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...

Fielding frustrations

The last few days especially have been hedged with them.

An on-going frustration for me at the moment is the return to dial-up internet. It.is.driving.me.bonkers. Or should that be, more insane. The amount of time lost as I sit here waiting for pages to load IS insane. Let me send out a big apology right now to all my regular correspondents, especially fellow Weekly Winner participants - I try to get to your blogs, to read and comment. Many of you I have on Google Reader, which takes long enough to load, and recently I have been screaming with frustration before a single page has completed. SO, if you have noticed the lack of my pithy and sparkling wit (and dumb comments), I am soooo sorry. I do love you, and I long to share the linky love around but it is just taking too.damn.long.

Okay, whinge #1 over.

The Big Feller caused me some frustrated soul searching this weekend, on a few levels. Most of the reactions he elicits from me have been lessened by the act of distancing myself from him, geographically and emotionally, but because of his role in the wee man's life I can't break away from it entirely.

He is unreliable; in keeping appointments, commitments, financial promises, even in planning for his time with his son. He has spent 10 years trusting that I would help smooth, mollify, clarify or distract, whatever distress he caused glibly explained away by seemingly plausible reasons (excuses).

He was 4 and a half hours late picking the wee man up - no phone call prior to his arrival. He owes me money, and gives me promises in exchange. (How unusual). He tells me tales of the latest dramas some of his friends are involved in - people I have no interest, regard or respect for, so my care factor is Zero - and he does it over the wee man's head, who has absolutely no need to hear about these people's seedy lives.

He left with the wee man on Saturday, and I walked inside downcast, carrying a sticky filthy cloud of negative energy which I almost needed to claw off me.

And I felt sooo bad that my wee man was being taken away to be immersed in his father's world, where those kinds of things happen, and where I am classed as "over-protective" and "paranoid". Even though I know he would have a good time, and be loved, and wants to have time with his Dad, it just felt wrong.

And then he had the hide to text me repeatedly on Sunday asking, begging, apologising, to borrow some more money because he had paid so many bills this week he had no money left to buy food, and the wee man didn't want to eat anything he had in the place. Did I mention his inability to plan ahead, to examine consequences?

Arrrrggggghhhhh!

Don't ask...