Oh, today!
There has been stress in my life, as one would expect in any life.
There has been stress in my life, as one would expect in any life.
I am happy to report that I’m handling this much better than
usual.
But Father’s Day was hard this year.
Why?
Oh, just a reminder that while E lives happily (I presume) with both his birth parents, C does not. Growing pains of the family as we figure out our new relationships with each other and how we define ourselves.
For A, parenting E IS different than parenting C is.
It always will be.
Why?
Oh, just a reminder that while E lives happily (I presume) with both his birth parents, C does not. Growing pains of the family as we figure out our new relationships with each other and how we define ourselves.
For A, parenting E IS different than parenting C is.
It always will be.
When I was pregnant with E, A would still introduce C as “my
daughter.” Well, I was down at his store on Friday, with E, and a customer
asked, “is he your only child?”
A replied no, he had a “step-daughter.”
Ouch.
Ouch, not because it’s true, but ouch because why the distinction now…???
A replied no, he had a “step-daughter.”
Ouch.
Ouch, not because it’s true, but ouch because why the distinction now…???
Is he even aware he said that? Is he even aware that he
doesn’t owe random customer any details about our life?
C will live a reality I don’t know and can’t begin to
fathom. Her daddy is not her birth parent. I don’t know that reality.
LATE on Saturday night (or perhaps early Sunday morning), A said something to the effect that C wasn’t his. He was joking, and yes, I know he was joking. But in wine (which he had been drinking), is there truth? Does he feel that way?
There is no way to know. He would never admit it.
I don’t feel bad that I have absolutely NO sense of humour about this. I burst into silent tears.
LATE on Saturday night (or perhaps early Sunday morning), A said something to the effect that C wasn’t his. He was joking, and yes, I know he was joking. But in wine (which he had been drinking), is there truth? Does he feel that way?
There is no way to know. He would never admit it.
I don’t feel bad that I have absolutely NO sense of humour about this. I burst into silent tears.
I love my daughter fiercely. I have some anger in me about
her situation and the inevitable loss she will feel, no matter how kick-ass a
father A is. But I have no one to direct this anger. No matter what, I cannot
be angry with B. He is sick. This is a genuine illness, even though mainstream
society views it as a “choice.”
To top it all off, I’ve discovered a horrific thought that
pops up in my mind—in good times and in bad. When I see A interact with E, I
can’t relax enough. There is always the thought “Yeah, but you’re gonna take
off when he’s 15 months.”
My psychologist assured me this was normal, to be expected,
etc. I assumed as much. She assured me
this would subside after E was 15 months.
11 months to go…
3 comments:
I never saw my birth father after I was 4 years old. I don't miss him. My Dad is my mother's third husband. He eventually adopted me - after I was married. My feeling for him go deeper than can be described.
I tell you this so you'll know that C will be fine. She'll love and cherish A as her Dad forever.
I had no idea, L. Thank you SO much.
This is part of what bothers me, I think. I don't know what it's like, and I don't know (or didn't think I knew) many people who faced a similar upbringing.
I'm smiling right now. Thank you!
I was raised by a man who chose to father me. My bio dad died before I was born. My step-dad married my mom when I was like 17 months old. I've never known any different. He's always been "dad"...
I mean... I was told, obviously, about my bio dad. But in our family, there was no distinction made. My sister and I were siblings, not "half" siblings and my dad was my dad. No step. I was his daughter.
They divorced when I was 11. He is still my dad. He will always be.
I think his choosing to father me so fiercely made an impression on me. Like I got that. I understood even when I was young.
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