I was in the bookstore at the mall, crouching down to get a book off the bottom shelf. When I stood up I saw another mama next to me, wearing her toddler son in a brown hotsling pouch. I just happened to be rocking my own pink and green Pucci print hotsling at the time, six month old Julie along for the ride. In the manner of mothers recognizing common ground (it doesn’t take much when you are a stay at home mama eager for connection) we began to talk.
We chatted for a bit and exchanged names. She paused for a second, smiled and said “Oh, I think I read your blog”.
I tell you, people, it was my first (and only) glimpse into of the rush of celebrity. Someone recognized my name, knew who I was. Holy-freaking-cow, I was actually cool enough to have readers! Went straight to my head, it did.
Then I came crashing back down to earth and remembered all the things I had written about recently. All the personal things. All the goofy things. All the not-so-pretty things.
I had been chronicling my life online for so long (since before there were even blogs, let alone facebook or twitter. true story.) that I tended to forget that real people could be reading. Not just my mother, or nameless, faceless, far away people, but actual, local, run into them in the bookstore kind of people.
Totally freaked me out.
Luckily, I got over it, and a true friendship was born. And even though I never seem to have time to write anymore, I’m pretty sure she still reads my blog.
And that still makes me feel pretty dang cool.
