April Moments

Maybe, just maybe, telling the story is just as important as the story itself

A blog about blogging

Something weird has been happening to me lately. People in my life start conversations with me regarding topics about which I have written a blog.

Perhaps weird is not the right word. Truth be told, it’s kind of annoying to me. You see, I pour my heart and soul into many of the blogs I write. Once I post them, they are there for the world to see. While I know it is unrealistic to think that everyone in my life reads them, in my mind, I have already expressed everything that needs to be said about whatever topic is up for discussion.

Still, those around me may find it weird when I say, “I wrote a blog about that. I’ll send you the link.” Translation: I don’t want to discuss it because I’ve already dissected this very subject in the written word, a medium that allows me to makes sense of most things. If I talk about it, it’ll come out all wrong.

In addition, I heard from someone (perhaps one of my college professors?) or read somewhere (maybe Anne Lamott?) that once you craft a story, that writing becomes your memory of that experience, situation or event. And you know what? It is true. (By the way, every aspiring writer should read Anne Lamott. Her book “Bird by Bird” is one of the most helpful, inspiring works I’ve ever read.)

Over Christmas break, there were a couple scenarios when I wanted to shout from the rooftop, “Didn’t you read my blog about that?!” On our way back home after traveling to see family, I discussed with my husband this annoyance of mine, and he suggested, “You should write a blog about it.”

“A blog about blogging?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Hmmm, maybe.”

During the holiday visits, one family member posed the question, “Do people ever ask you if you’re going to try for a third baby?”

I was incredulous. My mind began reeling. What I wanted to say was, “Doesn’t everybody know not to ask that because of the blog I wrote on the subject?”

Instead, what came out of my mouth was some rude banter that sounded like, “I hate when people ask those questions. We tried for almost a year and a half to get pregnant with Cecilia, with a miscarriage thrown in. So, no, most people don’t ask me that question.”

Taken aback family member stuttered, “Oh, well, not long after we had Baby No. 1, people started asking when we were going to have another.”

I replied emphatically, “Well, I think those are rude questions.”

That conversation quickly ended.

Then, poor Cecilia. She was upset because some family members spelled her name incorrectly on Christmas gift tags. I tried to comfort her. “It’s OK, Baby. Mama wrote a blog about it, but not everyone read it.”

I apologized to her and admitted that I probably should’ve spelled it C-E-C-E-L-I-A. Also, I’m not sure if I should correct people when they misspell her name. Sure, for an important document, but these were gift tags.

I know. I am anal. I admit it.

But I tend to ponder. And worry. And then I write blogs about said qualities.

Originally published on ovparent.com.

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