It is difficult being a mommy at times. There is this common misconception (at least in my perspective of the world) that it comes naturally ALL THE TIME. That once this little one is born, I should know what to do every single time he cries. That I should never forget to pack a single thing for him on any outing. I never once stopped to think about the sleepless nights I would experience once he was born. I had come to terms with waking up a million and one times in a night but never stopped to think about the few nights I would spend trying everything humanly possible to put my child to sleep. After spending 21 hours straight with no rest, no break, no nap and failing miserably to put my child to sleep I had come to terms that I was THE WORST MOTHER EVER. Not only because I couldn’t figure out what was going on with my son or how to fix it but because I was genuinely pissed off at my newborn. “GO. TO. F&%$ING. SLEEP!” I would beg between sobs while feeling a twinge of resentment that his father does not help a single bit. That he gets to go out with his friends whenever he wants and is able sleep 12, hell, 6 beautiful uninterrupted hours. I not only cried for my feeling of utter failure as a new mother but also for a life I did not think I missed. Finally, after driving my son around town for the second time this week to encourage a visit from the sandman, we drifted off into a short sleep. We woke the next morning with a smidgen of a rough start since feelings from the night before still lingered but then an amazing thing happened that changed everything. He smiled at me! Everything negative was forgotten as I basked in his brief smile that may have been caused by gas. Nonetheless it was a smile, even if just a flicker, as though to say, “you’re doing fine. You’re a good mommy and I love you to the moon and back.” I love you, too, son. And I’ll take the hard days with the easy if it means seeing that smile over and over again. And forget the resentment I feel towards his father, that’s just more baby boy for me to enjoy. Partying is an unfulfilling life style, now I have purpose even if it does bring me to tears. Nothing worth doing ever came easy, why should motherhood.
Hello to yet another beautiful day in the world and one day closer to my son’s birth. One of very few shimmering lights in my world right now.
These last few days should have been relaxing and enjoyable as everyone stuffed their tummies full to breaking points and remembered the people they love most and those they are most thankful for in their lives. While my family did just that I sat inside my head screaming and slamming my head into that poor, severely dented wall wondering why in the world it was so hard for one particular
man child (no man I know would act this way) to be there for his child and hold to his word, keep his promises, and simply tell the truth when things did not go his way.
He allowed me to believe, for however fleeting the moment was, that he was gaining responsibility and opening his eyes to the life we were bringing into the world. I believed for one-eighth of a millisecond that he was going to follow through on something for the first time since I have met him. I thought with him stepping up, I could actually provide my baby boy with his first Christmas and show my parents how much I appreciate their help and support, but even one-eighth of a millisecond was too long. He was simply doing the two-step I should expect and know all too well. I had even told myself and had been told by my former therapist, “Expect to expect nothing of him.” I do not know why I slipped.
As those I loved unbuttoned their pants to allow more room to breathe, watched Christmas specials, and broke out the Holiday decorations, I ran block on myself. Running to my room or the bathroom to catch the tears of anger and frustration that forced their way out. Tears that held the words of hurt I long to hurl at him for the pain he causes me but do not dare to share with him, then washing those words off my face and painting on a smile in their place, standing up straight and walking out to the Christmas tree with my head held high.
It feels overwhelmingly difficult most days, I wonder how I will possibly do this for the rest of our son’s life without landing myself into some sort of trouble because I’ll have no tongue left to bite. Due to my son’s father’s inability to think of anyone other than himself, I do not get to buy my son his first Christmas gift. I am now on maternity leave and here in the “Land of the Free” there is no paid maternity leave offered for those expecting. I had my last shift taken from me and will only have three hours for two weeks on this last check, if I am lucky, at minimum wage, no less. But at least I have a few cards up my sleeves. After this ordeal to get money he owes his son, he still believes I will not go through the proper channels for child support. He believes me to be an airheaded bimbo who cannot think or act for herself and believes the lies he tells with nothing to show for it. He believes I will lay down to be his doormat; allowing him to pay what he wants, when he wants, and visit as he pleases. I will allow him to think this of me, it will only be that much more of a surprise when he realizes all the lies I caught him in and that I am not so naïve to simply sit back and allow him to treat his son anyways he pleases.
He had been warned and given plenty of opportunities. “You’re either in his life or you’re not. We are not your swinging door or your doormats. I will not allow you to come and go in DC’s life as you please and break his heart.” He thinks because he is the father I cannot see to just that. I am done playing Mr. Nice-Guy. I’ve cried too much for my son over these last nine and a half months and I refuse to see those same tears, filled with words he cannot bring himself to say, on my son’s face as he gets older. I AM DONE! I have reached my limit, he WILL NOT hurt my baby. I do not give a shit who he is because as far as I am concerned, just because he shares my son’s DNA it does not magically make him a daddy. My distaste for my child’s donor runs deeper than I could have ever imagined it could run for anyone.
Dear God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage the change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen