my Solo Heartbeat

For the first few visits to my OBGYN she said the baby's heartbeat echoed and it sounded like there was two. By the time I was 20 weeks she told me and the Bio that there was a 'solo heartbeat'. After re-reading my handwritten journal and reliving that day in my head I thought about those words.

Solo Heartbeat...it means so many different things to me now.

My bed is empty of any Monkey's who have crept into my room late at night or single Dad's who used to keep me warm on these nights...and I've got a head full of thoughts and a heart full of emotions. My heart as a Mother will never beat alone. The moment my dazed eyes peered at the 4th plastic stick I'd peed on in four days I knew this heart was never going to be solo.

I've dedicated my life from the day that heart started beating outside my body to giving him everything he needs to live and thrive. It started with quitting my job, moving in with my folks and signing up for State assistance to make sure he had health care and a place to put his little noggin'. I wore him every moment. I hugged him when he cried. I cuddled with him during nap time. I took him everywhere with me. Even on the exterior of my cocoon body he was as close to me as humanly possible...it's the only way I would have had it.

I barely write about being a Mama, let alone my parenting choices and how the have made me feel. I went from being a virtual book of Parenting information on sleep schedules, bedtime routines and how to be a successful Mommy to clinging to every instinct in my body for the right thing to do for me and my son. I threw the books out and I threw myself into just being present and accounted for when it came to my son's needs. Why am I writing about this today now? The Bio challenged me and tried to make me second guess who I am as a Mama. Not gonna happen. I'm not the kind of woman anymore who let's trite commentary make me feel anything other than sadness for the Bio.

My childhood wasn't full of roses daily, but I was loved and I knew it. When the Bio and I butt heads about parenting choices that ultimately have to do with our own life choices, I want to run up to him and grab him by the face and remind him of the days when we were kids. The kid he was. The fear he felt. The torment he lived with daily. Not that I want to air anyone's laundry, dirty or otherwise, but his childhood was not one I remember with fondness...and I was there for most of it. So when I think of how he chooses to degrade my choices to hug our Monkey when he's crying or let him crash in my bed when he's scared it makes me wish I could pull a Scrooge on his a** and show him how it was for him. How it was for me. How it doesn't have to be that way for the Monkey. Even apart we can make his life better than it would have been with two parents in one house. It's our job. It's his right.

My Monkey is attached to me. He's attached to his Bio. He loves with all his heart and you can see that in his little eyes every time he hugs those he holds dear. I spent the first two years of his life fighting to make sure that the little heart that fought so hard to be here gets to beat with all the love in the world.

Tonight thinking about the choices I have made and the life that came of that little heartbeat that echoed in my mind for weeks before it became 'Solo' I'm proud that my son is who he is and that we are learning to be here together as Mama and Monkey...

Our heartbeats will never be Solo...

(my Monkey...7/14/2006...eight weeks early)

The Dad Battle: Daddy's versus Father's...who are you?

As a little girl I always felt like the only person who mattered in the world was me...okay until my sister came along...but, for my parents there was nothing more important than their girls. My Dad was one of those parents who brought home special treats for dessert and cool trinkets from his travels. We were Daddy's Girls and I always thought I was so lucky to have such a wicked cool Dad. He's listen to music with us and dance around the room like a fool to whatever was on the record player, because he loved us and would do anything to see his girls smile. With all his own dysfunctional history of being raised by former military and a Midwestern school teacher my Dad never batted an eye at affection.

This kind of love is what I measure the men in my life against. The kind of Man I want to raise my children. I should've known from the first conversation (argument I should say) the Bio and I had about raising kids that this was not the kind of Man I wanted to have a child with and yet I did. Love or at least the desperation of wanting to make love last makes you see things in a distorted picturesque view.

In my last post I mentioned the idea of being a 'Daddy' versus just being a 'Father'. This is a huge topic of meaning for me as the mother of a little boy and also as the little girl of an amazing 'Daddy'.

When I was about 9 years old my half-sister magically appeared out of nowhere and came to live with us when her Mother died tragically. The short version, her parents had divorced before my Dad even knew she existed...and it was my fault. Our five year age difference made no sense to her and the fact that I was so in love with this Big Sis of mine made no sense to her already warped sensibility. Our Dad loved us all but it was not to be. Our new family fell apart and soon after my half sister went AWOL and I have no clue where she is...to this day I wish she and I could mend fences and be sisters. At least for our kids.

