Friday
I had a few phone conversations yesterday with the therapist assigned to Bob--a man whose heavy accent (the origins of which elude me), combined with tenuous cell phone reception and my own hearing issues, made conversation rather difficult. Maybe I was just mentally and physically exhausted. Maybe I was frustrated because it was so fucking hard to understand what he was saying. Maybe I'm used to being on the defensive where Bob is concerned. Maybe all of the above. Whatever the reason, I wasn't left with warm fuzzy feelings about him.
For starters, he seems to be a champion of db. He kept going on about how the visit between db and Bob went "very well" and how well db "redirected" Bob when he made a few inappropriate comments, and what a "positive bond" they seem to have. Oh, for fuck's sake. I expressed to him that, although I think it's great for Bob that they had such a good visit, one should keep in mind a supervised visit in a locked facility is a far fucking cry from the norm. He said he understood, but I got the feeling he was discouraged by my lack of optimism--almost as if I was supposed to take this as a sign that db "gets it" and is changing his ways. Forgive my inability to do cartwheels of joy, but I've seen db change his ways--and change them right the fuck back--far too many times to think he will ever be capable of lasting change. He's putting on a good front right now, a nice little dog-and-pony show for the crowd, so they'll back him up when he inevitably drags me back into court. (Which, I'm sure, is his intention--I have no doubt whatsoever that he plans to use this whole situation as an excuse to go back to court and try again to paint me as a psychotic bitch who would rather stick Bob in a nuthouse than allow him "continued, meaningful contact" with his father.)
So I was left yesterday feeling extremely anxious, like I'm once again trapped in this stupid popularity contest called "Who's the Better Parent." And I hate it that I feel that way, when my Number One priority should be doing whatever it takes to help Bob. And I hate that I almost have to feel that way, because if I don't, I might somehow screw up and give db the opportunity to pull a fast one.
Which brings me to the realization that this whole custody court bullshit experience has left me a paranoid mess. Every move I make, the question in my head is "would a judge/therapist/guardian ad litem approve?" Every parenting decision I make is being judged by a little panel in my head consisting of judges and lawyers and other people who don't know me or Bob or db from a hole in the ground but have been given exclusive authority to determine our fate. That's a scary thought, indeed. I've spent the past three years being judged for my parenting ability--and not by average Joes or Sanctimommies who will merely cluck their tongues and maybe write nasty blog posts about me, but by people who actually have the power to fuck up my cabbage patch if they decide what I'm doing is disagreeable enough. So maybe my paranoia isn't that, it's really justified concern.
At any rate, I decided not to drive out there to visit last night. I figured he'd had a visit with db, it might be pushing him to visit with us, too. Not to mention I was just dead-ass tired, and the thought of driving for 45 minutes and putting on a Windex shine for an hour and then sobbing for the 45 minute drive home just seemed overwhelming. So I called Bob. He was happy to hear from me. He was upset when I told him we weren't coming to visit (I blamed the weather, which wasn't 100% untrue), but didn't dwell on it and went along when I changed the subject. I think the conversation was one of the longest we've had on the phone in some time. When he was ready to go, I told him I love him and we'd see him tomorrow. He said he loves me, too. Then again--"I still love you." I still love you, too, kid. More than you know.
I ended up sleeping better than I have all week. I still woke up at 3:15 (what IS it about that time?) but didn't have to get up and was able to get back to sleep. I woke up again around 5, and kind of drifted for the next two hours, but it was an improvement for sure.
Now that I'm in my office, I just feel anxious. I want to call and ask someone how Bob is, what he's doing, what the plan is, is he making progress, do they think he'll be there much longer, is there hope, am I being concerned enough or am I being a pest? I don't want to call too often because (1) I don't want to be a pain, and (2) I know there's only so much they can tell me at this point, and that won't change regardless of how often I call. But the truth is, I want to call them every hour, on the hour, and get an update. I want to see where he's sleeping, where he's eating, where he's brushing his teeth. I want to know everything. And it just hit me this morning how little I actually know about where he is and what he's doing right now, and that freaks me out.
Ben and I are meeting with the therapist in person this afternoon. I hope a face-to-face interaction is easier than yesterday's phone calls. I also hope I'm able to keep perspective and not go in there trying to act all Super Mom and shit.
I also hope Moosebaby stops his new trick of tapdancing on my bladder because I don't want to be interrupting the session every 5 minutes to go to the bathroom.
Moosebaby--I've barely thought about him over the past few days, as much as I hate to admit it. Maybe that's the purpose behind the bladder dance, to remind me he's still there.
And in a true testament to grace under pressure, Ben's interview Wednesday has apparently led to an offer. He's planning to give his notice today. I'm exceptionally proud of and happy for him. No way in hell could I have gotten through an interview on Wednesday, no matter how much I'd wanted the job.
I want this to be the first of a whole litany of good things to come.
