I write a blog, but you knew that, right? The network I use for blog advertisements held their annual conference in Chicago last weekend. I attended the blogging conference alongside many other women.

I grew up in a boy's world, with a pack of uncles, four brothers and more neighborhood boys than I care to remember. This had never been more evident than when I walked into a hotel with nearly two thousand women -- most of which were wives and mothers -- and instantly felt overwhelmed and intimidated.

I affectionately nicknamed the conference "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Vagina," which was a whirlwind of estrogen and little black dresses. The event was planned for a group of mothers, not single, childless women like me. I suspected as much, but this was confirmed when I saw a room labeled as the lactation station. Instead of freaking out over how out of place I felt, I turned to humor and adopted the mantra: If you start lactating, you've been there too long.

All this time I thought Utah was the state of motherhood. Nope. Female blogging conferences are. I have nothing against mothers. I have one. I'm just not one.

After I had time to adjust to the female ratio, I tried to learn as much as I could from the conference. There was more to the conference than just blogging sessions. There were a dozen parties to choose from. Waiting to get into one of the parties, I stood in line with a mother pushing a stroller. It still seems a little odd to me to take a baby to a loud, drunken party, but who am I to judge. Maybe she's raising the next Bret Michaels.

The baby started crying and I looked at him and said, "Listen kid, screaming isn't going to get you into that party any faster. I've tried. Suck it up and wait it out like the rest of us." The mom looked at me like I was a leper, but luckily a friend jumped in and cooed in that baby talk voice that all mommies have in common. The mother instantly forgot I spoke to her baby like a real person and instead swapped parenting stories with my friend. Note to self: learn to speak baby before next year's conference.

It never dawned on me just how nerdy attending a blogging conference could be until I was waiting to catch my flight home. Sitting in an airport terminal, I noticed two adult men with small, metal carrying cases. I came up with a lot of ideas about what those cases held: bombs, money or midget hookers, but 3-D models of World of Warcraft characters were never once a consideration.

I watched as they compared models and right before making a snap nerd judgment, I realized I had no room to talk. I, too, was guilty of a weekend of my own nerdery ... possibly with their mothers.

I hope to attend again next year, however, I'll be a little more prepared for the mommy-ness of the event and learn how to cope as one of the few childless women in attendance. Or maybe I'll just take my own mother who can serve as a translator. Though it may be a bit awkward when I snatch up a sex toy swag bag instead of the bags full of cleaning supplies. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

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