And I’m still not sure it was me.
OK, technically, it was.
I took my daughter for a day trip into Manhattan just to sit down in a studio just off the (not as large as you’d think) Worlds News studio. A make-up artist dusted my face and covered up the newly sprouted sign of nerves.
And my daughter rode her first train – or rather her first six – to the city and back and all around.
The event itself was simple – they talked, I listened. I talked, they listened. And I weighed in on a topic every parent has becried – the bedtime issue.
My daughter . . . wait for it . . . really doesn’t have one. And I’ve written about it for an online parenting magazine – which earned the attention of the national news media.
I was prepared in my fifteen minutes (max) for people to disagree with me and to defend the practical country roots to my parenting proclivities.
But nothing prepares you for hearing yourself – really hearing yourself.
Not hearing the words as they come out of your own mouth, but allowing them to sink in as you watch your mouth move, your eyes bounce, your shoulder shrug.
What I looked like – the big (in my mind) swallow near the beginning of the clip, the flipped up collar from the way they snaked the mic through, the eyes shifting ever so slightly to ensure my four-year-old was still quietly coloring on the floor – didn’t matter.
It’s the very literal out-of-body experience of hearing myself speak that has made me wonder: do I really sound like that?
According to all the Facebook friends who have sent me cheers and stopped me on the street to talk up the clip – I really do.
Uh oh – time for voice lessons.
Although that would mean a lot more trips into the city – and I can’t afford all those trains.
Have you “liked” Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?