Not According to Plan; March 1 2020

It’s difficult to talk about things when my mind is completely clouded by sadness. Things in my life continue to stack up, and the more rationally I try to tackle it, the more hostility I’m met with. It has me thinking about my child, and how much I regret that this is the only life she’s known. Upheaval and upset.

I used to think I regretted having her. Not because of anything she did – she’s utterly delightful and I love her more than I thought I ever could – but because of the way things soured shortly after she was born. We were forced to move, when rent became too high to manage on the income of two people. My now-ex became distant and seemed to realize too late that she wanted something different from her life. I shouted, for the first time in my memory, at her current boyfriend when he wouldn’t leave my apartment, and my toddler witnessed that.

I’m ashamed. I can’t believe that I brought her into this world with my expectations so off the mark. I was only comfortable having her because I thought – was certain – she’d have a stable and loving home life.

Now look at me. Look at the way things went.

It’s uncanny how much I’m sure she understands. Sometimes, I forget; she doesn’t really speak, so it’s easy to think she can’t comprehend things I’m saying or doing. But then she does something and I’m positive that she knows this wasn’t how life is supposed to be. She acts out or clings, and I know it’s because she’s confused. She went from having multiple parents doting on her to a single one, rarely seeing the other. She went from one home to another to another, then back to the second.

I guess we’re fortunate in that we do have a home, a place to stay where people love her. They also know more about her development than I do, with a doctor for a grandmother and an early childcare worker for an aunt.

But I know she misses her other parent. I know the inconsistencies are having an impact.

I think, ultimately, I’ll be able to contextualize her early life once she’s a bit older. Hopefully I can reduce the damage that way. But I’m scared of what will happen if I can’t. I’m terrified of being exactly the kind of parent I was determined not to be, AKA one who she’ll later realize imprinted her with irrevocable anxieties or traumas.

I’m trying my best. If nothing else, she’s going to grow up with my unconditional love, and an insistence that open communication is best. If I can raise her to be kind and to be honest, I’ll call that a win.