Skip to main content

Back

Ah, those days of backsliding. Questions, questions, questions, that you know that even if you got the answers to them, it wouldn't take the edge off of the pain.
Baby H is gently nursing and snoozing in my lap. He's such a blessing. Truly. I often think that I don't know how I would've survived any of this, except that I know how much he needs me and how beautiful he is.
Everything happens for a reason, they say, and I struggled with that saying for a long time.
Really? God put me through this on purpose? It sure as hell wasn't making my life easier, better, richer. It wasn't helping my girls. The worst thing that could happen continually was happening, every time, no matter how hard I tried to make up for what I'd done. And then I'd make a mistake again and....my ex used to say he believed in disproportionate justice. If someone (including our children) acts in an undesirable way, the best way to get them under control was to immediately enact disproportionate justice.
My life was a series of disproportionate justice. Kiss another man? Find out your entire marriage was built on lies, affairs, and manipulation. Everything I touched started to crumble. Adultery is horrible, but most people cheat and they go back to their spouse and work things out and life goes on. Or they amicably divorce and life goes on.
Nope. I got sent to psychologists, told I was a danger to my kids, emotionally and psychologically beaten within an inch of my life, and when I fought back with a restraining order, was gifted with a judge who deemed it appropriate to tell me to continue to live in the house with my abuser.
I need to let go of that anger and hurt and resentment, but it's hard when my 5 year old wants to stay with me and I can't even communicate with her father because every email or text he sends is a backbite trying to pull me back into hating myself.
But back to the baby. I can't help thinking that it's wrong, somehow, that he can't have both of his parents in his life. I have no desire to be back with his father. And I realize he didn't want the baby and that had I not decided to keep him, he would've just signed away his rights and that would've been the end of it.
But that's not fair. Why shouldn't his kids have a sibling? Why shouldn't his son have a father figure, even a temporary one? If he grows up, and has only ever known life with his dad taking him a few evenings a week, it will just be his life. If he grows up with no father, then in 10 years, I have to explain somehow that his father chose not to be in his life. I'll try to make it sound noble. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he knows he is loved and wanted. But I can't guarantee anything. It breaks my heart. At what point, as his mother, should I start fighting for him to have what he deserves?
Go away thoughts. Stop driving me back there.
I went to Kohl's yesterday and heard the following songs while I was there: "Just Haven't Met You Yet", "Fine By Me", and "I'm Yours". Kohl's somehow had our summer playlist down perfectly. Ugh.
Tomorrow I'm going to go watch one of my colleagues direct her music program dress rehearsal. She is pregnant with her first baby and I finally am to the point where I love to see people who are in love with their families.
Tomorrow will be better.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

8 Things I Wish I Could Tell You About Being a Single Mom

Well, here it is, November, and I haven't written a word since April. Not that it hasn't occurred to me. I was busy working and somewhat enjoying my "summer break" and then school started again and BAM, ice and snow everywhere. Luckily for the 12 people who read this blog, today I drank an extra large cup of caramel macchiato from the local gas station at four o clock in the afternoon, so I am ready to write. Besides the copious amount of caffeine I've consumed, the major inspiration for this post is actually something that has been rattling around in my head for sometime now. Maybe it's because I spend a lot of time sitting around feeling sorry for myself (hahahahaha! Time. See, it's a joke because I actually have no time ever. See: opening sentence) but mostly it's because it's pretty personal and I have a hard time bringing it up without feeling like a total Debbie Downer pity-party, complete with cheese and whine (not the good wine that I li...

Someday My Prince Will Come

How cliched, I know. When I was young, I was not fussy about relationships. I was low maintenance if there ever was such a thing, in part because of my fierce independent (read: stubborn) streak and a complete aversion to frivolity. I was never the girl who got highlights in her hair and spent hours on clothes and makeup each morning. I shopped at thrift stores and went to school with my hair wet 50% of the time. My requirements for "boyfriend" material were that they hold my hand sometimes and be smart enough to talk to for hours on end. I didn't seek out the best looking, I didn't expect gifts or showering, I understood not being top priority and I didn't need someone to  emotionally support me. I was a tough chick who could take care of herself, thank you very much. It should come as no surprise then, that I married a man who allowed me to take care of everything in our lives. My teenage self would have loved that, being responsible for the house, the bills,...

Tell Me About Your Kids Sometime

A few days ago, I went to a movie with an acquaintance and afterward, we decided mutually that we should get to know each other better, which, considering my lack of an active social circle, can't possibly be a bad thing. (Shut up, anxiety. I'm trying to knock those walls down. ) We were exchanging questions and he said, "You'll have to tell me about [your son] sometime." A few moments later he added, "...and your girls. They clearly have your heart." That first sentence, blinking bright against the black on my iPhone struck me so profoundly. It's a simple request. "Tell me about your son." The innocuous reason he asked that question was simply because he knows that my son is important to me and wants to know more about the people I care about. However, when I read it, it struck me how I would seriously answer what my children truly mean to me and how I would honestly describe them. Not in the funny things they do, or the sweet things th...