Let's hear it for grandma cleavage!

Thanks to folks looking for “grandma cleavage,” “humiliating diaper experiences” and “boobies,” MomZombie has become a stopping point on the Internet highway for those seeking more explicit examples of the above-mentioned search-engine terms.

This is what I’ve learned from my blog stats. I’m not sure how that makes me feel. A little like I need a shower, I think.

MomZombie is a little confused these days. She tries not to be too much of a “mommy blog” although the name does sort of point in that direction. She thought the ZOMBIE part might add a little edge to the whole concept. She tries to be honest and true and document her life.

Either way, I’ve been doing this bloggy thing for a year and a half. Despite pathetic stats, I forge on like the buggy whip salesman dodging the Model-Ts through town, oblivious of what may be the obvious.

The tech-savvy know-it-all around here (a.k.a. the husband) who has three blogs, various Web sites, Twitter and Facebook accounts and god-only-knows-what-else insists that I need to give up my quest to sell buggy whips. They’re not selling.

He also routinely e-mails me links to “hints on better blogging” or “how to get more than your grandma to read your blog.” So, being the masochist that I am, I decided to take a mental health break and make the leap from my old WordPress-hosted blog to become master of my own domain. Mental health, indeed.

Much like my introduction to water, I’ve spent the last week flailing about in the deep end, drowning in code and lost data,  gasping for air, clawing at the sides of the pool, thinking I’ve gotten a grip on something solid, only to have it disintegrate and take me under again.

Finally, after throwing up a gallon of water (sorry) I’ve managed to cobble together a life raft, which is what you see here.  Once I’m on solid ground, I hope to create a sturdier craft to help me navigate this damned Internets.

So, here I am cleavage, diapers and all. Glad you found me.