That moment, the one where I walk into my junior high and suddenly remember I forgot to wear my clothes...
That's what this reminds me of.
So embarrassed to be found lacking...my flat chest, the weirdly symmetrical moles on my upper thighs, the scab on my knee, the dimples in my bottom, and of course my privates exposed for the ninth graders to snicker at.
But, also strangely (and secretly) thrilled to be found at all...hoping that someone will notice the curve of my ribs, the pulse beating hard and fast in my neck, the bird-like shape of my shoulder bones, hoping they'll whisper, "Did you see the grace in her spine?"
Gulp. gulp. My cheeks are on fire.
After traipsing through the lives and backyards of people I know and plenty of people I don't, I have decided to join the blogging throng. Despite the many protestations against this endeavor (most of them from me!) here I am...about to push the "publish" button. Because writers write. And even though I am not a writer, I long to be. And it's time I start somewhere. Past time.
Plus, the other day, Ethan turned to me and said in complete sincerity, "Mom, you should put me in the circus." And I thought, (after "This IS a circus!") "I need to blog that"...but alas, no blog. So here it is: my record, my life, my escape hatch, and even my consolation.
The first entry looks so lonely and pathetic...like I'm faking it. Like I'm walking through the halls with my naked back straight and proud, but not really fooling anyone. Well. I'm late for algebra.