A friend recently read some of my work in progress and made my day telling me she was sure it was publishable. I was praised for my honesty, my willingness to share, my voice, and my sarcasm. All in all, it was my favorite phone call ever, because my writer's ego was purring the whole time. The only hiccup in the conversation was this: in between praise for my literary wit and her laughter (in the right places, thank God) as we went over my manuscript, she asked me the question I've pretty much been avoiding since I started this whole creative mess.
"So what does your family think about it?
Blink. Blink. "Wha-huh?"
"Your family...have you shown them anything you've written yet?"
"Um, well...not exactly."
Which brings me directly to this blog post. And to the Internet. And to the strangers reading this post. And to those who've read the intro to Baby Ph(f)at and..and..
Well, you get the picture. My family, however, does not.
It's not that I don't want to share with them. But somehow, it's easier to admit to a blank computer screen and a keyboard that I weigh 228 pounds and send it out to the world as part of a work in progress in an effort to connect with moms in my situation than it is to admit to anyone I know personally.
Take last night for example. I was working out with my new Wii Active and setting up my profile with my height and weight and all that jazz. When it came time to add The Number, The Husband automatically put his hands over his eyes and waited for me to tell him that the coast was clear.
And yet, I'm slapping it up on the Internet for everyone and their brother to see.
Right. About that...