When I was 15, I caught my Dad crying...my Dad has one of those you don't cry in front of people attitudes and I've seen him cry all of four or five times now in my life. It was my nieces birthday and mine was coming up...I'd be 16 and she would've been 5. At that moment I didn't tell him I saw him crying, instead I told my Mom how guilty I felt for ruining my Dad's life. If it wasn't for me maybe she would still have her family. That's when my Mom told me the whole story...the divorce, how my Mom and Dad met WAY after and how on the day I came home from the hospital post-birth my Dad thanked my Mom for giving him the chance to be a real 'Daddy'. I cry every time I think about how my Dad was never given a chance to really love his first child or his first grandchild for that matter. He left for his own reasons, but his wife and the mother of his first child would not let him participate in her life and that kills me to think of the pain it caused both of them.

On my 22nd Birthday, my Dad almost died of bleeding ulcers and I told him I was sorry for everything...and he told me he was not.

Today I struggle with that desire for my son's Bio to be a Daddy just like mine...but I know he's not. He's madly in love with our son but he's not that kind of Man. Many of our battles are because he's just not that Man. He's strict and careful and has expectations that are often ridiculous of a 3-year old. But they deserve to know each other and I will always want that for them. Maybe someday he'll be comfortable in his skin enough to just be a Daddy. And yet I thank G*d that my Dad is here and present for my son daily because just like he was that Man who was my Daddy, he is that kind of Grandpa. He is the kind of Grandpa that brings so much joy to my little boy that I can't imagine what my life would be like without him in our lives.

Every kiddo deserves more than just a father...they deserve a Daddy too.

On my Day with Daddy we went to...

...the Gym apparently.

The Monkey has new visitation with his Bio as of a several weeks ago and we just started overnights every other Sunday...so far the nights are fine...it's the day after that makes me cringe and often cry.

Yesterday the Monkey asked me if we could get ready to do exercises...I was sort of baffled since I'm not really the let's go do exercises kind of Mommy. After a few requests to go, I had to ask...'Monkey when do you go do exercises?'...the answer...'Daddy takes me to the exercise store'.

At first I laughed it off and thought no big deal. How he chooses to spend his time with his child is not my business. It's his time. So a few moments later before bedtime I started thinking about the single Dad's in my life and the conversations we've had about time and how precious it is. One of my co-workers (still need a good tag name for him) and fellow single parents and I have chatted about this very topic.

Then enter my new dating guy HSD and his visitation views. He has his son (4 yr. old next week) from Thursday night to Monday morning every other weekend. As we chatted about when we'd get to see each other next I said something about letting me know when he was available...knowing full well he was with kiddo this weekend. I adored his response...'I'm booked until Monday, but maybe we could meet at the park'. Okay so here's how the rest went...he feels that every moment he gets with his son is awesome and he needs to dedicate more time to him than to anything else (Me) and he just hopes I understand.

Do I understand? HELLS YEA!!!

As a single Mama who has spent more time ditching guys and/or being ditched by them because this is the stand I take on my son, I completely love this side of him. (not like LOVE but you know appreciate). I adore when a man with children (married or single) knows how good he has it to have them in his life and appreciates that gift. So I drift to thoughts of the Bio and how the Monkey explains his day with his Bio and it makes me flame up...but again nada I can do about it.

So, I'm wondering fellow Single Mama's and Papa's...how do you keep the flames out of your noggin when your kiddo comes back a whole different animal?

the Cleaner Averts Costume Crisis

The email sent at Midnight by the Bio on Thursday night Post-Swing Shift warning me that he was taking the Monkey to get his Halloween costume made my Friday morning 'ugh' worthy...but, not freak out worthy.

So much for our attempts to do things together.

But I called once I got the email at 8.30am. Remained calm and asked if we could go together to get the Monkey's Halloween costume after Tae Kwon Do on Saturday? The answer...We already got it.

My heart sunk.

For me Halloween is like the frosting on the end of my Year Cake. My day of birth is 9 days before and as a kiddo I always felt like it was celebrating me. Halloween is special for me and I wanted it to be like that for the Monkey. Not just cliche and silly but really about using your imagination and harnessing it through creativity. Being a part of something intoxicating and full of wonder...that's Halloween to me. But, I'm a Big Girl with a Little Boy for an Ex and I knew this way before. So I suck it up for my son. This can still be magic made at home with decorations and party fun...no big deal. (Words I know I say more than I care to).

Even being the bigger person I could not get past what I came home to Friday after work. My Monkey sulking because the Bio wouldn't let him bring home his Batman costume. It broke my heart and every ounce of my overreacting body wanted to grab the phone and rip the Bio a new one. How could he not let him bring home his costume? What was he even thinking?

