Day One

I had never thought about adding my own wispy vapors of thought to the blogosphere. Blogging was fine, it was just something that other people did, like shopping at Sam's Club or following Ashton Kutcher on Twitter. In fact, until recently, I had never even read a blog. Then my friend Cheryl sent me one she had written about me after I gave birth to Henry. A blog about ME sparked my interest. And it was good. Cheryl is a former sportswriter -- she was a woman in the locker room long before such women (and their stalkers) became ubiquitous -- and now she is a mother of three who keeps a blog to stay sane and help other mothers do the same.

My sister-in-law is a blogger. My best friend now blogs for money. During my maternity leave, I started bumping into lots of mommy bloggers and soon saw that these smart, sassy women were a force to be reckoned with. They are quoted in the Wall Street Journal, they are courted by marketers, they are taste-makers and soothsayers. I realized what mothers around the world knew long before me: If you have a cool blog with decent audience, you get awesome free products and tickets to Oprah events.

So after I decided to leave my job as the lawyer for a media company to focus more time on my family, my next thought was to write a blog about it. I clicked on something that said "start a blog" and got a blank template, like a vacant apartment that I apparently can decorate with gadgets (what are they?) and photos of my family, just like my real apartment.

So, to begin: Today was my first day at home with Henry. Although like any mother of an infant with a lick of sense, we didn't stay home. We walked six miles round trip to have lunch with my friend Theresa at Union Square Cafe. (After three months of maternity leave, I still haven't figured out how to collapse my stroller and take public transportation.) Theresa has managed to raise two boys while making partner at a law firm. In the course of two hours, she spoke authoritatively about insurance law, child birth and real estate - she's like a living, breathing Sunday edition of the Times, but funny.

This being New York, at the end of our lunch, Stephen Baldwin stopped by our table to compliment Henry. I wanted to ask him what he thought about the website that some fellow born-again Christians created to allegedly raise money for him since his faith has hurt his Hollywood prospects - was he embarrassed by it? In fact, can anyone who baptized Spencer Pratt on "I'm A Celebrity, Get me Out of Here" get embarrassed? But it didn't seem the time nor the place. Luckily, the Baldwin brothers are everywhere, so I should get another chance. And I must say, although his hair was a little long for my taste and he was a bit chunky, there is something so compelling about that Baldwin face.

And so I passed my first day as a SAHM walking the length of Manhattan for some good conversation and a hamachi sandwich, trying to get used to being the woman on the sidewalk pushing a stroller -- the one the suits see with a cartoon bubble over her head that reads "Latte, latte, latte."

It is getting late. Henry is asleep in the crook of his father's arm, their heads bent at the same 30-degree angle. I have fed my baby well and kept him safe. It was a good day.