The baby and I have a little ritual every night. My older daughter is a feisty one who picks out edgy pajamas and decides when and where she will be affectionate, if ever. But the baby is just a little cuddle bug full of love at bed time. The poor thing. She probably knows she’s the second baby and thinks she has to be extra charming to earn her Cheerios in the morning.
The ritual we do is sing our two bed time songs and say our little (agnostic) prayer. Then we cuddle and kiss and act like a Pampers commercial before I plop her in her crib. She’s not to be a heard from again until . . . well, the crack of dawn, which isn’t so pleasant. But let’s focus on our comically blissful night routine.
Every night we do this. We sing, we cuddle, we pray, she sleeps.
Tonight, I was in a dark mood. I couldn’t sing because I was crying. Did anyone die? Did the world end? Did my Kindle get smashed by a Republican? No. I was crying because an anonymous blog commenter said something mean on my Haus Frau post. (Which was admittedly a little lame, but I was operating on the good advice someone gave me to just hit “publish”.)
Mean commenters are nothing new to me. I’ve been called a cunt numerous times on Reddit and have been picked apart for my thin lips, fat arms and horrendous personality more times than I can count. I’m not the world’s most popular mommy blogger as exemplified by my mere 300 likes on Facebook despite my two years writing for Chicago Now. I get it. I’m not amazing.
But tonight, it crossed the line. It affected my family. That sweet little sunshine in the crib downstairs shouldn’t have to wonder why mommy didn’t sing tonight. Babies are precious and they are only small for such a blink of an eye. I’m mad at myself for missing it tonight and I’m to blame.
I could focus my anger on the commenter, but he or she won’t care. I have to take responsibility for the fact that in pursuit of my hobby, I’ve allowed my precious family to be affected. My sweet baby girl didn’t get her songs tonight and before you read me a riot about other kids who don’t have anything at all, I’ll tell you I’m all that matters to her. It matters if I’m upset.
So I’m done. I’m taking a break from this blog. Maybe a day, maybe a week. It’s not worth it. Good night. I’ll post if Martha Stewart invites me to share a jar of peanut butter.
Filed under: Fine Whine