How do you explain to a 3-year old that his Father is selfish and silly and that it's again NO BIG DEAL? Well you really can't...not without scarring and confusing the crap out of this little person. Bottomline my job as the Cleaner in this disfunctional Co-parenting Duo just keeps getting tougher and tougher. But, it is what I do and I'm getting better at it.

the Mommy solution: Mommy grabbed the Party City Flyer and the Disney Store mailer and asked the Monkey if Mommy could take him to the store Saturday to buy him a costume he could keep at home for him to use as dress up. And of course to use when we go to Mickey's House for Trick-or-Treating. Problem Solved.

Saturday morning we spent time trying to get past the doors of two different Halloween Stores (the Monkey is grasping fear and things are now Spooky) and discovering that Target was out of smaller size costumes of any fashion. And finally went to our local mall to get lunch and make our usual stop by the Disney Store. Jackpot! The Monkey was literally overwhelmed and it was awesome to watch. Finally after much debate we left with a Buzz Lightyear costume.

Internally, I debated whether this was a good idea. Should I have just let him be upset all weekend? Did it matter that the Bio had a tough time rationalizing his decisions to our Monkey? Let alone explaining it in a way that he could understand without being so upset. Since I am my Mother's child I took the road I knew would make my son happy and as a part of the very Disfunctional Co-Parenting Duo I did what would make the most sense to a 3-year old. He splits his time between two parents (not by choice) and there is no reason he should suffer for the choices the grown-ups have made and for me it's sad that Halloween has become one of those struggles. But it is what it is and I am a grown-up today.

Where is that Friggin' Bird?

This last Sunday marked the 1st time my Monkey has made it through a full night with the Bio in his entire life...that is to say without me being there.

I spent the entire evening watching Pawn Stars with my Dad and eating more pasta than a small Italian city. I thought about calling one of my two local friends and then made a concerted effort to mourn the change with my Dad. To be honest this change was as hard on me as it was on my own Paw (as I call my Dad) and for his own reasons. But, I saw those reasons clear as day and felt his pain when I walked into the den to see what he wanted for dinner.

Background:
My own father dealt with a terrible custody battle before I was born. Back in 1974 Father's didn't get as much consideration for rights and visitation as they do today, and my Dad was no exception. He left his 2nd wife after issues with her infidelity and drug abuse clouded his ability to live with and make excuses for her. And, shortly after she was magically preggers. To this day my Dad doesn't know if my half-sister is biologically his child but because his Ex said so and put him on the Birth Certificate he stood up for the challenge.

For years, he fought for equal custoday and paid more child support than he could afford and then one day, his 2nd wife told him his little girl wasn't his and she was marrying the real father. Four years later she died of a drug overdose and in her Will my Father was named as the soul guardian and caregiver.

When I was 9 she came to live with us...but, that's a whole other Oprah as they say.

____

So on this Sunday after we fought in our silent way about bills the day before we sat together and laughed at the hijinks of Las Vegas Pawn Brokers. They collect random stuff from historic pieces to small twin engine aircraft.

It felt good to have my Dad home with me. It felt good to have him stay up way past his 6.30pm bedtime and watch a mindless show and giggle and cook together.

While the Monkey had a good time and reported that it was fun to have a slumber party with his Bio, I still had to deal with the change in my own way. The time would have come sooner or later and I would have needed to find a way to drown my sorrows in my angst over it.

I'm glad it was with my Dad.

Where's your Daddy Sleep?

Yesterday on Twitter I started my own little discussion amongst some of my favorite Mama's who always seem to share great experience and feedback...and it has carried on in my overthinking brain.

The Mama's...
@laprimera @Jasperblu @sleeplessinsimi @butterflysnbees @mightymarce @Momma_Sunshine @TheMooksMum


The Question...
Okay everyone...how many single parents let their kiddos crash in your bed?about 22 hours ago from web

___________________
Since my Monkey was brought home breathing monitor in tow and prescription for meds in hand there was no way my baby was ever going to feel like Mommy wasn't there. 7 weeks of watching other people take care of him...wash him, feed him and hold him when I couldn't be there all the time...killed this Mama.

So every time the Bio questions whether or not the Monkey sleeps in my bed, I cringe and can't help but get frustrated with his despicable questions.

Background:
the Monkey has not spent a full night with his Bio without me since he was born. We moved out when he was 2 months old and only three weeks out of the NICU. Twice we tried and twice I got phone calls in the middle of night to come and get the crying little person who needed his Mama.

The REST:
In my hast to be a cooperative and over-planning pre-panic attacking co-parent, I sent the Bio an email with the Monkey's bedtime routine as I wrote it out for my Mom. Thinking I was being nice with the pending overnight this weekend and trying to make sure he knows what happens in our house without pushing buttons or making a scene. Silly ME!! Promptly, I received a response...so, is the Monkey sleeping on his own these days? REALLY? Does it matter??

