Without her presence

I took a lot of naps this weekend. I stared at the wall for long periods of time too. I wrapped myself in a blanket and watched Netflix. I read Anne Lamott. I watched the Broncos. I drank tea. I took more naps. I also killed a bottle of wine by myself.

My grandparents came up from Arizona on Saturday, so of course they wanted to see LB. Grandma Ruby requested some time with her as well. Rooferman claimed his visitation on Sunday, so I spent a total of 5 hours with my daughter this weekend.

Did I down a bottle of wine because I was sad and missed LB? Because I had to opportunity to be hungover without a toddler in the vicinity? Because I have no life and it was the only thing I could think of? Because I was at a party? Because I’m beginning to realize that taking Rooferman to court has cut into the time I used to spend with my daughter? Because I’m selfish? Because I’m ragging?

I know the 19 hours a week LB spends with her dad isn’t a lot of time. But its 2 evenings and one full day more than what I’m used to. That’s almost half the free time I have to spend with my daughter.  I’m not a stay-at-home mom. I work 40 hours a week. I look forward to those 5 evenings and 2 full days. Thats really not a lot of time to begin with.

Its clear that I really need to get over this. Can you see the panic in this entry? The wave of “what the hell am I going to do with myself” coming on strong? The anger and regret starting to boil?  The courts are not going to like this “YOU’RE TAKING MY DAUGHTER AWAY FROM ME” mom, even if that’s how I’m feeling. These thoughts will bring nothing but trouble.

I can be away from my daughter. I can get used to living without her presence 24/7, even if that has been my life up for the last 2 years. I can find other things to do with my free time, that doesn’t involve drinking, napping and staring at walls.

But it still hurts.

Deadbeat August

I agreed to let the Ex have his daughter for an overnight this weekend. He’s only done 2 in the last year, so I figured I would acquiesce his request. 32 hours later, LB came home looking like a war orphan. She had a glue of Oreos and ice cream embedded in her hair. Her face was smudged with dirt and food. She was wearing the same pair of clothes I sent her in, except now they are soaked in urine and feces. She has a scab on her knee, and is in the worst possible mood a toddler could muster. She probably had gone to the dark side about 3 hours before he dropped her off, and I was getting the glorious culmination of a dirty, smelly, hungry, exhausted 2 year old.

His response when I asked if she had eaten anything for dinner?

“Oh yeah, she had a corn dog.”

MutherF***er.  He dropped her off 2 hours late, and couldn’t even pick her up himself. I got to deal with Blondie the girlfriend instead. When LB said “I want my daddy,” she replied tartly, “Well your daddy is late, cause that’s just what he does.”‘

 OOOOH snap. Welcome to my world, Honey. And it wasn’t even ME bad-mouthing LB’s dad in front of her. I like her more everyday.

Him? Well, he can just continue to keep shooting himself in the foot. I took pictures of her filthy state, her disgusting clothes. I also have about 15 or so witnesses, cause you know, its the projects and we air-condition-less folks hang out on the front porch concrete slab when its 90 degrees.

What a crappy way to end an otherwise perfectly awesome weekend.

How was your weekend? Are you glad its August?