Revelations

Actually, a part of me would like that biblical fury to be raining down on someone right now - some smiting and burning furnaces and two-edged swords and smoke and brimstone could be delivered unto the arse of my son's father while I sit, box seat front row, with popcorn and a digital camera.

Which is kind of interesting because, if I were to categorise my religious inclinations (and that would be hard, because I follow no religion as such), it would be Buddhist rather than Christian. My belief set runs more to karma and inner-leading-to-outer peace than to fiery vengeance wreaked by avenging angels.

Yet recent unexpected revelations have certainly given me cause to wish that karma came with a fast, on-line order version. It's such a bummer having to trust that his transgressions against me, his son and others will be repaid in full through his karmic debt, this lifetime OR the next OR some future lifetime.

Give me some avenging angels and a good plague.


(Btw, the stunning image above is the work of ecstaticist - view more of his exceptional photos on Flickr.)

He thinks he's getting away with it...

...but he's not sure. I'm not ranting, or even mentioning how his behaviour has impacted us. In the corner of his mind, warning flags are flying: "...when she doesn't say something, look out!".

There's two reasons for my silence.

Losing my temper is wasted energy anyway. He takes no notice regardless, and it simply gives him an excuse to cut off any discussions at all. I am biding my time. In two months, we will have been separated for 12 months. In 2 months, I will be seeking a divorce. I will be formalising the arrangements surrounding the wee man. The court will hear the situation, and we will have to do a mediation session, and he will hear from people, other than me, how his behaviour affects his son.

Probably won't make a blind bit of difference.

Oh, and the other reason?

Because the rest of the time, when he's not around, I am happy. Since I know from long experience that much of his behaviour is just trying to pull me down to his level, I need him to see me how I am now...happy.

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...

Feeling Fragile

It's true.

I've been flying high for the first few weeks, feeling confident and strong and guided. Knowing I'd made the right decision, pleasantly surprised by how well the Big Feller has ended up behaving, after all my fears.

Euphoria, by nature temporary, has worn off somewhat and has left me softened, a little blue. The wee man comes home from his weekends with his father quite happily, but I am beginning to feel the disquiet that comes with being the boring, the authoritarian, the week-day parent, and to fear the glamour of the fun "weekend" Dad.

The Big Feller makes no secret of the fact that he would love the wee man to live more permanently with him (and I understand and respect that any loving parent would wish for the same thing) - but the simple truth of the matter is that he has issues which I left him for, and they are not just going to go away, and I genuinely don't believe it would be good for the wee man to be with him more than he is. Being the good-time, weekend Dad is perfect for him. He can put the hard stuff aside, bring out the best of himself, and be special for his boy. I just hope he will leave it at that, and not try to convince the wee man otherwise. And I know that we're the grown-ups, and with due respect for the wee man's wishes, we (and the courts and other interested bodies) will make the final decisions about what is best for him...and that there are a lot of parties who know or have a good idea of what our life was like before...

Maybe the problem is that I've got a lot of hurt and frustration and anger which is still unexpressed and dealt with, which leaves me overly sensitive and vulnerable. I know I could do with some good counselling - friends and love and hugs and family are all very well, but some of the raw emotion I feel in my dark moments needs a safe and perhaps dispassionate venue for release, and a sure hand to guide me back through it to myself.

I know my little man loves me, and perhaps he is more sure of my love and can therefore test me more. I know I made the very best choice for him, and for me, and that some days, yes, I am going to feel blue.

Life's Little Ironies

Am I the only one who has noticed the inherent irony in the title of this blog, and the blog description, and the recent events of my life?

A sub-heading might read: Note to Self - Loooook Out!

Perhaps you thought the choice of name was intentional - after all, many people whinge and gripe about their relationships and their partners without any need or wish to do anything more than vent everyday frustrations.

But really, when I chose the name for this blog, I felt that I just about had it all: a husband who loved me, a longed-for and precious new baby, a re-location to the countryside of my childhood, and the time and space to explore some creative dreams. Only, I wasn't quite sure how I was going to deal with the re-ordered priorities of my life.

Let this serve as an object lesson for you all - the point of that old saying "Be careful what you wish for...you might get it" is that sometimes when our dreams arrive, we are not ready for them, or they may come in a form we were not expecting, or with conditions we did not understand.

The true magic comes in recognising that even though the time or the path or the form is unexpected, we have still traveled closer to our heart's dreams, and have grown through the journey. We are now better equipped to move into those dreams and make them our realities.