She came to me the other night. There was a look on her face far too serious for her young years.
“Mommy?” she began. Immediately I knew something was wrong. She never calls me ‘mommy.’
“What’s up love?”
“Maybe I’m just tired, but I’m feeling really sad for some reason.”
I sat down with her on the couch and snuggled with her. “Want to talk to me about it?” I asked.
She was quiet for a while. She just curled into me and let me hold her. Eventually she talked about some bad dreams she’s been having that are inspired by the water stain in my ceiling (thanks to an old leak in the neighbor’s roof). She calls it ‘the hole’ and she said she’s beginning to see faces in it and has dreams that a giant snake comes out of it and tries to eat her. I promised her that first, it’s not a hole and nothing can come in or out of it and, second, that I would call Orlando and have him paint over that as soon as we got back from our trip. She seemed happy with that and sat quietly again for a minute.
Then she said it.
“Mommy?” (there’s that name again…) “I wish I had a dad.”
So there it was. For six years I’ve been assuring myself and everyone else that our situation is fine. I’ve been smiling and saying that this is all Dia knows and she’s fine with it. So rather than pestering her father or reminding him that she’s still here and he probably should visit, I just let it go. Anyway historically when I’ve called him out short on his parenting, or lack thereof, he gets furious. Don't misunderstand - even though I’m completely guilty for always wanting to avoid confrontation, I would fight a rabid mountain lion for my kids. So it wasn't his fury that I wanted to avoid as much as the fact that I just felt this fight wasn’t worth it. Nothing was going to change.
But now my little girl tells me that she wants a dad. Assuring her that she already has one is not only asinine, but also somewhat disrespectful. That mere fact wasn’t what she meant. She explained she wanted someone to stay with her if I was gone, not like a nanny, but someone to be with her so I could go to the grocery or the gym without her. All her friends, she explained, had a mom and a dad. Together. In the same house.
All I could do was sit there, holding her, wishing that for her too.
Oh, I know this isn’t about me, because it so isn’t, but I feel horribly guilty. Why on earth did I do that to her? To Tim and Chey too? Why can’t I just suck it up and stay in a relationship so that my kids can have a normal childhood? So their hearts don’t cry for someone they should, in all rights, have. And I don’t just get divorced. No, that would be under-achieving. The two dads I picked for my kids wanted so excruciatingly badly to have a life completely different from the one they shared with me and cleave so wholly to their new wives and lives, that they distanced themselves equally as wholly from the kids we had together.
I don't mean to sound like a victim because I'm absolutely not, but I'm not sure that I could say the same for my kids. They most certainly are victim to my poor choices or at least my inability to tolerate pretty much anything bad in a relationship. And the worst part is, that unlike ‘the hole’ that I can have Orlando come and paint over, this hole… the dad sized one … well, I can’t make that better.
“Mommy?” she began. Immediately I knew something was wrong. She never calls me ‘mommy.’
“What’s up love?”
“Maybe I’m just tired, but I’m feeling really sad for some reason.”
I sat down with her on the couch and snuggled with her. “Want to talk to me about it?” I asked.
 |
| Dia in Daddy's hat, a long, long time ago |
Then she said it.
“Mommy?” (there’s that name again…) “I wish I had a dad.”
So there it was. For six years I’ve been assuring myself and everyone else that our situation is fine. I’ve been smiling and saying that this is all Dia knows and she’s fine with it. So rather than pestering her father or reminding him that she’s still here and he probably should visit, I just let it go. Anyway historically when I’ve called him out short on his parenting, or lack thereof, he gets furious. Don't misunderstand - even though I’m completely guilty for always wanting to avoid confrontation, I would fight a rabid mountain lion for my kids. So it wasn't his fury that I wanted to avoid as much as the fact that I just felt this fight wasn’t worth it. Nothing was going to change.
But now my little girl tells me that she wants a dad. Assuring her that she already has one is not only asinine, but also somewhat disrespectful. That mere fact wasn’t what she meant. She explained she wanted someone to stay with her if I was gone, not like a nanny, but someone to be with her so I could go to the grocery or the gym without her. All her friends, she explained, had a mom and a dad. Together. In the same house.
All I could do was sit there, holding her, wishing that for her too.
Oh, I know this isn’t about me, because it so isn’t, but I feel horribly guilty. Why on earth did I do that to her? To Tim and Chey too? Why can’t I just suck it up and stay in a relationship so that my kids can have a normal childhood? So their hearts don’t cry for someone they should, in all rights, have. And I don’t just get divorced. No, that would be under-achieving. The two dads I picked for my kids wanted so excruciatingly badly to have a life completely different from the one they shared with me and cleave so wholly to their new wives and lives, that they distanced themselves equally as wholly from the kids we had together.
I don't mean to sound like a victim because I'm absolutely not, but I'm not sure that I could say the same for my kids. They most certainly are victim to my poor choices or at least my inability to tolerate pretty much anything bad in a relationship. And the worst part is, that unlike ‘the hole’ that I can have Orlando come and paint over, this hole… the dad sized one … well, I can’t make that better.
