Four Years of Grace

Four years ago today I was blessed with Grace. I had a bunch of sappy stuff in mind for this post but I’m over that. Ha. A day with the girls will do that. And a day in the middle of a veeeeeerrrrrryyyy long Spring Break will indeed do that--at least for me.

And, seeing as how just moments ago I finally told her to “just bring me the damned bag so I can see how many shoves it takes to stuff you in it,” this is probably going to be one of *those* posts of mine. (Have I mentioned it’s the middle of a veeeeeerrrrryyyyyy long Spring Break?)

I will say this, and I promise to only say it a couple of more times before you reach the end: I can’t believe my baby is four years old. Four years old. Already. Wow. Or should I say “Ugh?”

Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m a mom. I remember at my baby shower everyone was telling me how worried they were that the reality of the fact I was having a baby hadn’t sunk in. Funny, that, eh, because I now know, even after the birth of my second child, that the reality of having a baby doesn’t sink in until you’re made to leave the security of the hospital and the nurses and take the baby home.

And then there’s the introductions once you reach home. The cats have to stare at it, creeping closer and closer, and then bolting at the first sign of any life coming from the baby carrier. And then the dog has to sniff at it, not quite sure what it is or why it’s there. And then you stand there, staring at the baby carrier, wondering what it is and why it’s there.

Everyone just kind of stood in the middle of the room staring at each other when Grace was brought home. We would cast glances at her and then at each other, none of us wanting to admit that the only thing going through our minds was “Now what do we do with her?”

Hell, she’s four years old and we still sometimes catch ourselves staring at her and each other wondering, “Now what?” Especially when she pops off some eleven letter word or adds something in her head.

Still the reality is a bit far off. But it quickly smacks you in the side of the head when you’re up for the fourth or fifth time in the middle of that first night, trying and praying to soothe the baby so the screaming will stop. How many times in the past four years have I asked The Universe to “please just make it stop!”

Before long the baby is able to hold its head up. That’s a huge thing. And then, before you know it, you’re able to sit the baby on the floor. And then they’re walking. And talking.

And then, suddenly, they’re heading off to pre-school and, at the ripe old age of three, bringing gifts of jewelry home from boys. And then they’re four.

Her party was Saturday. It was a large party, which surprised me because no one but two had paid attention to the RSVP on the invitation. I was really afraid that I had spent $85 to rent a clown for three or four kids. But, as it usually does, The Universe smiled on Princess Grace and the room was full of people. Thirty two people to be exact. Talk about a party. And she made out like a damned bandit. I can’t believe the stuff she hauled in! There was so much that she hasn’t had all of it out yet. Yet. Because, as you may have heard, it’s the middle of a veeeeerrrrryyyyy long Spring Break.

So there was a phone call made last week about sending something in the mail to Grace for her birthday. It arrived today, the trophy for my mom/the money order for me. Yes, The Canadian Sperm Donor, TCSD, (not to be confused with the American Sperm Donor) sent money. And a small chunk. Okay, it’s way less than half of what he should be paying every month for child support, but, when you’re used to getting absofucking nothing, it’s a small chunk.

We took the girls to have their pictures taken this evening and I told Grace that she could pretty much spend her money on whatever she wanted to spend it on. That was a huge deal for her because we don’t usually have the liberty of doing that, you know, buying things “just because,” but I have been carrying around some sort of “fuck it” attitude for the past few days.

I was trying real hard not to mention my mother and the money bit, but it’s as if my fingers have disconnected from my brain because I can’t resist.

She yells up the stairs at me this afternoon that I had mail. Now that was a strong indication that something out of the ordinary was in the mail. As soon as I opened my door she was telling me that the money from TCSD had arrived. I watched in horror as she opened the envelope. And then she opened the card. I said, “Now that’s some more of your fucking business, isn’t it” as I bolted down the stairs. So instead of telling me how much money was in the card, she simply put it all back and handed it to me. Grace was right behind me on the stairs, which I hadn’t realized. She asked *me* who the card was from and my mom said, “It’s from your dad, Grace.”

