Blogging is a funny thing.
After all, anyone can have a blog. That means every asshole with an opinion is free to hold this virtual megaphone known as the Internet up to their mouths and shout it from the rooftops. But what if you want to stand out from the pack? With millions upon millions of bloggers out there, how do you separate yourself and keep people interested in what you have to say? It’s a question many bloggers struggle with, myself included.
Personally, I feel honesty is the key. If you’re real with people they know it and you will inevitably attract more and more readers, because they feel a genuine connection with you. But you can’t half ass it. Honesty means cataloguing EVERYTHING. The good times, the hysterical stories and, when necessary, the shit that grows like mold in the back of your brain that you know is there, but try to keep at bay.
Delving into those questionable thoughts is what most mommy/daddy bloggers fail to do. There’s this unspoken rule that seems to crop up the minute your baby is born, that says you must put on a happy face no matter what. After all, you have a kid now. Your life is supposedly complete. You’re not allowed to be unhappy or morose. It’s all baby all the time.
The only problem is this is bullshit. Just because you have a baby those thoughts don’t go away. And to ignore them or pretend they don’t exist is just bullshit posturing. Besides, as an astute reader at Ask and Ye Shall Receive pointed out, the best blogs to read are the ones that let you in the author’s head and make you feel like you’re spying on thoughts you’re usually not privy to. And since I have a tendency to go into cyclical funks every 3-4 months, I offer you these (not so) slightly disturbing thoughts of mine:
Last week MJ woke me up in the dead of night, screaming her head off. She was having night terrors and they weren’t screams, so much as piercing shrieks of death. Like if someone was trapped in a fire and about to die. As I bolted upright, I immediately threw my arms around her and tried to shield her with my body. Why, you ask? Because I was positive there was an intruder in the house and he was going to either stab or shoot her. What I forgot to do — what I never even registered in that moment — was to protect Will. Honestly, I didn’t think about him at all. I was too preoccupied with my wife’s well being. What does that say about me as a dad that I totally forgot about him?
Speaking of intruders, I’m convinced that burglars/murderers/sadistic serial killers are ready to break into my house at any moment. When I walk around the house at night or look out windows, I’m actually surprised when I don’t see someone ready to kill me. I can remember being 10 years old and believing that if I sat up in bed at night, a sniper would get me. So now, every sound I hear at night is someone casing the joint, planning their strike.
I love my son dearly, but he can be a real asshole. Yes, I called my 18-month-old an asshole. Get over it. I know this probably violates Mommy Blog General Law, but it’s true. Like when Will hit me in the face last night. I told him no hitting and to be gentle. He looked me straight in the eye, smiled, and then hit me again. And he knows the dog is petrified of his toy lawn mower, so he purposefully chases the poor dog around with it and laughs maniacally when she cowers and whines. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Asshole.
On the rare occasion that Will sleeps through the night, I’m always petrified that something happened to him. I’m afraid he died of SIDS or someone came in and kidnapped him. I picture myself making tearful pleas to the media for his abductors to bring him back home safely, despite knowing all the while that he’s not coming back.
Sometimes I think about having to deliver the eulogy for my close friends and family members, and occasionally I write down and save the really good lines.
My grandfather and my aunt both had multiple sclerosis. MJ’s mom has it too, although a much less severe case than my relatives. I constantly wonder how I’ll react if I find out I have it. My relatives with MS were brilliant people, who were reduced to spending a majority of their lives in a bed having other people feed them. What’s worse is that brilliance is still there, but it’s trapped in their heads and unable to escape. I’d off myself before I let MJ spend her life spoon feeding me while my son looks on with pity. And what if Will is diagnosed? I can’t even go there.
Did you know it’s no longer a bad thing to have an STD? I’ve been watching TV and I see all these commercials with attractive men and women who admit they have herpes. Yet there they are, frolicking through a meadow and sitting side-by-side in matching outdoor tubs watching the sunset. There are no cold sores on their lips and nary a hint of vaginal discharge. Nope, these people have herpes and they’re living the good life. Catching syphilis must be like heaven.
I live 4 miles from the Sagamore and Bourne bridges, which are the only two routes for vehicles to drive on and off Cape Cod. They arch hundreds of feet above the Cape Cod Canal. And when I think about likely terrorist targets, I know the bridges on a busy summer weekend would be high on the list. And while I think about how tragic that would be and how I never want it to happen, a part of me also hopes I’m home if it does happen because being there in the immediate aftermath would be the story of a lifetime.
Can you tell I’m in a little bit of a funk?