To blog or not to blog?

I have been very hesitant to enter the world of blogging because everyone I know who has a blog is either very profound or very funny. I don't know if I have it in me to be either, so I have been reluctant to put myself out there. However, the other day, I was telling my mom a story about Pressley and she said: "Oh, that is precious... You have to put that in her baby book." Ahhh, Pressley's baby book. Let's talk about that. When I was pregnant with Evan, I happened upon this very cute baby book for a little boy, so I bought it. While I was on maternity leave, I filled it with photos of showers, lists of gifts, visitors to the hospital, etc. When Evan turned one, I rounded it out with photos of various milestones from his birth until his first birthday. It is a precious work of love. So, when I was pregnant with Pressley, I became obsessed with finding a book that matched Evan's book. I searched high and low and visited every card shop, stationary store and book store in Atlanta (and on the web) until I finally found THE book. I purchased it and felt that now I was ready to give birth to my little girl. I am sad to report that Pressley turned two about two months ago and her baby book remains as blank as the day I bought it. You would think that as a second child myself, I would have made a point to give Pressley's book the same time and attention that I gave Evan's. But, no.

So, that is a long story to say... I have decided that in the absence of real baby books for my children, this would be a good way to save for posterity all those funny and dear things they do while they are little. I am sad that I didn't start it earlier, because Evan said and did some really cute stuff when he was younger, and some of those things will be lost forever. But, better late than never. I also figure that some of these stories will bring amusement to our friends and family. So, here goes....

The funny thing that led to the blogging:

Pressley had a stomach bug last week. Very unpleasant. I won't go into details, but the funny thing about the ordeal was that Pressley somehow thought that the "spit-up pan" was what was making her throw up. It went something like this: she would start acting funny like she might throw up, I would run over with the pan (or bucket, or tupperware, or whatever was handy), and she would say (crying) "No, mommy, no! No throw up!" If only she realized that I didn't want her to throw up any more than she wanted to throw up. Bless her little heart. I am glad we are over the stomach bugs, at least for the time being.