The following essay has been written for Mommybloggers.com by Carmen of Mom To The Screaming Masses.

Back, oh, about 7 years ago, there was a woman who bought a computer. She cajoled and begged her husband for it, promising many (mostly empty) favors, if ONLY she could go online, with this new thing called “The Internet�. So, the husband grew weary of her voice and bought the computer, and hooked it up so that she could spend time online. He could be heard, muttering under his breath, on his way to work, “WHY does she have to go online? To meet people? She already knows gobs of people, and has bunches of friends.�

The first few days were not exciting. MSN, Yahoo, and a few random web searches turned up little in the way of thrills. And then, one magical day, the woman, who had three children already and was expecting her fourth, happened on a website for hip and fashionable maternity clothing. She perused the site and ordered some shirts, but she felt strangely drawn to the discussion boards. After a few weeks of lurking in the background, she decided to introduce herself.

Thus begins the tale of how I met my bestest ever friends, and how I became the weirdo that I am today. The women who figuratively held my hand during my pregnancies – two more after the first one that they went through with me – the women I could, and did, ask just about anything. We talked about pregnancy, and breastfeeding, naturally, but there was so much more. Any questions were open for discussion. Want to know what types of jeans were flattering for the postpartum figure? There was a thread for that. Looking for a good mascara? Post away, baybee. We dished about sex, food, cameras, preschools, discipline, husbands, decorating, and the all famous, ever needed vent.

The discussion board quickly became my life line, and I found myself checking the boards several times a day. At night, while I gave my asthmatic child breathing treatments every three hours, I sat in front of the computer and read the archives. We had originally begun posting with our names, but due to a scare, we decided to choose screen names. For some reason unknown, I became Batgirl. Why, I have no idea. I was the farthest thing from Batgirl – overweight, under rested and incredibly out of the realm of the with-it. But, Batgirl I became.

There were discussions about local get togethers, since many of the posters lived in California. I felt left out, and so decided to fly all the way from the right coast to the left, just to meet all of those women who I had gotten to know so well. I bought new clothes and obsessed about what I was doing. FLYING all the way across the country, to meet some people I had never seen before? I acted cool and relaxed with my family and friends. Of COURSE I knew what I was doing. No big deal to fly across the country. Even when the woman who was due to pick me up at the airport told me that she’d dyed her hair purple the day before I was due to arrive – even that didn’t sway me.

Until I walked down the runway in California, mere seconds from my first ever face to face meeting with an online friend. I had my first, actual, honest to God panic attack, and had to sit down and breathe. I thought I knew these people, but did I really? What kind of an IDIOT flies 3000 miles to meet with someone she’s never seen?

I needn’t have feared. The women, all my friends, took me in and welcomed me as I’ve never felt welcomed in my life. Even when I took one of the mamas into another room and lifted my shirt to show her my bra. Even when I wanted to show how close of a shave my razor gave, and asked everyone to feel my legs. We played games and drank all night, and shopped and talked the days away. I felt, for the first time ever, that I truly belonged.

Five years later, I’ve met with these same women three more times. These women, these strong, bright, incredible women, have made me who I am as a mother and a woman. Thanks to them, I started my blog, and have met some of the most amazing people on the planet. I’ve criss crossed the country to meet up with all types of women. Now, when I’m explaining something, I speak about my friends, and I never distinguish between my computer friends and my in real life friends.

For, you see, my internet friends ARE my real friends.

For more writing by Carmen, head on over to Mom To The Screaming Masses.