First and Lasting Fools

Went to bed last night thinking of my father.

This happens occasionally...
and I get wrapped up in memories I don't actually have.

I do not know my father.
I have never seen his face.
I have never heard his voice.
He exists in the world, but not to me.

My mother married my first stepfather when I was a year old or so...
Before I was four, he was gone.

I remember flashes of him.
I have seen his face
I remember feeling loved.
But I cannot hear his voice anymore.

I thought he was my biological father until I was 18....

My mother met my second stepfather almost immediately after.
They got pregnant with my sister when I was five.
He was to be my new Daddy.

He didn't want to be my Daddy, I could tell.
But as a kid hungry for love, for normalcy?
I dove in.

Hi Daddy!

 A tenuous bond....
A daughter who was not really a daughter and a father who was not really a father...
yet.

When my sister was born (and shortly following, my brother), it was clear that I wasn't needed anymore.
 Not a judgment or a whine, simply a fact...

I found myself fatherless again.
It felt familiar, but watching it play out so differently for other children, ones of my flesh and blood, was hard.

I did not feel jealous or angry...
just less.

I would often wish that my father would come rescue me...

He was MY father, after all.

Except he wasn't.

When I was 18, I needed my Birth Certificate.
My mother claimed that she didn't have mine-- "lost..."
So I went to County Records-- got my own damn copy.

As I looked it over, I noticed that my father's name was not on it.
Someone else's name was listed there...
Ummm, what the fuck?

My mother's version of the story is as follows:

She let me believe that her first husband was my father because it was "easier."
I would never have to know the truth....

Ummm, really? Poor planning on her part, then.

Anyway-
He was much older

They fell in love...or she did at least...

She got pregnant

When confronted with the news, he denied her, and told her he was engaged.
She was nothing to him and he wanted nothing to do with her or her baby...

She called him when I was born...
I was not supposed to live.
She wanted to give him the chance to see me...

He never came.

When I was about 9 months old, my mother ran into his fiancee....

This woman knew who my mother was, and strangely, she knew me...

Apparently, I looked JUST like my father.

The only detail that my mother would ever give me was his name.
First and Last.
I never even carried his name.
I carried hers.

I wanted to find him.
See him.
Hear him.
I did not want to love him, or for him to love me.
There would be no diving in.

No "Hi Daddys"

I just wanted the other half of the picture that was me.

But I couldn't find him.
First and Last was not enough.

Five years ago?
My mother was at a bar with friends.
He was there.
He did not recognize her.
She said nothing.

I know he lives in my state, probably even my county.
I know his name.
First and Last.
 

I gave up searching for him a long time ago.
He is a man on his path, and I am a woman on mine.

There is guilt because my son does not have the whole picture.

I am used to messy.
I am used to not being whole.

But that is not what I want for my son.

So I find myself thinking of my father.
Of the face that is mine, but I wouldn't recognize on the street.

I think of the siblings I will never know or love.

I think of the histories and dynamics that I will never be a part of.

Longing for that half that I will never be able to share with the child that is half of me...

I find myself angry for even thinking of it at all.

It seems foolish.

He is not my father, he is just a man.
Who happens to look like me.

I am not his daughter, I am just me.
Who happens to look like him.

It's foolish, right?

Until I think of my son.
Of the two halves that came together to make him.
To create his name.
First and Last.
I see a face that has pieces of mine, therefore pieces of his.
How beautiful that face is.

And I forgive my foolishness.
But not His.






[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their RemembeRED prompt...Unfortunately, I won't be linking it because I couldn't come in under the word limit. Always running my mouth for too long! HA!]

Get Out of My Belly and into My Car?

I've talked about my pregnancy at length here....in these pages.

It's why I started this foolishness.

I wanted to document what I hoped would be my third, but FIRST actual full-term pregnancy.

Pregnancy was not easy for me.
I was violently nauseous for the first 4-5 months...
I had UTIs the entire time and had to be on antibiotics.
My Cerebral Palsy'd body was not equipped to handle the stretching of ligaments and realignment that comes along with carrying a baby...

I had to use a wheelchair.
There was so much pain....
and swelling.
And more PAIN.

Then my amniotic sac sprung a leak...
Yeah. THAT was awesome.  By awesome? I mean utterly terrifying.
Would we ever fucking make it?

I was not so sure.

But I wanted this child more than....I didn't think I could have handled another loss....

We finally arrived at the home stretch.


Despite my visions of Doulas, and soft lighting, and music, and natural birth, I was told that a Cesarean was my safest option.

In the beginning?  I was heartbroken.
By week 38?

GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME NOW!
I miss sushi! I miss walking! 
IT IS TIIIIME.

I had been given my epidural...
I was laying on a cold metal table...
The lighting was harsh...
The smell of an operating room, familiar.
They were cutting me open...
My OBGYN had the radio on.
He was singing along to Caribbean Queen.
REALLY?
My husband was seated at my head... 
He looked terrified.
This was not the way I wanted to bring my son into the world!
I wanted intimate. I wanted special. I wanted....
not Billy Ocean, that's for fucking sure.


They told me that they were ready to pull him out.
I felt the surprising and immense pressure...
He's out!!


Breathe. Please Breathe.
Where is he?
I don't hear him!
Oh. My. God.


I hear him.
He is not happy with the current state of affairs.
He's screaming with all his might...
And I am happier than I have ever been.




[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their Red Writing Hood prompt. I'm trying to get involved....NERVOUS.]