I knew I’d have my cover blown eventually.

It’s just… that I was so sure I’d be the drunken architect of my own undoing. I could picture the scene quite vividly: me, pub, injudicious quantities of wine, blurtyblurtystumbleblurty. Consequently, I’d imagined it would be my internet-savvy friends that found me, and I was … reasonably ok about that. Braced for the possibility. I had a vague notion of standing bravely by every gynaecological and paranoical quirk I’d pegged to the public bloggy washing line, despite feelg that there are some things, particularly of the intimate mucus variety, that really do not need to be burning into your family retinas.

But lately, I couldn’t quite rid myself of a naggy feeling that the Bliss Just Giving page might come back to bite me in the bum somehow. I had stupidly given my dear old Dad instructions to crank open his wallet via the site in order to let Bliss reclaim the tax – why I simply didn’t go and print out a bloody Gift Aid form for him, I really don’t know; I was tired, I expect. And sure enough, one or other of my lovely ancestors (Hi, folks!) has (with impressive internet detective skills that I freely admit I had thought rather beyond their technological reach) tracked me down – if the fact that I spotted this blog in Favourites on their laptop earlier this week is any kind of clue.

But hey, at least I’m in their Favourites! They like me! Me, their only child! Who knew!

And I still left the posts up, unpassworded, because there’s nothing here that they aren’t aware of in any case, bar the eye-watering gynae detail, albeit I’m too grumpy and busy sitting on my bum and eating their food to deliver information clearly or concisely half the time. 

You see where this is going, don’t you?

I dropped Harry off at the nursery I am now calling Abacus on Monday, and explained that I’d been unable to get through on the phone regarding the last two sessions, which we had missed. I had lost their original details under the compost of paper, lego and coffee cups that forms our filing system, and had been obliged to google their telephone number – an old one, as it turned out; they enquired where I’d seen it.

‘Oh, just Google it!’ I breezily advised.

So they very conscientiously did, today. And came straight here, because I’m now the 14th bloody search result for the place. Harry attended this nursery in the first place because it was a family friend who co-ran it. More specifically, a friend of John’s mother’s.

The three great communication mediums: telephone, television, and tell family.

Cue knee-jerk passwording. And… I don’t know what to do now. At all.

I can keep blogging, and password the stuff I’m reluctant to broadcast, but I’ve used a password for the odd post here and there already and it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, personally, although it would tick a lot of the boxes. (Incidentally, on the subject of protected blogs, does anyone have Akeeyu’s email address? Typepad hates my guts and refuses to let me beg her password.) Or I could not talk about things pertaining to family, friends or the aberrant sack of lard I affectionately term my body – but you hear virtually bugger-all from me these days in any case; if I start editing out the subject matter: I got nowt.

I think I’ve either got to publicise the damn thing and square up to the fact that everyone knows what my morning pee-stick said or disappear somewhere under a flickrless, twitterless pseudonym and stamp hard on the virtual fingers of anyone who links to me.

Of course, there’s a billion infertile bloggers with two uteri and a back-to-front heart out there for me to just blend straight in with.

I’m sat here slugging away at the whisky – because WordPress has been a proper arse about all this – and telling myself that two of my favourite bloggers, Amy and Antonia, both of whom have children, seem to manage this identity-known-to-all business just fine, so why am I making difficulties and getting in my own narcissistic way and being interminably precious about it?

I’ll… figure it out. Somehow. I’m (doubtless, naively) hoping to have some quality laptop, tea-drinking and cogitation time over Christmas.

Speaking of which festivity: Harry has now encountered Santa twice. Predictably, he has twice taken immediate refuge either in my arms or the far side of the room – although once the penny dropped that the dude was actually handing out gifts, he let me edge him close enough to snatch Father Christmas’s offering with the speed of a striking cobra, before rapidly backing off again, clutching his present close to his chest. Bless the child.

The hubby’s abdomen-to-groin ripped muscle is finally starting to bruise, and it has sent virtually his entire… package… black. This has been the subject of much domestic hilarity, but as I’m feeling a bit draughty in the gaping open door of my blog just at present, I’ll spare you the details. Although, come to think of it, if I wanted to solve my current blog problems, perhaps… I should just… post a photo?

