It was a year ago this Tuesday that an anchoress in Alaska unwittingly launched me into the Blogosphere. The Vicar, having read her latest theological wisdom, clicked a tab on her blog and propelled my own musings - on how to stand trendily at the school gate - onto the Worldwide Web.
Back then, before I'd heard of mummy bloggers and before my aged laptop permitted me onto Twitter, I blogged about the tooth fairy, my daughter's quest for biological enlightenment and the knitted breasts in the vestry. Twelve months have matured me. Now I write of swabbing midnight vomit, my daughter's quest an iPod and nipple tassles in the nave.
This cyber-journey has taught me many new truths:
that every domestic setback, from shredded tissues in the hot cycle to the embarrassing moment with the Bishop, has an underlying value - as a blog post!
that blogging accelerates children's mastery of life skills. Yep, ever since I began spending hours in isolation with my laptop my helpless pair have learned to bath themselves, make their own sandwiches and fathom the three remote controls required to switch on our TV.
that there are many more kindred spirits in cyberspace than in real life. Real-life mothers are never bored by childcare, never imbibe in daylight hours and never sleep in month-old sheets. Cyber mothers, on the other hand, stand shoulder to shoulder amid domestic mayhem - and are prepared to admit that they don't know where their iron is.
that my habit of peering through strangers' lighted windows is legitimate. Because that's what blogging is all about isn't it? I used to deem it nosiness; now I realise it's a cathartic sharing of life experience!
that you can have good friends that you've never met. The bloggers who propped me up when I took my first blundering steps, the tweeters who helped clean my burnt Le Creuset before the Vicar saw it and who turned forward rolls for me when I was bored once last week and all those who have bolstered my stats and my ego with comments. Each one of you would earn the highest token of my esteem - an inked entry in my address book - if I knew you in real life.