Sunday, March 27, 2011

Just plain weird

T's parents visited from country South Australia this week.

But I didn't see them. Her father refuses to see me or acknowledge me.

They stayed a week.

An entire week, from Sunday to Sunday and I did not see them once. Not even for a split second.

They stayed a suburb away.

T took our little boy to them each day, or she took him to his regular weekly activities like swimming and gym. And they tagged along.

There were no combined dinners, no "let's go out together and try this new Italian place I heard about" or "let's just grab a shnitty at the RSL tonight".

We dropped him off yesterday, Saturday, to spend the day with them while we had a hit of tennis and did some shopping.

I sat by myself in the car while T took him upstairs, and I contemplated the ridiculous situation as the traffic whizzed by my open window.

T's father would rather not have me around as a reminder of the sort of relationship his daughter is living in. A relationship he does not condone.

We think he believes I have corrupted their daughter...that I have got my hooks into her and turned her gay.

They must be pretty powerful hooks that attach with some sort of crazy-concrete super glue, because they've stuck and stayed in for coming up to eight years now...

There are so many things wrong with this situation.

Firstly, let me just vent in my not-always-fair black-and-white way. T and her mum should grow some balls, tell this idiot to get his head out of his own bigoted ass and wake the fuck up to the fact that life is short, his daughter is happy, and this is her CHOICE.

They should both STOP, right now, bowing down to this fuckwit and stop letting him call the shots, stop him standing in the way of the happiness that should come from seeing their daughter living the fulfilled, nurturing life she does: as one integral part of a three-person family.

If he wants to sit in a chair and grumble and moan about a kid having two dykes for parents, then he can do it. BY HIMSELF.

How dare he draw everyone around him into that swirling black hole of hatred and ignorance?

Right, now might be a good time for the rational me to step in. T has always had a brilliant relationship with her father...daddy's little girl and all that.

Of course, that went haywire and pretty much exploded into nothingness when she revealed the truth about us.

If any of my parents or loved ones had have reacted the way he did at the time that news was shared, not only would I never speak to them again, I would in fact take great glee in cutting them completely from my life. Much like a cancerous boil is sliced off with a white-hot scalpel. And with much relief afterwards.

I would be flippant and carefree about denying them, and gain salacious pleasure from rising an axe above my head - the rustier the better - and slamming it down on our relationship with a hefty cleave of intent.

Yes, you would be wise not to cross me.

But of course, that is easy for me to say when I am over here in the fortunate comfort of a supportive and loving reaction from every single member of my family.

And you know what is even weirder about all of this? He doted on J and both of them were delightfully astounded at his personality, his speech, his development, his mannerisms and his good behaviour (he really is an angel and this might sound corny, but almost every day, I thank whoever was responsible for blessing us with such a beautiful boy).

So, put that in your freaking pipe and smoke it, old man. Two women - and two women you knew and really liked before you found out we were in a relationship - can raise a smart, sensitive and caring boy.

If it was me, you would never get to see him. Because this type of behaviour makes me come over all vindictive. If it was me, I would take great joy in depriving you of him. Just as you are depriving your daughter from being completely honest about her life and the person she is, in her beautiful soul.

But I am slowly learning to chill about it. Firstly, it only makes me angrier if he dares to steal emotional energy from me, so I must put it out of my mind.

And secondly, I don't want to be another source of anxiety for poor T in all this. I won't be a slice of bread in this disgusting, mixed-up sandwich - and she should not be forced into the middle.

I understand it is not so easy for her to cut him out and stand up to him. We are different people and this is her father.

But she has always said that once the next baby comes along, if they wish to treat the kids differently (because I will be having the next one), that will be the end of their involvement in our lives.

Another reason why I so wished to be cradling a two-week old in my arms right now.

The final, relieved cleave could have already been cleft and we might be able to move on from this torment limbo...

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Present and accounted for

Where on earth did that time go?

