The ex.
The ex's children.
The first born.
Ugh, the first born. She is old now, and likes her friends and her social life. She is awkward and confident and funny and mopey. She is a teen. She is lovely and special and somewhere inside she is perfect. I have never loved a child like her.
When she was new I carried her in a laundry hamper. I drove her for hours in my car to put her to sleep. I took her to get her shots, I made sure she had food and clothes. She was mine. Then her mom came home one day with her and she had pierced ears. I yelled and complained but she said, what is done is done. Then she moved away and took her with her. Then she brought her back. She was talking. She called me mom. I'm not, not really, but she was still mine. The ex called her mine. Her father said she was mine, not his.
MINE. Just to be clear.
I weaned her from the bottle, potty trained her, taught her to ride a trike. Taught her her colors had her pictures taken in a tiara. I helped her when he brother came. Then her mother moved away again. Then she brought her back. She was still mine. Holding hands and snuggling in my lap, loving me as fiercely as I loved her. Still calling me mom. Asking to live with me, hanging from my every word, just as I was hers. When I got pregnant she told me she wanted me to have a boy, because she wanted to be my only girl.
The girl child was born and she was loved. The first born adored her and helped me care for her. She was great with her. I was careful to not displace her. I worked to make her secure with her place in my heart. She was happy in my house. Still mine. Then her mom moved away again.
I asked for her for the summer and was told no. That the summer was for family. Well, fuck you. The next summer the first born had begged mom to come to me. So she did. And it was hard, but at the end she was still holding my hand, still loving on me. Still talking, still laughing. Still asking to live with me. Still mine.
Then there was this summer. The summer she became a teen, the summer she wasn't mine. She was super moody, and all in black and her grades are bad and she was sad. She told me there was no reason to go to college because there were no jobs anyway. That here mom was never going to be happy in a marriage because she wasn't happy with herself. The summer she told me I was like her aunt because I was like her mom's sister.
Eww.
Other than skirting around my complicated relationship with her mom, we are always open with each other. This summer she was closed, like her mom. She was quiet and she lied and she tried to twist everything around. Like her mom. This summer I sent her home early because she missed her friends. She wanted other teens. She didn't adore me like I still adore her.
And yes, I do know that ALL teens prefer each other to adults. I know the moodiness is normal. I know the few great laughs we had should be enough. But they are not. Because she is not mine anymore. She is her mom's and that hurts, even if it is right and normal. I try to text her and call her, and sometimes it goes ok, other times it is horrid. Like with any teen.
I do know that eventually she will grow out of being a teen. The drifting I hate is the drifting from my way of life into her mom's. Not that mine is perfect, but mine is hopeful. Mine is empowered. Mine is not hers. And god that fucking sucks.
You would know
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