That’d stop ’em dead all right.

32 Responses

  1. Oh. My. Gawd.

    That is all.

  2. OMG is right; don’t know who to pity more, you or Black Package Husband. Just don’t disappear without notice if you do make the call for deep cover…let us beg your password first.

  3. Uh oh.

    I would have a heart attack. Personally speaking, I would just delete my blog – but mine is not as important to me as yours is for you (subjective judgement, obviously).

    I vote for continue, but with passwords for the stuff you don’t want abovenamed others to see? Please don’t disappear… you write very very well. And I’m sure I don’t speak just for myself when I say we’ve gotten kinda fond of you and yours:)

    Also… black package? … I have no words….

  4. To the contrary, I expect that if you posted that photo your traffic would spike through the roof!

    As to the rest … it so enormously depends on the personalities of your family, and of course your own feelings and thoughts, that I can’t even imagine what I would do in your shoes. If you do password, I also add my name on the list of supplicants for the key.

    I will say that I write a blog that is not only public but oriented towards family members. Actually it’s still sort of private and ungoogleable. But anyway, it is bloody boring. It’s more of a baby book than anything. I have found myself thinking “Hmm, maybe I should start a totally private anonymous blog so I can vent about [xyz]” but it’s never totally private or anonymous because one always wants people to read it… So I adhere (mostly) to the idea of never blogging/posting/commenting anything I wouldn’t want everyone I know (or don’t) to be able to read–and it’s frustrating.

    I too admire Antonia and other who manage to be “out” and still have an edge.

    Wishing you all the best no matter what you decide; I would be so sad to never read your writing again, so I hope whatever your solution is, you don’t disappear without a trace!

  5. Can I get a password.? I don’t know you and live in the U.S. and would love to continue following your blog.

  6. I think things will sort themselves out. I don’t think you need to retroactively password everything, although if locking up a few posts would make you feel better, you should do that. Is it the same password throughout?
    Also, if you happen to gain Akeeyu’s email, I would love to send her a note myself. I would like to let her know she is missed.

  7. I know just how you feel. A former friend found my blog and it’s left me feeling very inhibited. And all of my organs point the right way, as far as I know… so my posts aren’t even that interesting. The brain, I suppose, is in question.

    If you decide to keep the passwords up, my I request one?

    And isn’t it odd that we feel comfortable telling total strangers all over the world the details of our lives, but are squeamish about the people we know in RL reading about them?

  8. I pwp selected posts and it is comfortable to me, but everybody is different. I don’t publicly publish pictures of my children and I don’t directly name where I live or identify places. Well, I try not to.

    Also, I would like akeeyu’s email/password. If you manage to get in touch, put in a word for me, eh?


  9. Jumping on the “if you get in touch with Akeeyu” train…please let me know too!

    My philosophy is to never say anything about anyone that I wouldn’t say to their face (if confronted, that is. It’s not like I go around telling people what I don’t like about them unprovoked). I would say that anything you’ve said here has been basically straightforward and not deliberately offensive…or password protected. So, I don’t think you should stress about it – if you were really that worried, you wouldn’t post videos of your husband. Although, perhaps the Black Package picture might infringe on his privacy…

  10. Well, as someone whose mother found her blog, I can certainly relate. It has most definitely put a damper on my desire to blog. My uterus and heart are quite boring also, so I kinda ran out of stuff to talk about after the whole almost dying thing.

    Black package. Hmm. Intriguing.

  11. I gave my mum my blog address, my life is so breathtakingly dull at times that it makes little difference! I did object to her finding out if I was going on a date from when I talked about it on Ravelry (online knitting community). Speaking of dates, I have one, tomorrow night! Hoorah!

  12. Considering I use my blog to bitch and fuss about my family, as much as anything, I think I would DIE if they found it. Die die die. Spontaneously combust. Have a nervous breakdown. I like to think I’m safe because the Parental Units are Luddites and my most, um, trying sister thinks all bloggers are vain, self-obsessed, illiterate and dull, and anyway, reading about other people’s lives seriously cuts into her talking-about-herself schedule (miao. Plate of catfood for May’s table please).

