I think it's probably a culmination of a couple of things but it's safe to say I may just have reached an emotional breakdown.
After my last post - Broody,Guilty,Mad - it seems I've opened up Pandora's box to a recessive memory bank that has been burst open with past recollections, emotions and, yes, guilt.
Resentment emanates from every one of my pores. Suddenly the fun, loving mother I'm trying to be has been replaced with an ogre, a silent ogre, but ogre-ish nonetheless.
So how did I get here again?
This time it feels different. Littlest one comes to me in the kitchen and starts reciting how, "mommy drank lots of wine when I was in her tummy", the lead up from our dinner table family time where he had shared his dreams of abduction and monsters. I'm mad as hell all over again.
I dart back and forth between these emotions, like an mental institute outpatient. Seriously, I'm battling to find the normality in my circumstance and if this needs to be said then I'll admit that I'm really not coping. There, happy?
We pack away the dishes and the kids are now both standing in the small space we could call a scullery, even the cat has managed to weave his way through 8 legs attached to the bodies towering above him.
The eldest is included in this conversation and I share memories of how daddy had invited me to see him as a 3 week old newborn. I held him in my arms and with each gurgle, I held back tears of remorse - I was envious then, but relieved that his wayward daddy wasn't part of my picture, I was going places remember?
I was 22 at the time, it could have been our child, but it wasn't and I had buried that notion and decided to celebrate his new family with him, instead of make this about me and my issues. The ex, even back then, snatched her new child from my arms. She never did like me, alas, I digress.
As we swap stories of their individual births, I'm suddenly isolated by the disconnected memories that have nothing to do with me. His words cut to my soul as he spoke about cutting their umbilical cords, how the youngest was 3 months premature and stillborn and how doctors had resuscitated him in surgery. Daddy stands there enacting dangled, lifeless arms and my rage toward the circumstance is fueled once more.
I knew all the facts, but every time I heard them, it I feel branded, tarnished and disembodied. They always felt like dirty secrets, beautiful little souls with a dirty parental secret - the drugs, the alcohol, the still birth. Yet, here I was standing in this conversation feeling like the glitch in their family tree, the rotten apple in the midst of their perceived awesomeness. It was all a lie, yet it felt so authentic every time I heard him speak.
It all went pear shaped thereafter
By now the feelings and questions have returned. Why did this have to happen? Why did we have to share a 7 week old fetus that was supposed to, or at least could have been a 15 year old by now. A 15 year old reminder of love, a bond, a lifelong connection.
I could feel the fury burning in me, the tears welling up from my throat, never mind my eyeballs.
We tuck the kids in for the evening, love is shared, kisses and prolonged hugs that linger long after they are received. It is time now to go over legal documents and I can feel my mood souring very quickly, I'm expecting foul play - as always.
His approach is careless and with it his attention to detail. He is not bothered with fighting over 'menial things' like dates and times, he omits necessary specifics in his agreement that leave me even more bitter and resentful. She wants everything on her terms and has done very little to return, sustain or even be present in their lives - but she wants the kids, she wants to cut daddy out to the point that she gets away with it it all.
My childish retort just came out of nowhere
By now I'm snappy, I don't mean to be disrespectful but daddy's contesting my insistence to include exact dates for school holiday delivery and collections. I know it's going to come back and bite us if we don't. He doesn't see the point, "This affects me, me and my life too!", I growl at him. I should have just stopped there, I won't share my personal low, I'll just tell you that I threatened to leave when I shouldn't have. It's a pet peeve when people threaten to leave, but it came out of my mouth. He lay on the bed facing the ceiling and remained in the same position while I sobbed in the shower.
We went to bed in silence. We woke in silence.
A cold shoulder with civility and moments of a polite "Good morning" and "Have a good day". I feel I've failed.
This too shall pass
So while I spent the most of this morning in tears, I have, through puffy eyes and swollen nose, managed to track down a therapist. In doing so, my thoughts return to a friend who is in a similar situation. Although we are close, I won't discuss it with her, I like keeping my wounds hidden and as I lick them in private, possibly causing more damage as I brood.
Everyone has that one person that has the answers, maybe not by qualification, maybe not even through experience. But just as I was about to put my foot in the shower, the very same friend picks up the phone and as I answer, squeezes in a "What's wrong?" as I say "Hello". There is a support team waiting for you, if you're willing to be (even more) vulnerable to receiving help.
I decide to share my hurts and pain with daddy, he holds my hand sympathetically as I weep. It's all too much, I miss him, I miss us. This is all supposed to be our honeymoon period of our relationship and the reminders of my own failings haunt me as I learn to live with someone else's children.
They should have been mine, ours, his with me.
As the night comes to an end I think I literally heard God whisper to me, "I never said it would be easy, I said it would be worth it". It's going to be alright, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
Tomorrow is a brand new day to be an awesome step-in mom.
Let's do this.
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