Tuesday, 21 June 2011
my father's day
sunday was a beautiful day, one i had been planning for weeks.
once Muffin had gone to bed saturday night i stole away to the dining room and pulled out the collection of photos, schoolworks and drawings that i had accumulated from my personal detective work and from his ex-wife (who i've developed a very special and still slightly uneasy bond with, btw. she's wonderful and we've been talking very regularly, which resulted in her sending a cute folder full of Molly's school photos and work for me to give to Muffin on father's day, a folder which i am very, very grateful for.). i hung a collection of photos and letters i'd made and packed all the best bits of everything else into a folder that i laid next to where he sleeps, for him to see upon waking.
once i woke i spent the day trying to avoid thinking... just allowing myself to become enveloped in the absolute bliss that i had created for Muffin... i carefully manufactured the day around him and the fact that he is a dad who gets very little recognition.
he smiled and was so happy. he told me it was the best father's day he'd ever had. he thanked me over and over.
but jesusgod did my heart start hurting towards the end of the day when a careless comment was said... a comment that was not intended to break my heart, but that did just that, so very well.
we were strapping into the car, i was buckling my seatbelt when, as Muffin was musing about what a special day i had arranged for him, he turned to me and said, "just you wait until next mother's day..."
i instantly ached and did my regular sassy thing that resulted in me accidentally saying something rather passive aggressive, unintentionally, that... hm, i don't want to say "hurt," but set him to think... i told him that there's nothing to look forward to because i am not a mother and most likely never will be, especially not within the next eleven months.
on a side note, and to explain my doom-like view of our childrearing future, it's worth stating that i've developed a sense of disregard when it comes to ANY pregnancy/birth/kid-related conversations because the constant struggle we have for keeping our OWN heads afloat doesn't bode well for any future in keeping a tiny muffin's head also afloat alongside us. our financial situation combined with the fact that he CAN'T give me a baby has jaded me and broken that typically always-hopeful outlook i used to have re: babymaking.
i spend the bulk of my days now reflecting on the fact that so many people have babies or children they don't want and i will most likely never have even one. Origami has three... one she never, ever sees and two she sees about once every two years, leaving the gaps in between face-to-face visits without phone calls or letters. one of Muffin's soldiers is pregnant and cares so little about the tiny life inside of her that she tries to "jokingly" offer it to anyone she can, insisting on smoking and ignoring the fact that she is everyday creating parts of a tiny life that she will never love nearly as much as i ever could. i have so much love that i could give... such a huge part of me constantly yearns for a tiny danie. every single thing that i do every day casts me into the same thought pattern of how i would form my habits and hobbies around a child... how i would teach them, how i would hold them, what morals i would attempt to offer them. all these thoughts and what ifs and dreams are nearly always sucked into the black hole that is my reality, that i will most likely never get that chance. i will most likely never have a child of my own that i can raise from a tiny pea-sized thing in my tummy to an adult that i can be proud of.
i then began to cry. as i changed from third to fourth gear, my eyes did that horrible stinging thing and the back of my throat tightened and hurt as a couple of very chubby little tears blazed a trail down the crevice of my nose to my chin. i immediately wished i had my sunglasses on and proceeded to pretend nothing was happening with my face and tried to avoid sniffling at all costs, for the thought of having to go through that conversation was just far too painful... for me, nothing is too hard to discuss, no topic is hidden in the shadows, but this one. i avoid it so carefully that i could easily win a tournament in it, were it made into an official sport.
as we walked into taco bell he persisted. he asked me how i felt about adoption and i tried so hard to just focus on the burrito i was distracting myself with. he asked about what other options there were... options i have researched time and time again, if only to offer myself a sense of what can only result in false hope for me. i told him there was no point in thinking about any reversal of his "snip" as the likelihood of birth defects is increased by forty percent after ten years...
and you know, even if we could one day create a baby of our own, it would never be what we had talked about so many years ago. it would be clinical and only take place after thousands of dollars were spent on fertility treatments and doctor's appointments.
and whilst it was really a wonderful twenty-four hours for him, this father's day only served as a reminder to me that he HAS children that i will never have and that the women he has children with have a special bond with MY future husband that i never, ever will, and that is to be able to create a baby in the most primal and personal ways...
i will never be able to hope one day that the fruit of one of our intimate sessions would result in a tiny version of us, leaving me with a missed period and needing a pregnancy test, because he's eradicated any chance of that. i will never be able to surprise him with the news that i'm pregnant, because doctors will most likely make that announcement to us, in an office, surrounded by diplomas and office supplies. most likely, i will never be able to lose this tiny bit of resentment i have for each of the mothers of his children for being able to do with him what i have always wanted...