For starters, he seems to be a champion of db. He kept going on about how the visit between db and Bob went "very well" and how well db "redirected" Bob when he made a few inappropriate comments, and what a "positive bond" they seem to have. Oh, for fuck's sake. I expressed to him that, although I think it's great for Bob that they had such a good visit, one should keep in mind a supervised visit in a locked facility is a far fucking cry from the norm. He said he understood, but I got the feeling he was discouraged by my lack of optimism--almost as if I was supposed to take this as a sign that db "gets it" and is changing his ways. Forgive my inability to do cartwheels of joy, but I've seen db change his ways--and change them right the fuck back--far too many times to think he will ever be capable of lasting change. He's putting on a good front right now, a nice little dog-and-pony show for the crowd, so they'll back him up when he inevitably drags me back into court. (Which, I'm sure, is his intention--I have no doubt whatsoever that he plans to use this whole situation as an excuse to go back to court and try again to paint me as a psychotic bitch who would rather stick Bob in a nuthouse than allow him "continued, meaningful contact" with his father.)
So I was left yesterday feeling extremely anxious, like I'm once again trapped in this stupid popularity contest called "Who's the Better Parent." And I hate it that I feel that way, when my Number One priority should be doing whatever it takes to help Bob. And I hate that I almost have to feel that way, because if I don't, I might somehow screw up and give db the opportunity to pull a fast one.
Which brings me to the realization that this whole custody court bullshit experience has left me a paranoid mess. Every move I make, the question in my head is "would a judge/therapist/guardian ad litem approve?" Every parenting decision I make is being judged by a little panel in my head consisting of judges and lawyers and other people who don't know me or Bob or db from a hole in the ground but have been given exclusive authority to determine our fate. That's a scary thought, indeed. I've spent the past three years being judged for my parenting ability--and not by average Joes or Sanctimommies who will merely cluck their tongues and maybe write nasty blog posts about me, but by people who actually have the power to fuck up my cabbage patch if they decide what I'm doing is disagreeable enough. So maybe my paranoia isn't that, it's really justified concern.
At any rate, I decided not to drive out there to visit last night. I figured he'd had a visit with db, it might be pushing him to visit with us, too. Not to mention I was just dead-ass tired, and the thought of driving for 45 minutes and putting on a Windex shine for an hour and then sobbing for the 45 minute drive home just seemed overwhelming. So I called Bob. He was happy to hear from me. He was upset when I told him we weren't coming to visit (I blamed the weather, which wasn't 100% untrue), but didn't dwell on it and went along when I changed the subject. I think the conversation was one of the longest we've had on the phone in some time. When he was ready to go, I told him I love him and we'd see him tomorrow. He said he loves me, too. Then again--"I still love you." I still love you, too, kid. More than you know.
I ended up sleeping better than I have all week. I still woke up at 3:15 (what IS it about that time?) but didn't have to get up and was able to get back to sleep. I woke up again around 5, and kind of drifted for the next two hours, but it was an improvement for sure.
Now that I'm in my office, I just feel anxious. I want to call and ask someone how Bob is, what he's doing, what the plan is, is he making progress, do they think he'll be there much longer, is there hope, am I being concerned enough or am I being a pest? I don't want to call too often because (1) I don't want to be a pain, and (2) I know there's only so much they can tell me at this point, and that won't change regardless of how often I call. But the truth is, I want to call them every hour, on the hour, and get an update. I want to see where he's sleeping, where he's eating, where he's brushing his teeth. I want to know everything. And it just hit me this morning how little I actually know about where he is and what he's doing right now, and that freaks me out.
Ben and I are meeting with the therapist in person this afternoon. I hope a face-to-face interaction is easier than yesterday's phone calls. I also hope I'm able to keep perspective and not go in there trying to act all Super Mom and shit.
I also hope Moosebaby stops his new trick of tapdancing on my bladder because I don't want to be interrupting the session every 5 minutes to go to the bathroom.
Moosebaby--I've barely thought about him over the past few days, as much as I hate to admit it. Maybe that's the purpose behind the bladder dance, to remind me he's still there.
And in a true testament to grace under pressure, Ben's interview Wednesday has apparently led to an offer. He's planning to give his notice today. I'm exceptionally proud of and happy for him. No way in hell could I have gotten through an interview on Wednesday, no matter how much I'd wanted the job.
I want this to be the first of a whole litany of good things to come.
posted by Mitzi Green at 8:08 AM
2 Comments:
I understant the fear that the doctors are "siding" with your ex. It's maddening and I won't tell you not to be worried. Zak's GAL, for whatever reason, seemed to side with my ex, even though I was the one to push for the GAL because I KNEW Zak's dad wasn't really thinking about Zak's best interest, just ways to make my life miserable.
But, also, don't be afraid to check in daily with the folks at the hospital, maybe a just after lunchtime check in, you can see how his morning went and then you'll have things to speak to Bob about - as to what he did that morning, kind of thing. It's your right to feel comfortable with these people.
I think your need to call on the hour is a bit over the top, but totally understandable. All these fears are well founded and you've been living in a fish bowl for so long, so your paranoia is also understandable.
As to Moosebaby, the bladder tap dance is just cuz he's getting bigger and is sensing your anxiety and adrenaline (sp) and is acting accordingly. It's normal as normal can be. Personally I think there is no normal, just various shades of doing the best that can be done given the circumstances. There is definately a abnormal and below par, but from reading your posts for a long time now, neither of those words jump to my mind as words I'd use to describe you.
Be well, be strong.
Marcia
Don't be anxious about db's seemingly perfect visit. It's a very small grain of sand in the beach of shit he's caused - he'll falter.
But onto good news. The fact moosebaby is dancing on your bladder means the little fella is growing well and getting strong - that's good.
And huge congrats to Ben getting the job. You guys need this.
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