I could have hit her. In fact, I felt the power building up behind my fists. I couldn’t make eye contact with her because I was *that* pissed. Grace said, “Nuh uh, ganma. My dad’s upstairs.” Mom couldn’t leave it there, could she. She went on to say that the money was from Grace’s dad, Tim.

This caused great confusion because Grace instantly thought of her Uncle Rick and his Tim. So mom kept on and kept on. I finally looked at her and told her that she could leave now. I wanted to utter “bitch” but held it back.

And then I made Grace mad because I made her go back upstairs with me instead of to grandma’s. She had chosen to leave Tim on the stairs and I had obliged her unspoken request, all the while knowing it was inevitable.

Now some of you may recall that my mom pulled the whole bitch thing about TCSD on Christmas Day. Except he had called wanting to talk to her that day and she wouldn’t talk to him. Mom was appalled but I completely understood: she doesn’t fucking know the man.

She brought it up tonight on the way to the mall for the photo shoot (and believe me, it resembles a photo shoot any time Princess Grace is in front of the camera). Mom jumped in again with an explanation. I can’t get past the “what the fuck makes you think that you’re entitled to be the one who talks to her about this.” Really. All she manages to do is totally confuse Grace. “So he has to be my granddad, ganma, because I can’t have two dads.” Yeah, mom did a bang up job with the whole thing. I just sat behind the wheel, waiting for her to shut up so I could take over and drop it in Grace’s lap. And what an appropriate time, eh, while I’m driving and don’t have to make eye contact with her. *grimace*

So mom’s incessant babble finally ceased and I started. I explained to her that a long time ago I had a boyfriend named Tim and that he had helped me make her so he was her father. And then he became sick and couldn’t stay with us anymore so he had to go home, which was very far away in a place called Canada. I told her that he usually calls on Christmas Day wanting to talk to her and then he sends money to her for her birthday. I also went the extra mile and told her that I know he loves her but he was sick and couldn’t be around. She didn’t say anything to me, which allowed to know that she was actually processing what I was saying. Finally she said that she has two dads and I agreed with her. And then she told the story (the Grace version, of course) of how M went back to Georgia and was gone for a long time and then came back.

I talked to her about how M has other kids that he doesn’t live with or get to see and compared Tim to that. She seemed to get it. And I even told her that I had pictures of Tim and that I would get them out and we could talk about him if she wanted. I didn’t get a response to that.

After accepting my answer to the “So does everybody have two dads, mommy,” the conversation ended. We headed inside for the photo shoot. And then we headed to the Hallmark store to spend her money on Webkins.

We ended the night by taking her to Toys R Us for her special paper crown and balloon that comes with the free membership in the Birthday Club. I thought I had done well with the whole Tim thing. I hadn’t gotten sad or angry. And then there was an announcement over the loud speaker that there was a special Birthday Club member in the store so if you saw her to wish her a Happy Birthday. The announcement ended with “Happy 4^th Birthday, Grace.” And then I cried.

Not a snot-dripping-to-your-knees cry, but a silent cry. In fact, that has happened to me twice tonight. Then and now. Now because as I write this I realize that I probably won’t have to have the Tim conversation for another nine months because that’s how long it will most likely be before he makes another appearance in her life. And that’s screwed.

And I cried because, no matter how drastically my life changed a few months ago when I allowed M to come back, there I was, in Toys R Us with my mom, Grace, and Mak. Alone. On my own. Granted, it’s because M is at work, but still. I can’t seem to get past the “unmarried mom” thing.

You know, you would think that after four years I would be over the hurt and the loneliness and the feeling that people are missing out on the sheer beauty of my oldest daughter; people who should be celebrating her. But I’m not.

That’s why I write about it all. It’s the fact that the more I force myself to get it out there and allow it to weave itself into the rest of my life that it doesn’t own me anymore, the pure loneliness and feelings of abandonment.

Ech. Enough already.

What matters, I guess, is that Grace told me right before she drifted off to sleep that she had had a great birthday. And I made a memory for her. A good memory. An “I had a clown at my birthday party” memory. An “I was very loved as a child”