    Anyway, I never ever do photos, I pseudoname everything and everyone. I’m not as anatomically unique and fascinating as you, but family situations can be unique-if-not-fascinating, so every time I post about them all I wake up in a chill sweat in case they find it and take exception. Despite the lack of anything they could google to get a toe-hold. Hell, I even pseudoname my OVARY.

    If you stop blogging and melt away, I shall come up to your house and circle the house, banging on the doors and windows at dusk and moaning ‘I waaaaannnt mooooooore Hairy Farmer Family. Moooooooooooorrrreee.’ Which will do wonders for your family’s opinion of the internet, weirdos found therein.

    The thing is, because of the photos and the use of names and your amazing uniqueness and such, you’ve been doing the bloggy equivalent of leaving your diary on the kitchen counter and hoping no one would notice it, whereas I have kept mine under my pillow, and some people, the pass-worders etc., keep theirs at the bank. If you went 100% passwordy, I’d perfectly understand and would be back every day to check for moooooooooorrre HFF. On the other hand, your ‘casual’ readership would drop off. I think the ‘passwording stuff you don’t want THEM to read’ but leaving lots/most of your charming, witty, clever content available to all (also, cake photos. Must drool) would be a good compromise? With added benefit (Good Lord, but I’m Macchiavellian) of letting any passing relation know that there are people out there who think you and your writing abilities are simply too fabulous for words?

    This is a very unhelpful comment, isn’t it? Sorry.

    Sympathies to John for the ‘package’. Vision of you chasing him round the bathroom with a camera, telling him it’s for blog security reasons.

  13. I love the picture! can almost taste the grass in my mouth! and my hair does that, too. and love your blog and and and wouldn’t want to miss you

  14. Uh-oh. Have terrible dread of this. Really really hoping the parents never get adept enough to rumble me.

    But maybe Antonia and Amy are right and it’s good to be open? Though not for the faint of heart, eh?

    Tricky one. Would be very sad to see you go though. Might have to haunt your house too, May and I can take turns.
    You have been warned 🙂

    (Poor John! Oh dear! (Other words fail)).

  15. Can I add my plea for a password if that’s what you choose?

    Also, please don’t stop. My feeling (and it is only my feeling) is that you go through so much that would fell others instantly, and you are so strong and brave, but that it must be hard carrying all that around in your head, and that blogging gives you a temporary breather and a bit of a respite. It would be a shame to lose it.

    What about if we swap blogs? You write mine, and I write yours? That will confuse them, no?

  16. Crikey, the bloggers dialemma. I’m always concious that any one could find my blog so I just try and keep bitching to a minimum and write solely about ME! Knowing fine well any description on my innards will have most folk I know frantically hitting the back button.

  17. Dude. Been there. Still doing that.

    Tricky area. The question boils down to: Who do you want to piss off more, yourself or your in-laws? My folks found my blog and, well, we were already estranged but the blog didn’t really help. That said, there are many, many times when writing about something saved my bacon. If I were you – which I’m not, I got that even though we share the same love of Jamie – I’d password protect the stuff you really want to get out there, and then go “Eh, what they read, they read” on the other stuff. Bearing in mind, however, that sometimes what you write may feel innocuous to you but will push someone else right over the edge (she types, speaking from first hand experience.)

    You could always start over, but that’s a slow road to suckville.

  18. You have to do what seems right to you, but I too love your blog and would be very sorry to see it go, FWIW. Although I do have the password already, so thank you for that: )

  19. I made a conscience decision when I started blogging that I would refrain from writing anything about my parents in case my mother ever found it. I’ve more or less stuck to that. Unfortunately I’ve written all manner of other personal stuff and been less discrete (“blurtyblurty”) than I should have been; consequently I now write with an eye over my shoulder. It’s survivable, but it may dampen your groove a bit.

    That said. I love May’s analogy. Please don’t put your blog in the bank.

  20. But at least you didn’t write a jokey post about “marvellously tactless things people say”, only to have the cosmos wreak vengeance on you by ensuring that one of the friends quoted would find out about your blog – by a chain of two unlikely links – within a matter of days, when THAT post was still within the top 5.

    Maybe start a new blog. Make it anonymous – fake names, fake location etc. Ask readers of this blog to email you for the new address, and then weed out anyone you don’t want.

