Recently, I ended things with the man I’ve been seeing over a year.
A fact for bonus points, though, I’ve known him for 30 years, and he is one of my oldest friends. Great guy, salt of the Earth, just solid people.
I believed in us. So much so that I helped him through an active addiction that nearly triggered a relapse for me. So much so that I did something I never thought I would do, and that is let another girl child get close to my heart. After the passing of my own daughter, I said I would never again do this to myself.
Now look at where we are.
However, I digress. Allow me to explain myself, lest you people believe I’m some type of evil StepBitch, just pointing my well-manicured nails at chores children must do, while having another child spit polish my Louboutins. False.
I would never allow a child to spit on my Louboutins. That’s disgusting.
The Weekend Dad
It seemed that my ex had different ideas about parenting than I did. And by different ideas, I mean that anything she did was perfectly fine, and I was to take it and smile. She was to run our household, and I could just sit back and watch it occur.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t okay with a 10-year-old being on the phone with strange people in other states at 4 am. I wasn’t okay with a ten-year-old ruining my things, then hiding them and lying about them when I found them in the bottom of her closet. I wasn’t okay with a ten-year-old missing one day of school per week. And when she popped up as having a Snapchat, well, you guessed it. I wasn’t okay with it.
Now, I can already hear you baby mama’s huffing and puffing and getting ready to blow. “That’s not your child, blah etc”. Ma’am, I’m fully aware of that, because if she were, I would have taken her phone the second I found her on it at four in the morning and she would be the proud owner of a can on a string for communication.
If she were my child, I would have ensured that I was up with her, getting her ready for school, the 4th grade actually, so that I was sure she really went.
If she were my child, I would have made her turn right back around and pick up her things sitting 3 foot high in the bottom of the closet like they don’t belong on shelves and hangers, instead of “just letting it slide” again, because she has zero accountability for her actions.
Also, regardless of who the child belongs to, I am allowed to say what is acceptable in my home. That means, if you can’t ensure your kid isn’t destroying my home and my things, do not bring them here. Period. At all. Ever.
But, me being soft in my old age, I kept letting the little things slide. I kept allowing the slights, and the disrespect, and then something happened. Something that changed the way I see her father from now until the end of time.
He and I were in a minor snit, and he said something sideways to me. I turned around to mouth something in the neighborhood of “fuck off”, and that ten-year-old expert in communications with unknown men in other states per a picture app was sneering at me. In my own kitchen, this child was looking at me like she wanted to whip my ass.
Sweet Baby Jesus, I’m thankful for your mercy, because in that moment I swear I had five separate scenarios play out in front of me, and all of them had me in handcuffs. I’m not an advocate for handcuffs, nor do I wear excessive jewelry in a home setting, so I made a decision in that moment.
We were over. Right at that moment, I had dealt with enough, and my limit had just been surpassed.
Funny thing is, I instantly felt lighter. My path rising to meet me, it seemed, as I shook off the stress of being with a man with an ill-behaved child. If I had before and after photos, you could all witness the change in undereye bags and worry lines, as well.
I’m certainly not saying that men with children are undateable. What I am saying is that men with horribly manipulative and undisciplined daughters should be an instant no-go. I mean, for me, I was literally telling myself that, because repetition is how I learn. Y’all do what you want. Just count me out.
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This post was previously published on April Hawkins, Ask A Bitchface.
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