There is a stretch of Interstate 5 between Los Angeles and San Jose that will be scarred forever as a result of the Queen of Spain’s trek to Blogher ’06.It started with multiple stops, one on a dirt road in front of a tractor dealership, in a desperate and very tense attempt to stop the siren wails of one darling daughter. It ended with the Queen, topless, contorting herself in front of a car seat, jamming a tit into a baby’s mouth while the Kaiser drove 80 miles an hour.

And all of this was well before I drunkenly bitched at Dooce.

Make no mistake. Blogher 2006 was the year of the Mommyblog.

The Mom Army* had numbers this year and that really, really pissed off some women. All the panels talked to us. All the sponsors and corporate reps were courting us. The daycare was busy and the breastfeeding room quiet and thoughtful.

And while I stumbled to figure out “why all the hate?� I realized it’s all cyclical. Just because we were the media darlings this year, doesn’t mean women political bloggers or community assistance bloggers won’t hog the limelight next year.

You may not have liked that we were getting attention for posts on diapers and our ovaries, but keep in mind you don’t get anymore woman than mother. They go hand in hand. So make room for us and quit your bitching. You’ll get your turn. And if you don’t, just ride our coattails.

Speaking of bitching. Yes. It’s true. I marched up to Heather Armstrong and wanted to know why there seemed to be a disconnect between the first wave of mommybloggers and the second wave. I was not eloquent. I was not without slur. And being the Queen that I am, I went on and on and made no sense, all while spilling my free zinfandel on the shoes of those with mouth agape around me.

I think I redeemed myself, or at least clarified myself, at the following day’s Mommyblogger session.

Intentional or unintentional, we have formed a very close, strong community through mommyblogging. And I now rely on that community.

Everyday I share my virtual cup of sugar with my mom neighbors. Every day I feel less alone. Everyday I laugh my ass off at our silliness and joke about blow jobs and antidepressants and yes, pasties (Her Bad Mother, I’m looking at you)
As we gain in popularity, I really don’t want to lose that. I really feel that’s what makes us…well, us.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a fucking clue what to do about it. For those of you looking to expand (myself included) do you have a plan?

And before I get too serious, yes…there was debauchery and drunkenness and even a criminal element (blame Mocha, I had NOTHING to do with it). But I’ll save that for later. I gotta leave you hangin’. Because, you see…I missed most of EVERYTHING because Count Waffles and Nana got sick on Saturday.

Self fulfilling prophecy, I guess. The Kaiser partied downstairs while I wiped snot and administered children’s Tylenol. 24-hour Mom.

Part two, later. Including my hand holding with Arianna Huffington and my new girl crushes on Lisa Stone, Mir, and Grace Davis.

*IzzyMom is the clever one who made up Mom Army. I’m so not that clever.