Yes, it does to my Ex who was raised by passive agressive non-hugging parents who feel letting a child sleep in your bed is coddling and not teaching them independence. He was raised by a babysitter. He was raised to be seen and not heard. He hated that until we started disagreeing about raising our son. And, now I'm some sort of Crunchy Hippie (btw not really) that he despises because I let my son sleep in my bed if he wants to and we cuddle and sing and dance...WE HAVE FUN. I will never listen to my son cry if I have it in my power to prevent it. Especially not over sleeping. There are nights when my son sleeps in his room and just before it's time to get up he's suddenly climbing into my bed and it's beautiful. And there are nights when he asks if he can 'sleep in the Big Bed' and I will never refuse that request...ever.

He sent the email to prode...to poke at my thin layer of protection against his attacks and I saw it coming from the day he told me he still 'loved me'. I knew when I didn't fall all over myself gasping for an answer that I would suffer this small consequence. I just hoped it would pass.

I love what @Momma_Sunshine said about 'open bed' policy. My parents always had an 'Open Door' Policy in our house. Doors only got closed if my sister and I were being grounded for something silly and that was really the only time. I wonder how my parents ever got 'Busy' with that policy, but it's worked for them and I practice it with my son too.

Bottomline, Mommy is always here...no matter the time of day or circumstance.

Thanks Mamas!

Everyone Says, I Love YOU...but, WHY?

There was a time when the words out of the Bio's mouth would have made me swoon and snicker to myself...but, this time...not so much.

We've been going to therapy. We've been much nicer to each other over the last couple of months. There were obvious changes in his disposition and reaction to me during morning pick-up time, but I merely attributed it to the change in his relationship status...he was either single again or had met someone new.

I hate jumping to conclusions. But, I do. It's how I deal.

After our most recent therapy session and talking about preschool tuition and things of that nature, I noticed that the Bio was crying. The creepy misty eyes that he gets when he's pushing back actually feelings and trying to hide from me and how we were. He asked me to stop for a minute, so I did. Gluten for punishment that I am, I waited and when he caught himself again he asked me for a hug. A hug? Really?

Even a year ago, I would have hiccuped in my heart and felt some kind of sadness and mourning for the love lost between us. But, that day I didn't. I felt this kind of strange confidence in the moment. Positive that where I was at was perfect...we don't belong together. I knew this and felt okay with it. Only to have it confirmed when he uttered the words I used to hold my breath to hear...'i still love you'. Those words used to cut me like a knife and bring me back to life all at the same time. But, not then. Not in that moment. Not anymore.

It shocked me to my core. Everything I had built up around me was gone in that moment, I knew the wall was not there to defend me but my honest careful planning had proven to be worth all the co-pays and the early Saturday morning therapy sessions...I was free of that pain. I was standing in an embrace with someone who I loved for being the father of my child and that was the extent of the emotion.

Deep breath.

I stepped back in silence and said nothing to him in response. I walked to my car, a few feet away and got in and drove away.

Jump through these Hoops...please?

I've been musing over what to write the last six days...

Last week was therapy with the Bio and it went worse than I ever could have imagined. I posed the question had been looming in my head for two weeks...'Can we work together on a parenting plan?' And just as I had feared, the Bio who I had started this whole process came out. The claws, the anger, the nasty words and worst of all the accusation that this was all my fault. Really?

The way I see it, is we made grown up choices. WE decided not be a couple anymore. WE decided to live apart. Not like one person is to blame or should take the fall for the whole thing. I have dealt with my issues of how he yo-yo-ed me in and out of his life even before I was preggers with our Monkey. I've worked on those details and I've cried and I've cursed him on sleepless nights when I couldn't figure out why I still missed him...I've done my work.

Now today, all I want to peace of mind that the person who fathered my child will do the same work to be his Daddy and not just his father who thinks he has rights to time with him because he donated to the cause of creation. I am afraid that he will always be stuck in the past and not look toward the beautiful future we could build as co-parents to our amazing little person.

The most painful words he said last week were something about jumping through 'hoops' the court put in front of him to get to what he 'deserved'. Honestly, I have put my heart on the line and on the table again through this therapy. I have given it my all and to him this was just hoops to jump through...a means to an end...and for what? This is not a contest, this is not game and this is not a battle of the wills...this is our son's life.

I will be sad about this and once our last session is over, I will be waiting for the new paperwork he's already prepared to be delivered.