  21. Oh bugger.

  22. Grim and ghastly. Can we just have some passworded posts and not a cessation of blogging – please. Or a secret blog but in that case emails please when you post as I am endlessly forgetting to check such blogs. Final alternative is be so grimly gynaecological it will drive them away in horror?

  23. would love to have access to your protected posts. I enjoy reading your blog …. I found it through Shannon. If you choose to share your pasword with me I would be thrilled. My address is

  24. I had e-mailed Akeeyu asking for the password. I can’t find her reply, but essentially she wasn’t sure she’d continue blogging, but wanted to preserve the whole of the work until she decide what she wanted to do.

    If you keep blogging, please add me to the list of readers who’d love a password.

  25. Hmmm. I spent Friday at the funeral of an elderly cousin of my mother’s. At that funeral I discovered:

    :-O Said elderly cousin, who died an elegant and rather formal 86 year old, had had a sugar-daddy in her teens and left the parental home to live with him in an Enormous Country House during the war. (Very Mary Wesley).

    :-O The father of the cousins I stayed with after the funeral was probably a spy. (Graham Greene but without the Catholicism).

    :-O There was a Big Row involving all my mother’s male cousins (but presumably not her) and Things Were Never The Same Afterwards. (Such a cheap plot line it could be anything by anyone at all, really).

    :-O Ditto cousins great grandma was on letter-writing terms with Edward VII, and we went through the letters that proved it. (I’d like to think it was very George MacDonald Fraser, but alas I doubt it).

    On t’other hand, none of my assorted cousins, siblings and neplings discovered the reason why I keep two blogs. Although it would be no disaster if any of them found this one, it is convenient for me and of considerable relevance to the newly married Mr Behn if they didn’t.

    It’s a toughie – just this weekend I had a comment on lamenting that I’ve been neglecting Aphra for a while, and I agree: my other blog is nowhere near as racy or as opinionated. But it takes a lot of effort to maintain two blogs.

    I can’t advise. However, I will say that if you have PWP posts you are advertising that you have Something To Hide. How about a sister blog (one for each uterus perhaps?) which is not googleable for the more private stuff? You know our email addresses, to tell us where it is, and RSS Feeds are your readers’ friends.


  26. Tricky choice. Has any family member actually tried to talk to you about the content of your blog?

    I am hoping i will be able to cadge the password and then hoping even more that you will post that photo….he he

    abs x

  27. May I have a password? Having just made your acquaintance, I have a lot of catching up to do…

  28. What’s a blogger to do? One password-protected blog, an invitation only sort of thing, and t’other for all? You will always offend someone, but offense given in writing seems to take longer to get over.

    And the deeply bruised package. Oh. Happened to my husband 30 years ago when we were living in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. During one snowy winter, he chose to ride a black plastic trash bag down one particularly vicious slope in Jesmond Dene and was unable to stop forward motion until he dropped 10′ into a frozen creek bed. His belt had a mammoth (then fashionable) buckle on it and his jeans were low slung and, well, the resulting injury was horrific but fascinating to behold. And that bruising took weeks to pass its technicolor journey. Black to purple to green to grey. Not the prettiest injury, but no lasting effects!

  29. No matter how many times I move and try to fly under the radar, I always get found. I’ve given up hiding at this point and I’m just embracing the publicity. Although I do understand what you mean…it jarred me a bit when my unlce referred to my blog “you know…the Vacant Vagina!” when he visited this summer. Aaaauugh! Please don’t go away altogether. I’d miss you too much.

  30. PS~ It’s I emailed her a while ago and heard nothing back. I’m hoping it’s just me and that everything’s alright with her. If you hear back from her would you just let me know if she’s okay? Just a simple “She’s fine.” is enough.

  31. Oh sucky de suck-suck. My password, which I may be able to guess if I can rub a couple of brain cells together, has gone the way of the seriously broken desktop and accompanying two laptops I have managed to mangle in the last few weeks. Have been reduced to using ancient workhorse laptop last used in the Medieval Warming Period.

    Probably won’t have the firepower to cope with any damaged packages. *Giggles*

    Don’t forget to take me with you.

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