No, not that IBS. I suffer from Inferior Blog Syndrome. It is a lot more common than you probably think. Symptoms include red eyes (from staring at the computer screen too much, trying to think of something great to blog about), back aches (from sitting at the computer too long, trying to think of something great to blog about), head aches (from trying to think of something great to blog about), the irrational fear that your blog isn't worth reading (whether this is legitimate or a delusion is to be determined on an individual basis), frequent writer's block (due to the irrational fear) and the constant desire that something great will happen that you can blog about, almost to desperation (may be made manifest in simple sayings, such as, "I'm gonna blog about that!" to nearly every life event). Et cetera, et cetera.
My condition is such that I spend
Yet, my condition persists. Bug continues to ruin diaper-free time by harassing my carpet with all matter of foulness. (Which often necessitates turning on the bath water AGAIN just seconds after I got him dried off from his previous washing.)
He just seems so vile sometimes. He looks at me with suspicious innocence then takes a hit from his water-filled sippy cup. It seems as if he is intentionally trying to worsen my condition.
And when Bug actually does something that I feel like I can get a really good story out of (with minimal exaggeration) he SOMEHOW, SOMEWAY keeps me from writing it as eloquently as I so desire. So that when I reread the post that is supposed to bring in readers from near and far, it seems sad and deflated. I'm usually left to hold down the backspace key, muttering to myself, "This story is stoooopid. Was that even funny when it happened?! Nobody will think this is funny other than me and my husband. Or just me. Gosh, if the whole world had just been there, then they would think it was hilarious. But then they wouldn't want to read about it my blog, because they have already seen it..." You get the point.
And that's why I'm not even going to try to tell you about the other night, when Bug climbed up and into the cart on his shopping cart walker toy and sat there, perched, looking at mom and dad with the look on his face that said all of the following: Look what I did. Wow, I'm really high up here. Am I allowed to be here? Even if I'm not, here I am, so HA! I bet I can climb onto the coffee table from here. Oh, mom's starting to get worried. I know I'm such a daredevil. Oh, now mom is ordering dad to get me down. No, you stay there, I'll get down myself. Crud, how do I get down myself? Relax, it's ok. I figured it out. Oooohhh yeah....I'm gonna do that again when you're not looking!!!
Ok, I guess I will tell you. I can only lament that the camera batteries were dead.
Darn that IBS!