As my readership may recall (if I still have any, that is), singles get a lot of soul-destroying feedback. You aren't doing this right, your personality is sort of eh, and because you didn't go to summer camp when you were 12, you are therefore single.
But then, the magical time arrives when one's soulmate FINALLY shows up, and you can dance off into the sunset while cackling, "In yo FACES!!!"
There is, for the first time in a decade, the blissful sound of NOTHING. No one has anything to say to you beyond, "Hello." Oh, it is wonderful. So wonderful.
Then Ben was born, our blissful squishy baby, the offspring we were waiting for.
But then they came back. They found me again.
"He doesn't sleep through the night? At his age? When my baby was three hours old, I programmed him to sleep for 24 hours straight."
"His diaper leaked and you don't have a change of clothes? I don't go anywhere, not even to the mailbox, without three backup outfits."
"Do you read to him enough? I started my baby on advanced poetry by six months."
I've discovered I've started to self-flagellate in advance, just in case. "I'm so terrible, I resort to Cheerios as most of his snacks. While I'm at it, he doesn't sleep through the night yet and so he would be better off in foster care as I am therefore an incompetent caregiver."
Maybe because Ma's not here to reassure me that I'm doing an ok job keeping him alive, but I find myself succumbing to all the comments, doubting my efforts.
Damn. I thought I was done with this.
To all the lovely singles who are badgered by everyone: Tune them out. Because they are a fact of life, along with death and taxes.
