I knew it wouldn't be easy.

(No, I'm not already freaking out about NaBloPoMo, though goodness knows I've come into it a lot less prepared than '07. This time last year, I had some lists of possible blog topics and hot links in case the muse ran out on me. This time, I'm running blind...)

I meant the challenge that I faced, to negotiate the minefield that is co-parenting. Given all that I knew about the wee man's Dad, it was never going to be a cake-walk...

I had written much more on this subject, and was prepared to post it, when I reflected on something I remember another blogger saying once; about how she was conscious of the future when her kids, curious about what their old Ma got up to in her younger days, grew old and unwise enough to follow their mother's cyber trail on the Web and read all the embarrassing and intimate details of their babyhood and early childhood on her blog.

So, baby, for your sake I'm not going to tell everybody in detail how absolutely sucky I think your Dad is right now, how deeply sad I am at his selfishness in not recognising how his actions are affecting you, about why I am so profoundly disappointed that a person who I once invested all my love and trust and faith in can't even manage to rise above his shortcomings for your sake.

I'm sorry, sweetheart. Without him you wouldn't exist, and I know you love him deeply, but I'm sorry for the world of hurt and disappointment I've let you in for by choosing him to be your father. I hope he manages to be half the man I think he is capable of being, to do the very best he can by you, because right now I don't think his efforts amount to a fart in a snowstorm.

(I'm writing this when you are four-and-a-half...you've never experienced a snowstorm, but you'll laugh your head off at any sentence that contains the word "fart". You probably still do.)

I love to hear you laugh. Right now, your eyes contain a woundedness I never wanted to see - it's not just me noticing it, but it is up to me to do everything I can to make things better for you. I can only count on myself in this.

You're resilient and smart and sensitive, but far too young to be able to understand the nuances of your father's behaviour. I see you blaming yourself for all the stuff you don't understand, thinking that there is something wrong in you, and that is the only mistake you make...you are perfect, baby. You are a four-and-a-half year old mind in the body of a four-and-a-half year old boy; your father has the mind of a four-and-a-half year old boy in the body of a man.

My most fervent wish is that I can help you grow and integrate all these experiences and feelings in such a way that you don't become another wounded child walking around in the body of an adult. There are far too many of them (and I probably wouldn't entirely exclude myself from that category). As I type this tonight, I pray that you might be able to tell me, one day, that I got my wish...