Its been warming up here the past week. All the neighborhood kids have come out to play, and Ivy has been meeting them and in theory.. making friends. She seems oblivious to their looks, or their comments, or the tone in their voice... and I so wish that I was oblivious too, because it kills me to listen to them talk to her the way they do.
I can hear it in their voice.. "Oh my god.. she is weird!" when they say, "Let's go um... play over.. there.. somewhere not here.. (with her)"
I can see the looks they glance to each other and the whispers.
I can read between the lines when they tell her that they want to be her friend and then ask to go play at her house so that they can play together with each other and exclude her.. but use all her toys in her room.
I watch them laugh as she gets upset about something they said in fun.
I watch them call her names because she's a bit behind in some things. They taunt her, "You're a baby! Only a baaabyyyy doesn't know how to ride a bike! You can't even ride a tricycle!" And then I fight back the tears as I watch her sit there in silence.. pushing with everything she has on the pedals of that tricycle.. trying so hard.. so determined... I encourage her to keep trying, "Great job pushing your feet! Keep trying!" After awhile she finally gets off and shrugs her shoulders, and says "I change my mind. I change my mind."
I smile as I see her with her arm around one of her new friends.. and then fight to control myself when I watch her "friend" knock her arm away and say, "don't touch me!" I see the look on her face of confusion. I wish I could make her understand... but before I'm done thinking that thought, she has forgotten about it and moved on to something else.
Falling asleep at night she says, "Mama, do you love me or hate me?" and I know that someone has said this to her today... and she's trying to figure it out in her mind. Repeating those things that trip her up. I bite my tongue and hold back tears for what seems like the hundredth time today... I can do this. I can. I can hold it together.
"Mama loves you Ivy. Always."
"I don't hate you either. Either. I don't. I don't hate you." she says. "But some kids do. Its okay. Its an accident. Its okay." she smiles and closes her eyes.
I know that every child goes through days like today. I know every parent feels those pangs of sadness and helplessness. Its her innocence that makes it hard. Everything she experiences is like Teflon. No matter how much it hurts me, on the surface it seems to slide right off her. I only wonder how much it really slides off... how much sticks there? How much will she carry with her forever? And am I doing enough? How can I be there for every social exchange 24/7?
Does the feeling in the pit of my stomach ever go away?
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Time changes things..
I used to dread the day Sierra went back to her fathers. I looked forward to the day I picked her up, and looked upon the weekend like a child looking at Christmas day. Happy that its here. Wanting to cherish every moment of it that you possibly can. But knowing that in just a few hours or days, it will be over. It's always been my flaw I guess. Not being able to truly live in the moment and be happy, because my thoughts always jump to the end. The conclusion. Whats left.
Time changes things though. Each day that passes that she's not here, every weekend that I see her, every time she leaves.. it gets easier. I'm at that point now where I look forward to picking her up, and I look forward to her leaving as well. It's the cycle that is familiar now. If she were here all the time I would be used to her hyperness in the evenings. Her insane appetite for all things "junk food." The way she argues and tries to strike a deal with me about things, as most six year olds do. Years ago it was all normal. All the things she did were just a part of her. I was used to it. But now that she isn't here 24/7, I've found that I am less used to my own daughter. Not in a way that impacts anything of course, and she'll never know the difference...but I do. And its an odd feeling. Almost one of betrayal.
She asks me all the time if I'm sad that she's gone a lot, and I answer her "sometimes." Because thats the truth. When I think of my family, I think of who lives here in my home. And sadly, there is one missing during the week. On weekends however, we are "complete." And thats when I'm truly whole. I know it makes her happy to know that I am sad. Not a malicious kind of happy, but happy that her mother loves her enough to miss her. It gives her the security that she needs. She asks me why it has to be this way, why she has to have two homes. And I tell her that as long as both her father and I are still alive, this is just the way it is. And that maybe in the future when she's older it will change, who knows? I tell her she is special and lucky to have two places to call home and so many people to love her. Still, she's not happy with it. And I don't blame her. I didn't fight for custody for two years for nothing. I fought it for myself and for her, and though I didn't win all the way, either did he. No, its still 50/50 all the way. And for Sierra thats a good, albeit confusing thing. My hope is that when she's older she will understand more. For now, she knows that she has two sets of parents that love her very much and will always be here for her.
Yes, time has changed things. I can enjoy the moments as they come now without looking at the clock and feeling that yucky sensation in the pit of my stomach. I can look forward to the good things that Sunday has to bring. Quiet, less mess, less laundry (though admittedly I have to do my wash during the week) less cups of water and spoiled milk laying around the house, less arguments about using the computer or taking a shower.... and I don't think of the things that I'm missing. It's almost as if she is in suspended animation during the week. I ask her about what went on, and did she have fun at this and that. But she never has much of an answer. For her, her life between her father and I are totally separate parts. When she is here, she thinks nothing of there. And vice versa. Her coping with things is almost the same as mine. She is my daughter after all.
