As regular readers of this blog know, I talk about some personal stuff on here. Maybe it's my background in journalism, because I know what makes a good story. Or maybe it's because I'm kind of a what-you-see is what-you-get type of girl without much to hide.
I also think it's pretty common with people who write, or who are artists, that your work is an expression of you - even if it's about someone else's life. So you're used to having "you" out there for public consumption on a daily basis. It's natural.
But when it comes to my kids, I have to be more protective. I don't post a lot of pics of them on here because, well, you never know. I already regret using their names, but it's kind of too late to go back on that.
I honestly believe the best writing is honest writing. I try to do that here. Not so much for all of your kind words (though they mean the world to me), but to give me an outlet, and in turn, to hopefully give you something to think about as I put my own spin on Mommyhood.
Even though I no longer write for a living, this blog is a wonderful thing for me, and helps keep me in touch with my creative side (cause Lord knows I'm not creative in any other way, just ask every one of my friends, ask my kids, my reputation precedes me).
That's why it's disturbing when someone finds a personal post about my child and posts the link on a somewhat odd message board, and then all of a sudden I'm getting hits from, literally, all over the world from people who want to read about poop.
I wonder why. It's not a parenting site. I have no clue how they found it. Or why they think it's of interest.
But it's forced me to delete the post. I just wasn't comfortable. I know that I can't control who reads my blog unless I make it private, but then I think that you just never know who might happen upon this blog and find something to make them smile, or laugh, or relate to - someone I don't know, but might like to.
I am a regular reader of a blog or three where I don't know the person, but I love the writing. So I lurk. And think. And laugh. Sometimes cry.
That is why we write, and why I will continue to do so, but perhaps with a more careful view.
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