I was in one of my contemplative moods earlier today and one of the things I contemplate about most is how my life turned out so different from what I expected it to. I’m not the kind of girl that has the next 30 years all planned out, but I do have a general idea of what it will be like. It used to change all the time, like one day I’d be going on a book tour LA (after releasing my NYT bestseller) then another I’d be some fancypants advertising hot shot screaming at lowlife executives (you don’t get to be a hot shot without the screaming). In none of those scenarios, I’d be sitting at home with curlers in my hair blogging on the laptop.

First of all, I never had a thing for blogging, which is why I’m only jumping on the bandwagon an entire decade late. When it comes to the Internet, I’m one of those suspicious old farts. It’s evil, I tell you. It’ll mysteriously syphon off all my money and spy on my every little move. Plus, I’m a fiercely private person and the thought of having random folks well-acquainted with the intimate details of my personal life gives me the creeps. What if I get stalked by a psycho and get chopped up into a thousand tiny pieces and fed to dogs? Bet you didn’t think about that, did you?

Also, how weird would it be to have complete strangers giving you knowing winks and nudges or coming up to you and say “Had a nice weekend there, aye? Hard at work making #3, I see” (which by they way is NOT happening). Then there’s the likelihood that in my fit of shock, I reach for my pepper spray right after I paralyze them with my karate moves… only to find out that they’re totally harmless die-hard fans of Mother, Inc.

That’s also why I never kept diaries or journals – so they don’t fall into the hands of preying eyes. Ok, I did keep a diary once, back when I was like nine, and it had entries like “Dear Diary, I fell down the stairs at school today while trying to jump 4 steps in a row, but I missed and took a tumble and landed flat on my face with my skirt ridden up to my waist in front of a bunch of boys who actually died laughing. Please let me die.” There were also a few other incriminating entries, none of which I want to recollect. A few years later, I decided it was too painful to read so I burnt it and scattered its miserable ashes into the sea.

That’s the fate of my one and only diary, so it is hardly surprising that I’m not a fan of this whole idea of blogging.

But having kids, it turns you into obsessive compulsive freaks who MUST keep a record of every little fragment of their lives. The first roll, the first step, the first crap on my thigh that gave me rashes for a week. So since it hasn’t stolen any of my money yet, the Internet is now my new best friend. I spend hours everyday surfing blogs of other mothers (and I am also addicted to FML – it makes me feel so much better about my life) to find solace in the fact that plenty of other moms have gone on ahead and survived to tell the tale.

More than that, the beauty of blogging is the community. It opens up a world of possibilities and connects you to people you otherwise would never have a chance of knowing. Motherhood is one of the loneliest jobs and by far the most difficult. Now that I’ve taken the plunge into the blogosphere, it’s turned out to be the best decision I’ve made in a long time and I ain’t turning back.

So once in a while I get the occasional troll, but they can eat my dust because I KNOW KUNG FU. And believe me, if you can find me, I can find you too. That’s the beauty of the Internet.