In last night's dream, Nicole Richie had just given birth to a baby boy and in typical celebrity fashion was introducing the world to her new son by way of US Weekly. On the cover, Nicole beamed, staring into the eyes of her son. The tagline said: Nicole Richie welcomes baby Archer.
I remember being pissed in the dream. Opening up the magazine and shaking my head.
"This is bullshit," I said.
Upon waking this morning, I couldn't remember what it really was that pissed me off. Choosing a child's name is a big deal, of course. One that for us required much time and back and forthage. We decided on "Archer" because, for one, it was the only name we both agreed on. (I wanted to name him, "Miller", after Henry Miller and Hal was more interested in naming our son something weird like "Awesome" or "Cartridge") To be fair, one of my front-runner girl's names was "Paper" because I thought it sounded pretty and it reminded me of Jackie Paper from Puff the Magic Dragon, and, well, I dig books.
Are you laughing at me yet? It's okay. Because this post is about to get serious...
Honestly, I don't know that I would even mind if some faux-celebrity named their child Archer. Names are not patented. Archer may have been an original name when we chose it, but Jessica was probably an "original name" at some point as well. So what was the problem, then? Why was I so worked up in my dream and why have I been so worked up, since?
A great many bloggers create pseudonyms for their children or nicknames, masking their identities and with good reason. I have not done that and although I've never used Archer's last name (his differs from mine) I still feel like maybe I've divulged too much. I realize I'm flying under the radar, still, and so far no harm done. But there's a possibility that Archer will be dissapointed in my publishing a book involving him. It is possible his friends could google him and find out about how he pooped in the shower once and then handed it to me. Will they be able to check out the book I wrote in the library? Read about his mother's episiotomy? Will Archer die of embarassment that I wrote about his circumcision on the Huffington Post?
Oh, dear God. What have I done...
I have been thinking a lot about blogging, wondering when the time will come that I will have to stop blogging about Archer. Because it will come. Not tomorrow but soon enough. I have decided that come kindergarten, I will close my computer. I will retire my mommy-blogging, at least where Archer is concerned. I will let him live his life in private. Remove the camera. Turn off my computer. There will be no sequel to Rockabye. Because it's one thing blogging about life with a new baby, but exposing my son through his childhood is not right. I don't think so, anyway.
There have been critics in the past. Those who have expressed to me and other bloggers that we are in fact, "exploiting" our children. I disagree, as I have said before. A writer writes about what she knows and loves. What moves her. And makes her laugh. And that for me is my child. Archer has been a great catalyst for change in my life. And yet-- on the other hand, he is his own person. And therefor should be known not for books and blogs his mother writes about him, but by his own means and definitions.
I know what last night's dream meant: In the dream I was Nicole Richie, exposing my son to the world without knowing any better.
And a part of me was angry, that I chose to put my child in front of the camera, when he didn't know any better than to smile.
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