Dream the Impossible Dream

I remember a time when I used to send my son--my rambunctious, hyperactive, incredibly tiring son--to his father's house two nights a week and alternate weekends.

I loved those days. I would sleep in (because I didn't have to spend an hour taking him to preschool), go to work, come home, immediately jump in the shower and unwind from the day under a cascade of scalding water. (I like my showers hot--I wonder why my skin is so dry...) I would spend the evening either with the love of my life, or, if he were working, with friends, or by myself running errands, enjoying my time alone, whatever. And I truly enjoyed myself, because I wasn't worried about my son's father being all fucking crazy and manipulating him, playing mind games with him, interrogating him about my life, or demeaning him.

That's all changed.

I miss my free time. God, I miss it. But it's not worth the damage that fuckstain has done--is capable of doing--to my son.

I have to admit, the last two nights have given me a small glimmer of hope. I've allowed El Nino to call him last night and tonight, and both nights, he was...improved. He did say a couple of things that I felt were unnecessary--like "I wish you were here because I miss you" (laying a total guilt trip on a kid who has no say in whether he's there or not, asshole) and "no, you won't see me tomorrow--you won't see me for a long time." (Not necessary, douchebag.) But he didn't say anything that set off my radar and caused me to hang up on his sorry ass.

It made me wonder--is there any possibility this stupid shit could actually pull himself together and be a real father? Is there any hope of a future in which my son has two normal, stable homes to go to?

I doubt it will last. Especially not once the fucking court gets off its ass and sets bond--and he is arrested. That will just piss him off and set him back on the warpath, because in his mind, nothing that happens to him is any of his own doing--everything is done to him, not because of him.

And that's some sad, sad shit.

But I still hope the day will come when he finally just gives up and realizes he can't defeat me. He can't control me and he can't hurt me, not without hurting himself and hurting his kid. And he'll just stop. Stop being an asshole, stop trying to manipulate me and El Nino, stop trying to prove he's "right." And he'll start being a real father, and a positive influence on El Nino.

I'm fucking dreaming big, aren't I?

Ben's at work now, and likely will be until pretty late. I'm waiting for El Nino to get himself to bed because he claims he can do it "by his own self." Fine. I'm frankly worn out from dealing with him tonight. I get home at 5:10 and it's like he smokes crack right before I walk in the door in anticipation of my arrival--he's just wired for sound, bouncing off walls, mouthy and smart-assed as all get out. It usually takes my sending him to his room (or at least to a room other than the kitchen) for time out to calm his ass down and bring him back to baseline. This week, he's been crabby as hell every night. He's had good days at the sitter's, though--with the exception of an incident today in which he hit a baby, but she didn't act like it escalated into major drama, apparently--so I guess I got what I wished for: that he'd be good as gold during the day and save his hell raising for evenings at home.

Still, better he be a pain in my ass than for me to have to find someone new to watch him every month and a half. Or less.

I miss Ben. I'm trying really hard to stay positive and not let it bother me that he's gone every night. I think part of the reason I get so angry about him working at night is because that's what I'm used to--my dad worked 2nd shift, and my mother hated it. In her frequent rages, she would remind us that our dad worked nights "to get away from you guys." Now here I am, 33 years old, and when my fiance tells me he has to go to a soccer game at 7:45 on a Wednesday night, my first thought is "you just want to get away from me." Whoa. It's like a reflex. I know damn good and well he's not just going to work to get away from me. But that's what my non-logical mind comes up with, and it's a lot quicker on the buzzer.

I'm trying to rework that whole thought process. I think I'm doing well. I don't get pissed at him when he texts me to say "another hour." And if I do, well, I don't say so. I just remind myself that it's not me he's getting away from--it's unemployment.

It's still hard, though. I miss the fuck out of him. And I'm lonely as hell. I spend all day in my office alone with no one to talk to, and then I come home, see him for about an hour, and then I spend my evening alone with no one to talk to but a 4 year old--and he goes to bed at 8:00.

And I admit it--I'm jealous of the kids he covers. They're in high school, possibly college, and not only are they little superstar jocks and she-jocks, they have their whole fucking lives ahead of them. Their futures involve scholarships and dorm rooms and first apartments and boyfriends and deciding on careers. Their time hasn't come yet. And I feel like mine--well, my time is over. My glory days have come and gone, and now I'm left with a bunch of crappy 80s cassette tapes, stretch marks, thinning hair, a pathetic semblance of "career" and my only remaining purpose is to take care of others. My son, my future husband, our future kid. It's not about me anymore, and it never will be again.

Wow--that's depressing as hell.

What time is it?

Time for a bourbon.