Parenthood

Happy Birthday



Tomorrow my daughter will be five years old. It also marks the day that I realized that there was something horribly wrong with her father. A unfortunate collision of anniversaries. The latter half of my pregnancy was marred with increasingly frequent “incidents” that I suppose had I not been pregnant and sick and preoccupied, I would have picked up on. I don’t talk much about the specifics of the early days of my husband’s illness. Partly out of guilt because I didn’t see what is so obvious to me now, but mostly because I know that the things he said and did were a result of the damage that was being inflicted on his brain and thus changing his personality and ability to reason.

I went into labor the night of the 26th. It was about 10:30 when I realized that the rhythmic tightening of my belly was actually regular and close enough to be early labor pains, and of course my water breaking about 15mins later confirmed that I was right. We had been out to dinner earlier, and Will had had a bit to drink. Another thing I didn’t know at the time was that his ability to metabolize certain chains of acids found in food and drink was nearly gone. His illness was a metabolic disorder. His body had stopped producing a particular enzyme it needed and as the acids built up it triggered his immune system into attacking the coating around the nerves in his lower back and the dura matter that protected his brain. The disease also triggered a hyper response from his adrenal glands that was slowly killing them as well. Alcohol is largely composed of the type of acid that he couldn’t metabolize any longer. Even small amounts triggered erratic behaviors because it was like a poison building up in his system that his body could barely eliminate. Long story, but the short of it that night was that he was not much help to me. On the way to the hospital, the stress of the situation caused one of his increasingly more frightening memory lapses where he would get lost in surroundings he had know all his life, much like an Alzheimer’s patient. His stressed adrenals meant that he reacted out of proportion to a situation, so he was angry and a bit scary. Once we were finally in the birthing room at the hospital, his overwhelmed system just shut down, and he spent the rest of the night and into the morning before Katy was born wandering the halls of the hospital in kind of a daze that had the nurses more concerned about him than me at times. Aside from the nurses who periodically checked in on me, I went through the first eight or so hours of labor on my own.

I don’t like to think about any of this really. There is no point anymore. He was sick, and I was too busy to notice, or what I did notice I chose to rationalize away. Though it still bothers me that I failed him so utterly at a time when he needed me so much, the worst of it now is that my daughter’s birth is not a happy memory for me. She is my child. The only child I will ever have and all that I have left of Will, and her birthday is tinged with regrets and sadness that unfortunately I have never managed to completely hide from anyone. Time and distance hasn’t made much of a dent in this of yet, but I have hopes that someday it will.

My Husband and Daughter


I was watching Rob and Katy interacting at supper last night. We were out to eat, and Katy always sits next to Rob when we dine out now. Not because she has asked to however. Initially it was a strategic maneuver for behavior reasons. She just behaves better sitting next to him than she does next to me, but now she clearly enjoys sitting next to him. He helps her go through the kids’ menu and they color together. Last night she was telling him about a game she learned at kinder-camp this week. She loves it. It is called “What Time is it Mr. Fish”.  Rob remembered the game from his childhood but told her it was called “Mr. Wolf” instead, and when the time came in the course of the game to ask Mr. Wolf what time it was, he would turn suddenly and growl, “Dinner time!” My dear husband delivered the line in a deep growly voice and it startled Katy into a fit of giggles. She is at that age where scary is scary and an adrenaline rush of giggly fun at the same time. Of course she wanted to hear it again, and Rob obliged for quite a while with her giggling and clinging to his arm and begging, “Again, again.” For good measure he would throw in a growl and a snarl here and there, and it was just a pleasure to watch her have so much fun and being such a normal little girl being teased by her “daddy”.

She expects Rob to give her kisses and cuddles after I have tucked her in for the night. She likes to open the front door for him when he gets home from work in the evening and comes to give him a kiss and a hug before he leaves for work in the morning. On mornings she has slept in and misses him, she is visibly disappointed. She refers to him as “daddy” and has even addressed him that way on a few occasions already. But she has not forgotten her own father.

Will’s old recliner is in the living room, and she told me the other day that it has to stay there or he (Will) would be upset. Whenever she watches The Land Before Time, there are tears and calls for her dad (so we have stricken that particular film from the viewing list. Seriously, are kids’ cartoon-makers sadists?) And, she is frighteningly realistic in her views of mortality where fathers are concerned too. A couple of weeks ago Rob was working on his old white van, trying to get it running again because we needed two working vehicles, and she wanted to be outside watching, but since he had the van jacked up he told her it wasn’t safe. I was occasionally checking outside to make sure that he was okay and Katy noticed. I told her that I just didn’t want anything to happen to Rob, so that was why I was keeping an eye out and she replied,

“Yes because then we would have to get him a stone too and look for a third daddy.”

Cold-blooded? Perhaps, but children are mercilessly practical. When I told Rob about the conversation, he joked, “Well, now I know where I rate.” But he is as aware of the fragile nature of life and the people in our lives as I am and as, unfortunately, Katy is too.

It is interesting and a wonder to watch her change over the past few months and I wonder if it is just her age or an effect of my relationship with Rob and consequently his with her. Would she have been this child for Will too? 

My mother assures me she is a chip off my block though I don’t recall being as sassy or independent minded. Rob finds that amusing and I think, sides with my mom on this one. Still, it is good to see her being a child like other children (sassiness too) and not the somber, silent little one she was not so long ago.

 

Blending


Rob and I had a conversation last night about being a blended family now. And though we are that, aren’t all families really? Even when there are no children involved, there is still a coming together of two sets of relatives that somehow have to learn to exist within the same sphere even if it is only at holidays and children’s birthday parties.

Jordan and Farron, Rob’s girls, have done a tremendous job with making Katy feel as though she is their little sister. Neither one has ever disputed her when she has announced their sisterhood to whomever was listening. They listen to her. Play with her. And tease her as though she has always been a part of their lives. They have made me feel welcome too, and I haven’t felt as though it was just politeness on their part even though it more than likely was in the beginning maybe still is sometimes. A friend of mine whose husband has a now grown daughter from an earlier marriage told me that from the very beginning she resolved to think of her husband’s daughter as her own and treat her accordingly. The girl lived with her mother, but my friend felt that using words like “stepdaughter” implied a difference that was negative. Her “daughter” does not call her mom nor did she ever expect her to, but she references the girl as “my daughter” or “our daughter” because she feels that terminology is reflective of attitude. I took that to heart. She is right. “Step” is a prefix that has been demonized in fairy tales and movies. It’s a “bad word” even with good intentions. When I talk about Jordan and Farron, I say “the girls” or “Rob’s daughters”. I don’t ever plan to use “step”.

Katy, my little girl with Will, does not know the correct terminology for blended families. She references “Daddy Will” and “Rob” or “Daddy Rob” and lately she has been calling Rob just “Daddy” on and off. She is not confused. She knows who everyone is and how they are related to her, but in her simple (and it’s never really been) reality, things are what they are. Rob and Mom are getting married which will make him her father and his girls her sisters. Small children have such wisdom it makes you wonder what awful things we do to them that empties them of so much of it as they grow older.

I don’t want to imply that all this merging has been easy or will not have bumps as we continue through the years. As I have blogged before, nothing is simple about moving forward. It’s difficult when it is just you and moreso when there are others involved, but life and living are primarily about our interactions with others, spouses and children being primary and branching out in importance from there.

Once upon a time it was just me. And then I married Will and we added Katy. Will died and it was just Kate and I until Rob and with Rob I gained his girls and he gained Katy. And now there are five.