Remember my little cautionary, yet hilarious, tale about the pitfalls of contextual online advertising?
Well, here's another BIG REASON companies might want to think twice about dedicating advertising dollars to contextual ads.
Once you experience the thrill of seeing your blog make over $62 in a single day, it's bitterly painful to see it pull down eight cents a day. I imagine it's what Wall Street investors sort of felt like after the Stock Market crash, when a couple years later they found themselves selling apples on the street corner.
The boy started rolling onto his stomach a couple weeks ago. This was met with much fanfare and celebration, since it's one of those infant development milestones everyone talks about and then starts crying because "they grow up so fast."
For The Boy, however, rolling onto his stomach presented more of a cunundrum than an accomplishment. He rolled onto his stomach, and was then confronted with the reality of "Well, what now?" Whereas he's been accustomed to lying on his back for the past four months--which afforded him free, unimpeded breathing--lying on his stomach introduced him to the world of chest compression, thank you very much gravity. Tummy time means slightly labored breathing, at least until he builds up the necessary stomach and diaphragm fortitude.
His mother and I can always tell when he's rolled onto his stomach, because the air is quickly pierced with the sounds of his annoyed grunting/gasping, as if he's trying to push out a particularly stubborn poop.
Thankfully, he figured out this week how to roll back onto his back, but it's not a fully-ingrained behavior, meaning he basically rolls onto his back by accident, and then he just kind of lays there with a "how did I do that?" expression on his face.
Raising a baby is kind of like watching a passed out drunk come back to his senses, only in super slow motion.
Leblanc noted that she recently observed her ninth anniversary of blogging.
And it dawned on me, earlier this month, I passed my eighth blogging anniversary.
Eight years.
Eight YEARS.
When I started this blog, I was 26 years old. I was four months into my second IBM writing/editing gig.
I find it crazy to think I have maintained an online journal for eight years. It sounds like a supreme commitment of time and mental energy. In fact, it's been a treasure I've enjoyed unlike any other writing project I've ever embarked upon.
And it occurred to me that, with eight years of personal entries, newspaper columns, essays, and general nonsense spanning the digital timeline like a comet's tail, there may be a book or two, or three hiding in here, depending on how I want to present it.
I'm kind of excited, to be perfectly honest.
And it only took eight years.
As per Erik's suggestion, we now have a white noise machine, AND a child who now sleeps for more than 30 minutes at a time.