This way of life that we are living isn't perfect, but its comfortable now. I don't feel like I'm falling apart with my heart split in two every waking moment. Any mother who has ever been in a custody battle knows that feeling I'm speaking of. There are no other words to describe it. You feel as though you are dying and there is nothing you can do about it. Two choices, fight or give up. I chose to fight. And though the success wasn't realized until much later, it was still significant. Sometimes when one wants a certain outcome, you set your sights on that and only that. Overlooking the possibility of other outcomes that would be equally as good, or at least better than the worse one. Our shared custody, shared residential agreement is by far not what I had in mind. But as it turns out, it was not what he had in mind either. He wanted all and nothing less. I simply wanted my daughter. In the end I didn't lose her. Not in the way that I thought would be the worst. No, I still have her in my life. And he still has to share. So, I did win after all. Its a good feeling. Especially when time has passed and you realize that as much as you wanted it the other way.... this way is okay too. It works for us. It doesn't mean I love her any less, it just means that we've adapted and changed to fit the circumstances.
I'm glad that we were able to overcome this together. It will be years before she fully realizes how she feels about it, but when she wants to talk I'll always be there. And so will her father.
Time changes things though. Each day that passes that she's not here, every weekend that I see her, every time she leaves.. it gets easier. I'm at that point now where I look forward to picking her up, and I look forward to her leaving as well. It's the cycle that is familiar now. If she were here all the time I would be used to her hyperness in the evenings. Her insane appetite for all things "junk food." The way she argues and tries to strike a deal with me about things, as most six year olds do. Years ago it was all normal. All the things she did were just a part of her. I was used to it. But now that she isn't here 24/7, I've found that I am less used to my own daughter. Not in a way that impacts anything of course, and she'll never know the difference...but I do. And its an odd feeling. Almost one of betrayal.
She asks me all the time if I'm sad that she's gone a lot, and I answer her "sometimes." Because thats the truth. When I think of my family, I think of who lives here in my home. And sadly, there is one missing during the week. On weekends however, we are "complete." And thats when I'm truly whole. I know it makes her happy to know that I am sad. Not a malicious kind of happy, but happy that her mother loves her enough to miss her. It gives her the security that she needs. She asks me why it has to be this way, why she has to have two homes. And I tell her that as long as both her father and I are still alive, this is just the way it is. And that maybe in the future when she's older it will change, who knows? I tell her she is special and lucky to have two places to call home and so many people to love her. Still, she's not happy with it. And I don't blame her. I didn't fight for custody for two years for nothing. I fought it for myself and for her, and though I didn't win all the way, either did he. No, its still 50/50 all the way. And for Sierra thats a good, albeit confusing thing. My hope is that when she's older she will understand more. For now, she knows that she has two sets of parents that love her very much and will always be here for her.
Yes, time has changed things. I can enjoy the moments as they come now without looking at the clock and feeling that yucky sensation in the pit of my stomach. I can look forward to the good things that Sunday has to bring. Quiet, less mess, less laundry (though admittedly I have to do my wash during the week) less cups of water and spoiled milk laying around the house, less arguments about using the computer or taking a shower.... and I don't think of the things that I'm missing. It's almost as if she is in suspended animation during the week. I ask her about what went on, and did she have fun at this and that. But she never has much of an answer. For her, her life between her father and I are totally separate parts. When she is here, she thinks nothing of there. And vice versa. Her coping with things is almost the same as mine. She is my daughter after all.
This way of life that we are living isn't perfect, but its comfortable now. I don't feel like I'm falling apart with my heart split in two every waking moment. Any mother who has ever been in a custody battle knows that feeling I'm speaking of. There are no other words to describe it. You feel as though you are dying and there is nothing you can do about it. Two choices, fight or give up. I chose to fight. And though the success wasn't realized until much later, it was still significant. Sometimes when one wants a certain outcome, you set your sights on that and only that. Overlooking the possibility of other outcomes that would be equally as good, or at least better than the worse one. Our shared custody, shared residential agreement is by far not what I had in mind. But as it turns out, it was not what he had in mind either. He wanted all and nothing less. I simply wanted my daughter. In the end I didn't lose her. Not in the way that I thought would be the worst. No, I still have her in my life. And he still has to share. So, I did win after all. Its a good feeling. Especially when time has passed and you realize that as much as you wanted it the other way.... this way is okay too. It works for us. It doesn't mean I love her any less, it just means that we've adapted and changed to fit the circumstances.
I'm glad that we were able to overcome this together. It will be years before she fully realizes how she feels about it, but when she wants to talk I'll always be there. And so will her father.
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