Password Please?

10 Mar

Well, it has been so long since I have been on here, even my computer has forgotten my access info. I had to try various combinations until I hit on the right one. For a second there, I thought I wouldn’t be able to access my blog ever again. Jury is still out as to whether that would be a good thing or not.

So here I am, dipping my toe into the lake. I’m not sure if I want to swim or run for the hills. I guess I will have to take a running leap, fully clothed, eyes wide shut, otherwise I may never pluck up the courage to return.

It has been 6 months since I became a single mother. I think the reality of my situation is finally becoming clearer to me. There will be no brother or sister for Adam. There will be no understanding, tolerance or acceptance from his father. I will have to deal with the father of my child for the indefinite future. Whether I want to or not. I just have to buck up and make it work.

Adam sees his father almost every night and goes out with him every Saturday and Sunday. This arrangement is not generally understood by anyone but myself. When I explain to people that my ex visits my child. in my home. everyday. I am rewarded with varying degrees of wide eyed wonder and amazement.  It is the hardest thing in the world to do. But I do it everyday because it is what is best for my child. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The injustice of it all screams at me. Don’t think that I don’t see or feel it.

I do all the work. I buy his food, his clothes. Make sure he has underpants, socks, shoes that fit. A sunhat. A swim suit. I wash his clothes and make sure his washing his hung up and dried. I cook for him and pack his bag for school. I get him dressed and fed and dropped off at school. I discipline him alone (one of the hardest parts of this journey) and teach him the right way to act. How to greet his teachers and say goodbye politely. I teach him his colours and numbers. Make playdough with him. Sit with him at night. Take time off work when he is sick.

It’s hard work, but it’s what I do. I’m the mommy. It’s what we do.

And then, when daddy comes to visit my child’s face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree. I know that it is what most mothers go through when daddy comes home in the evening. It’s nothing new, but it is so hard to see. Daddy is the preferred playmate. Daddy is fun. Daddy can devote his entire attention to his child. Adam is the sun and Daddy is the solar system.

Daddy doesn’t have to deal with a screaming child in the morning when he is late for work and needs to shower. He doesn’t have to go to work after a night with a sick child. Or beg for the day off so that he can tend to a feverish little boy. He doesn’t have to remember to buy juice or fruit or yoghurt. He doesn’t have to try and distract a clingy child because he has washing to hang up. Or hair to wash. Daddy doesn’t have to find a babysitter anytime he wants to pop out for a few minutes. Never mind a whole evening. He can make plans for any night of the week, safe with the knowledge that his child is sleeping in his bed and cared for.

I’m not looking for sympathy. And I know that this is the kind of thing that most mothers deal with anyway. I’m not bitter and I don’t wish things were otherwise.  The only reason I bring this up  is because I don’t think his father even realises what I do on a daily basis.

He still sees his son as much as he saw him when he lived here. If not more. I make sure of that. But, despite everything that I do, despite everything that goes on behind the scenes, despite every way that I bend over backwards so that his son can have as much time with his father as possible, he still acts like he is doing me a favour when I ask him to babysit…

I could go on and on here. And I did. But now I have deleted it. Because it’s just not worth it. Our ‘relationship’ is so fragile I don’t want to strain it past what it can handle.

Which brings me to the reason why I haven’t blogged for so long. How desperately I wish this was an anonymous blog. I could write and rant and rave to my heart’s content. But there are real people who read this blog. Real people who sometimes read too much into this blog.

Unfortunately I have to edit my writing to avoid a backlash. And when I have to think of editing my thoughts, I just don’t want to write at all.


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