My due date has been and gone since we last spoke, so that may go some way to explain the intermittency of my posting.

Hell, that was a bad weekend. March 5 fell on a Saturday and it was horrific, and not only for the trip to a shopping centre.

Ha. I don’t know what we had to buy there, looking back now, but we had arranged my relatives to take Jay from lunchtime Saturday until Sunday morning...just because of the day it was.

So, whenever we manage to extricate ourselves from toddler-ville, thoughts automatically turn to what toddler-free activities we need to get accomplished. Somehow in the course of a busy life, carefree whimsical things of such wicked abandon like sleeping in, watching what we want on TV, reading entire book chapters or a newspaper uninterrupted, going out for dinner and not wolfing down our meal because we are already 45 minutes past young master’s bedtime ... disappear from our thought possibilities. Such naughty spontanaeity will never do. In fact, there, I have spelled the word incorrectly and will not check it to prove my very sad point. You know that will kill me, but I am as steadfast in my martyrdom as I am in my, er, point-making. Instead, we are ever-practical in the knowledge we have but a few precious hours to get absolutely the highest priority things done first. And somehow that always ends up being a trip to a shopping centre, where we can browse (impossible concept with a toddler) and inevitably purchase some book or toy or shoes or clothes for the young master who should be the furthest thing from our minds, but is often the opposite...cause we are missing him so much, to be honest.

Do those swords really need two edges and how come the grass on my side can't be verdantly Photoshopped?

Shopping centre errands are a nightmare at the best of times (although not sure when they are), but with a toddler, you are essentially saying to the world “kill me, kill me now – and play me the Muzak version of Ebony and Ivory as I lay on the too-shiny tiles being slowly trampled by the bargain hunters, but can you get me a cake donut from Donut King first and oh look Best & Less actually have an item of clothing that is A) more expensive than $5.99 and B) vaguely acceptable in public and oh look another stroller to dodge and oh look there’s a posse, not a family, but a bogan posse with two trolleys, three strollers, a bad attitude and 73 chicken nuggets between their 10 kids”

I guess I digress, yes?

We got home from shopping, too buggered to see a movie (another impossible toddler-inclusive activity), so went home to consume some of the stash leftover still from T's 40th: a nice bottle of champers and about 18 million spring rolls, samosas etc

Party food. But no party.

To tell the truth, that entire week had been a bloody shocker. Suddenly I was snapping at people, my fuse was shorter than it had been in a while and I was downright exhausted, often going to bed and going to sleep sooner than our three year old.

Saturday it all hit. When night fell, I felt more able to descend into tears and sobs, as if I could hide in the dark somehow...just like I had been in the thick of the worst of it last September.

It ached, it hurt my head, it made me thirsty and so so tired. I felt black and heavy. One part of me felt as if I was hovering above myself, looking on with T, worried. The other part just felt lost, really.

But after a little while, I took a few deep breaths and acknowledged that while I felt was a new feeling, one I hadn't felt in months.

Progress, I had made some. I had gotten a bit better, or better enough to realise when I had momentarily lost sight of the very same stars I had somehow managed to see quite clearly in recent months.

I was driving to collect J from day care this week. Thinking I should update my blog. And this random thought popped into my head: we were grieving for the idea of a baby more so than the actual baby. And the in-between-ness of it all made it all the more difficult and messy.

That sounds quite wrong and callous now that I have written it down. But I was honestly struck by that...because I have so struggled with how to grieve properly for something I didn't see or touch or smell...someone who had only engaged us on an almost ethereal, dreamy level. Yes of course there was desire to meet him, expectation about him, excitement at the thought of what magnificent things he might bring to our family. But the connection was imaginary, while the loss of that connection was so intensely real.

It doesn't mean the grief is any less or more, it is most certainly there, let me tell you. But looking back, I feel it is on a strange, other in a different time zone.
Hmm, hard to articulate...but gee, I see I've again given it a good crack here!

Got to go do some work. Love to you all.