

Whenever I think about it, I feel this weird schizophrenic *thing* about my friends and my web presence. Of course I've been here nearly nine years, writing about this from the very beginning. If you were reading my journal in 2000 and 2001, then you knew about how I tried to get pregnant, failed repeatedly and decided on adoption. You also were there when it failed spectacularly. You, my readers, my longtime readers especially, know me. And yet I've chosen to stay anonymous in my web presence here.
If you've written me an e-mail, and I've responded, I've used my real name. Some readers know my name, where I live, and basic info that you'd know about me if you "knew" me. And that's OK. I'm OK with it.

Almost two years ago I joined facebook. And who joins facebook and uses a pseudonym? I joined using my real name, I friended people whose journals I read, they've friended me back. And lately I've reconnected with a whole host of people from high school, and another set of people I know in real life.

About a year ago, I got tired of writing here and being secretive from my family and decided to see if I could abandon this for a blog in my real name. And so I started one.

But then I joined twitter and decided to stick with my psuedonym. And I never abandoned writing here. It became less frequent to be sure. And my average readership is 9, maybe a little higher if I update during the week. I have no idea how many people read the crafty blog because I've been lazy about adding a stat counter.

In the nine years I've been writing here, I've held little back. And I feel liek the only way I managed to accomplish that is because I don't tell people I know in real life that this is here, and I don't use my real name. I find myself on facebook (and perhaps also on the knitting blog if the scope of it wasn't so knitterly) holding back. There is a meme going around about your first born and I've been tagged 2 or 3 times. It is full of questions about the pregnancy and delivery of your firstborn. And I feel uneasy answering it. For one thing, I think it is insensitive to people who may not have carried their firstborn. I wonder how I would answer the questions if Zoe were my firstborn (was this pregnancy planned: well no but the adoption was). Or how a birthmother who had relinquished her firstborn might feel reading so many memes about first children. And what is it with the first anyway? And for another, I don't really feel the need to announce to the world at large that YES! we did IVF. And it would have to come out right--if I told the truth. (How did you find out you were pregnant: Um Husband told me after the dr called with the results of my blood test after and agonizing two week wait). Do my student workers need to know that? Does the woman I stand by at yoga class? How about the two men I had crushes on in high school?
But would I have trouble writing the answers here? Even if those people could read it? Nope, because I can hide behind Library Lil.

I guess I feel that way about Zoe. I don't feel like I can change the status of facebook to read "is missing Zoe right now" because there is too much backstory. I'm not sure how I feel about saying it at twitter--twitter feels very public. I mean ALA follows me. I sometimes feel like they are expecting serious things, library things, not the constant navelgazing I tend to do. But I feel like I can say it here. Like you dear reader understand. That you are like that good friend that may say in her mind (oh is that TODAY) but what will come out of your mouth is "yes, I understand."

I guess that's why I've had a hard time shedding this journal.

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