...and I quote:
"Mom, get over yourself and your bad-ittude. That other blogger wasn't even TALKing about you. She's a perfectly decent human being, another babylost momma with an injured heart, and here you are slinging all this dirt in her direction just because you have issues with organized religion, and worry that people don't approve of your grieving methods."
Me: "Honey, if mommy wants advice from baby heaven, she'll ask. Really, since when do our deceased children issue advice? This isn't a Stephen King novel. Where'd you pick up all that vocabulary, by the way?"
Zachary:"From watching C-Span. Mom?"
Zachary: "I mean it. You should say you're sorry. Dead baby mommas shouldn't be girl-fighting."
Me: Gulp. Peer at computer screen. Feel kind of like a shithead. Knowing my son is right. "Okay. I'm sorry."
* * *
He's right. I'm sorry. Children know things.
* * *
If he were here, I could be talking to him in a conventional manner. God, he would have been such a smart and beautiful boy. This is wholly, maddeningly, cruelly unsatisfying.
* * *
Feeling sad and sorry and just generally kind of heartburny, I washed down Tums with a cup of coffee and tinkered around with my blog design. Goodbye fluttery foliage-filled green, hello simple boyish blue. It was time. Every week or month, I'll rotate in a different picture at the top, and put the explanation of the new photograph at the top right-hand column of this blog. Go on up there and read about it if you're wondering who the hot dude with the surfboard is. Yes, it is a hot dude with a surfboard, someone I know quite well. No - it isn't a religious photo from a greeting card that says "May God bless you with long lasting teeth on your 85th birthday" in cursive font on the inside, even though it kinda looks like that.
* * *
Don't worry - despite the skitzo-autistic nature of this post, I'm fine. I just got kind of disturbed by the onslaught of supportive words I had purposely and knowingly elicited in my last post, as they started to feel like a ganging-up type of situation with me the Queen Bitch at the center. I don't want to ever be that person in my life, and my two kids if present wouldn't want me to be that person either. So I hereby step down.