I introduced myself as a “writer” at our CPR course this afternoon, because I felt ashamed to call myself (just) a “blogger”.

I’d rather be a writer who blogs than a blogger who writes.

The other woman who was part of the class — and 36 weeks pregnant! — told me that blogging is the wave of the future, and while I agree in theory, I still feel… funny… introducing myself that way.  “Hi, I’m Tatiana, and I’m a blogger.”  As I explained, 13 year olds on MySpace are also “bloggers”.

But then, there are numerous professional bloggers, people who get paid to write editorial-style pieces.  Perhaps there’s not so much of a stigma attached to it in the public eye as I feel like there is.  Maybe my hesitance is born from the fact that I’m a “mommy blogger”, a title that has been growing increasingly derogatory as the dramas of this summer continue, even among those I’d consider my peers.

Sometimes, though, I have to laugh at myself.  I suppose what I’m going through recently is the existential crisis that plagues twenty-somethings.  I always assumed I’d skip it and that I knew myself, but I look back at who I was when I turned 20 as compared to who I am now and I’m hardly the same.

Then again, I’m not even the same person I was six months and one week ago.

I think I’m better now, in some ways.  I love my family, appreciate life, and trust myself more.  Yet at the same time I’ve found such anger smouldering inside and have rediscovered the genuinely hurtful side of my personality that dominated my teenage years, and Chris is the person who bears the brunt of that.  Sometimes I feel like I use all my love on Maia, so when I turn to him or the dogs, I have nothing left but frustration and fury.  They deserve better.

Most days, being a wife is harder than being a mother.

Motherhood comes instinctively and innately.  There is not a cell in my body that is satisfied when she is hurt.  I’ve never snarled something intentionally cruel at her and stalked away.  I’ve never sat in self-righteous indignity with my back turned to her.  Yet I’ve felt and done all those things to Chris since we brought her into this world.

The truly sad part is that I try to be a better wife, a better woman, and I fail.  Miserably.

You know that “50% of all marriages end in divorce” wisdom that is so prevalent? I wonder how many of those marriages involve children.

Balancing these dual identities — wife, mother; husband, father — is the real challenge of parenting thus far.  I wonder how long it will take for me to figure it out.

Because this is difficult.  Sometimes it’s downright impossible.