Why does my opinion matter, why does what I feel, the pain in my chest, or the tears that I cry matter, when I am only a step parent. I can’t possibly understand how it feels to love a child, to care for a child, to want so badly for this child to have the very best, because they are not my blood from my own body. How dare I even complain, or waste my time with things that I can never fix. The right to care ended the day my stepson came out of her vagina instead of mine, the day my husband married her and had sex with her, and shared the life long commitment of raising a child with her. They made this life decision in a moment of passion (dare I to speak it) and now that the marriage is over – and my husbands temporary lack of judgment has expired – we now get to deal with the never ending reminder of I have no rights – ever.
Lets put the fact that she is a mother who not only talks down my husband to his son, who forces her 3 year-old son to flip off his dad and tell him he doesn’t love him, or that she has moved 7 times in 3 years, or that she will drop him off with hfmd without even a mention to us, or how to properly care for him, or even the fact that she has totaled her car 2 times in the period of a year because she is irresponsible and reckless. Lets also put aside the fact that for 3 years, her grandmother is taking care of her and our son, she pays their bills, she provides a roof over their head, because she refused to work. But, why would that bother someone who doesn’t care? Why do I find it odd, that when their are two Parents, one that is living with a grandparent, and one that works, has their own home, provides for himself and his family, isn’t given the RIGHT to be the full time parent, simply because he has a penis!
Imagine being told by someone that simply because you are the dad, you are not going to get full custody. Actually, try it this way, have your brother who you have watched worked his butt off to be the best father to his child, and put up with more than his fair share of crap from the mother, and then watch him fight for a place in his child’s life, knowing he is the best place for your nephew or niece and then not feel sick or saddened when you hear that because he is a dad, he can only hope for a little more than every other weekend. Magnify that by an unimaginable percent, and think of that man being your husband, and watch him fall short, without saying one word, without having the right to say anything, do anything, just sit there quietly and soak in his heartbreak – but remember you are not allowed to feel any of this – because you are not his mother, you don’t love him the same, you don’t matter.
Are you kidding me? Deal with it? Why should I? Because you do? Because somewhere, someone wrote that we should act a certain way, when it comes to certain situations? Well let me tell you something, that’s not me, it never will be. I do not care if my children came from 12 hours of hard labor, or 3 years of laboring – either way I have parented them, I have loved them when its hard, I have taught them lessons that someone else did not, I have held them when they cried, or after Dr’s appointments and shots. Countless hours of my life have been spent providing, supporting, caring, loving and investing in my children – and I damn well know that my levels of giving in those areas isn’t dependent on how much of my blood runs through my veins! Nor, will it ever.
I would hope that their are more women in this world like me, than against me. More men like my husband, that fight for their family, for their children, for the rights that today may not exist, but may exist for our children and their children for tomorrow’s tomorrow. Because those that fail to see that love is Blind, that love exists without conditions, guidelines, parameters and, BLOODLINES, are missing a whole hell of a lot more than just their sight. And I’m glad I am not one of those people, because I would choose tears, heartbreak, and continual failure, that brings me one step closer to the possibility of witnessing the right thing, the better choice, the best outcome and a happy child.
Just Jesus and Jess 