And that was that.
No balloon for Abigail.
I didn't march over to the counter and put up a stink. It's a freaking balloon. Maybe he thinks Abigail is too young for a balloon (she's pretty little). Her mistaken age has never stopped her from getting a sparkly star sticker at the library or a free munchkin at Dunkin Donuts, and it's not like a balloon is a choking hazard. Who
"The other kids at the ice cream store get a balloon, but Abigail doesn't...it makes me want to assume the worst."
And do you know what the troops did? My friends and family who are supposed to love us through thick and thin? Almost nothing. I had four solid responses from people - four responses that listened, felt my pain, and responded. But if I post a picture of Abigail happy and smiling, I'll end up with Facebook notification alerts for a few days. Dozens of "likes," maybe a dozen or so comments. When life is good, the troops are solid. But when things are bad...I felt deserted.
It's a well-studied fact. When things are going your way, when you win the lottery, when you're on top of the competition, people come out of the woodwork to be your friend. People are drawn to happy, successful people. But when tragedy hits, everyone gets uncomfortable and leaves. Like Job in the Bible. You know, the "fair-weather friends effect" we'll call it for the lack of a better name. Maybe no one was online over the holiday weekend. Maybe everyone thought I was over-reacting. Maybe no one knew what to say.
Correlation does not always equal causation, but my two facts are that I posted the bad parts of Abigail's life online and I heard the crickets chirp.
And I dread the day she's old enough to care about a