Looking Glass

There is something about reading the journal that the Bio and I pass between visits that drives me to look in the entryway mirror and wonder...WHY?

His entries are often filled with underlying accusations that our son didn't get enough sleep or that he was cranky and unpleasant. It's one thing to report the wonders of the Monkey it's entirely another to leave comments that make me feel like my son is not good enough for him. Or that the way I do things is absolutely wrong.

At first, the journal was a breath of fresh air and insight into my son's moments with the man who fathered him. But there are days, I just want to call him and say 'why do you bother?'.

This amazing little man deserves to be loved...cranky or not...sleepy or not...bad day or not...he deserves every ounce of love the we have in our bodies. This is why I look in the mirror and ask myself...WHY?

Couples Therapy...after there is no couple.

I had therapy today on my lunch break...but, this time it was with the Bio. We've done this before, but because it didn't serve his purpose he cut it out of the routine. Basically, I ticked him off because I didn't think our Monkey was ready for overnights. While many may disagree, I know my son and I follow my Mommy instincts. So, in true Bio fashion he cut me out too. No verbal communication...just e-mail.

Well, now we've been ordered by the court and I couldn't be happier. It's the only way I get him to be honest and share...but, six sessions is not nearly enough to get us where we NEED to be for our son's sake. Today felt like a verbal beating and I'm emotionally exhausted by the whole thing.

I cried when I got back to work.

For me individual therapy has been a blessing...it's helped me close the door and the leftover feelings that kept peaking out from behind my sheltered heart. Today, I look at the man I once was SO in love with and all I see is a person...the father of my son. Not the man who used to buy me Sour Patch Kids on his way home from work or the man who looked for buttons to add to my collection at every lame store that he crossed paths with, and definitely not the guy who I used to watch Invader Zim with at 2am. But, I love him because he is the father of my amazing son.

How does one stay so angry about things that happened over 2 years ago? I don't blame him for anything that happened...it was just one of those things we couldn't fix. It ended. I'm Happy today. I'm happy with my life and the love that it provides me. But, today I felt like I needed to build that wall up again and hide from the anger clouds that were coming from the other side of the couch.

I don't want to hide anymore.

I thank the Higher Power in my life that I'm here and present for this life. I just want to live in the present and therapy took me down a path to the past that I had chosen to close the door on. I suppose it's the only way to get back to the present and build a successful future...

How to make a boy?

Alright so, while I was eating my cookies and looking at pictures from yesterday I thought about the major freak out my son had over being 'dirty'. We were playing with the hose in the garden and when he got mud on him he flipped. He did the whole I'm dirty dance and started to whine and the whole nine yards. At first, I was annoyed...shouldn't boys just be okay with being dirty? Then, I thought about it and I realized that his Dad and I don't necessarily agree on the theory 'kids get dirty, it's what they do'. We've battled about silly things like this before. He was raised in the kids are seen and not heard kind of family...where I was raised in a 'these are my kids and they are awesome' kind of family.

So, yesterday I jumped in the mud to show him it was okay. So, my question is 'how do you make a boy, a boy'?

When I was a little girl my Mom was a 'neat freak' and by the time I was in Kindergarten I had mastered the art of playing and not getting a speck of dirt on my purdy dresses. But, once my teacher told my Mom I had to have 'permission' to get dirty, she let me have at it. My Dad and I planted a garden in the backyard and maintained fruit trees together...like he's doing with my son now...but, I had the liberty to muck myself up and take a bath. In my opinion, I had amazing parents and a pretty rocking childhood...

In my reflections of yesterday and the amazing mud fight we ended up having before Easter dinner, I wonder how I will manage to maintain a healthy sense of 'boyness' in my son while fighting the fight of two different perspectives on kids and how they should just be kids...without ACTUALLY fighting.

It's Wednesday.

And, welcome to my garden...

I'm at a loss. I'm feeling like no matter how many times I tend to my side of the 'garden' let's call it...that somehow I have to take Ten Hundred Steps forward to meet somone on level ground.

I've made my choices, I've done my work...yet, I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs...WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

So, for today I look at my garden and wonder...how can the work I did yesterday be undone so quickly?

I've made my peace with the past, and I've chalked it up to experience and water under the bridge. But, now I feel like the bridge still has an occupant that is looking down at the water and going 'hey come back here'! I hate feeling like my life is under a microscope. I am me and nothing more, nothing less...I'm a Mommy, I'm a hard-worker and I love looking in the mirror and liking the woman I see mocking my existence. So, why, oh why does it still feel like there is that little bugger hanging onto my shoulder...messing up my garden?

Yuck. I hate Wednesdays.