It arrived in the post today.
A book with my name on it.
I can’t tell you how awesome it feels to have my actual physical book in my hands right now (yes, yes, there will be an e-book too but I won’t be sleeping with that under my pillow).
One of my friends – an Oxford University lecturer, natch! – messaged me on Facebook to inform me that I have beaten him into the book game. I assume my honorary degree is in the post, Dr P 😉
I am pretty bloody proud right now. It’s been an epic experience, writing a book, raising a child and holding down a full time job and I’m not entirely sure I’d recommend it…. but somehow I’ve managed it.
Perhaps for this reason Birth, Boobs and Bad Advice is more TS Eliot than JRR Tolkien in the word count department but there are a hell of a lot of voices in it and they are all saying one thing – why are we beating ourselves so much over breastfeeding?
If it helps just one person then it’s all been worth doing.
Now if you’ll forgive me, I have to get back to running around the house and shouting “squeeeeeeee!” for at least another 20 minutes.
And then I have to proof read the bloody thing. Again.
And THEN it can finally hit the virtual shelves! Very very very soon, unless there’s a glaring horror I haven’t noticed until now – which isn’t impossible. Apparently I have unwittingly misspelt Alanis Morrissette’s name since time began – this book has been a learning curve for me in more ways than one.