When Rebecca Woolf's book "
Rockabye:From Wild to Child
" came out I made a note to get it. I've been a fan of
her blog for a while and
her column on Babble.com. I also had the pleasure of meeting her at BlogHer last year and I was amazed that she is ten times more beautiful in real life.
I'm not sure why, but when I saw the "Mother Talkers" offer to review her book I didn't take them up on it. I felt like it might be weird to review the autobiography of someone I (kind of) knew. Plus, sometimes great blogging doesn't necessarily translate into "really good at keeping my attention for 288 pages".
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In addition, I've been reading
Girl's Gone Child ever since someone pointed out that Rebecca and I both wrote posts about raisins in poop on the same day. I felt like I was already pretty familiar with her whole story - cool L.A. party girl, unplanned pregnancy, young mother, happy ending.
But after reading 30 of my favorite bloggers rave reviews of "
Rockabye
" I went out and bought it. And sure I knew the
outline of the story, but I didn't know the whole thing.
I couldn't put the book down. It was riveting. I felt her pain, her fear, her frustration.
I finished the book about two hours ago and I immediately sent Rebecca an e-mail. I pretty much gushed. I think it would even qualify as
fan mail.
It was a great story and even better - it was a really well told story. I found comfort in it as a mother who doesn't always parent the way the books say I should, as a mother who doesn't always fit in with the other moms, and as a woman with a body and a life that will never be the same as it was before my kids were born.