“There’s a difference between under-rated and haven’t made it” -Meek Mills
Once you have children, you find out that they hold so much weight over you. I live a life in “the quiet”. I’m hardened. And unless you could actually exchange souls with me, you would never know the exact feelings that which I have learned to professionally keep in the calming abyss of my brain. Life is a struggle without the whining and bitching of someone else who has walked this Earth just as long as you have. But when you are stuck in the middle (somewhere) who is there to tell you which way to go? I would rather bypass advice from those who really can’t understand what it’s like to be in my shoes. Opinionated people can sometimes give off good talk game, but does that really help to solve your problem? I could only think of one person that could possibly be my cure-all, so I called out to my Grandmother (Lord rest her soul, 12 years and you would think the grieving process would have subsided by now) last night and she wasn’t there to answer me back. At that moment of no response, I realized what makes me the weakest link… my kids. My hard rock turned to soft and the water flowed faster than the rivers. I was hurt. And I had no one to console me the way that I know only she could have done.
A Little Background Info
From the outside looking in… a quick explanation of how my son’s father and I share him, you would think, “oh that’s awesome!”, “that’s great that he does dot-dot-dot”. But to be honest, I never cared for the extra help. Or maybe, it’s that I never cared for him period. So I would rather have done without his presence from then until now. I believe this is the cycle of where I pay for my sins. Never in a million years did I believe that I would be able to birth my own kryptonite. I have to learn to become immune to the glow and sustain a state of submissivness for the sake of my child. I’ve found this man to be a vicious blood sucker which I knew from jumpstreet, AFTER my son was born (everyone else found out years later). Needless to say, I found out I was pregnant 2 months after completely ridding him of my life. I should have left it that way. I had never met a snake in person until I met him. But the moral of all of this begins with the quote that I stated above…
Children hold strong to things that interest them. Memories that settle in and stick, even if it is for a split second. They believe that this is how life is suppose to be every single second there after. I agree. And if that was in any way, shape, form or fashionably possible, I would most definitely love to keep the line of tremendous pops of fireworks going every single day. Instead, a working mother loses sight of even being alive. You are only here to make things comfortable and enjoyable for your children, instill in them the mechanics of life and hope they take heed and prosper into the star you would like for them to be. In other words, you hustle your ass off every single day and hope that your kids don’t show resentment towards your grind once they get older. They are too young to understand. This is what portrays an image of “difference” between whose head of household. Those who have time and those who don’t. What they believe is good for them and what they don’t. BUT if they don’t know any difference between the two, then all they would know is what they were born into, you would think. I admit my work load can get the best of me. Maybe that is why when special events, birthdays or whatnot come around, I tend to overtly stress because I want it to be pure perfection. I have to choose the perfect gift. Things have to be perfectly in sync with whatever it is my son or daughter asks for. I’ve concocted miracles out of my ass, ears, nostrils… basically every hole in my body, and yet I remain the under-rated of the 2 parenting species. I’m judged for not buying a toy at the drop of a dime. I’m judged for letting a practice slip my mind. I’m judged for working. Judged for cooking, for parenting, disciplining, for paying bills…
I believe that if I had a source for freeloading that would take care of me and pay my bills, I could put in the excess time and effort to completely consume my life with my children and still have plenty time left over to piss off the other parent too. I can honestly say that I can teach my son how to be more of a man than his sperm donor with also stating the fact that I think I would feel some type of way (like not setting a good example) if I still lived with my mother and fed him off of her income. That’s like saying it’s ok to do this; you don’t need a job or an education, you can live with me forever. I wonder what it would be like if the tables were to turn? The day that this freeloader would have to get a job and actually fend for himself. I wonder if my son’s feelings for this person he deems as a Super Hero (technically for not having a life) would remain the same?
This is like one of those “Lifetime” movies. I never believed my life would play out where it’s Mom vs. Dumb Ass. You hear stories of parents and their bribing kids with toys and gifts. But for some odd reason, I never thought that would be considered a legitimate practice. At least not on my playing field. The Devil is playing hardball. Situations such as this leave you in positions feeling as though your faith and humbling to the cause is not enough. I’m completely blown. And after you have done so much (you think) you’re left drawn into a fetal position because there is nothing else that you can do. Your child already has everything coming from both ends (his ass and my heart). Nowadays, kids are blessed with everything they could imagine. And the parents are breaking their necks to make impossibilities somewhat possible, if not completely. I didn’t have it like that growing up. And beginning from the time that I was able to make my own money, I have worked for every single thing that I have as well as my children. It’s like I’m constantly trying to prove myself when really I know that I don’t have to. This is not a competition. So why make it out to seem like it is one? At damn near 40, one should realize when it’s time to stop being a bitch. Someone could easily think that science has naturally fucked up it’s corse and made a ni66a bleed on a monthly basis. I don’t need the extras of dealing with 2 periods in a month. I just want to look forward to lesser drama from the man-bitch and more gain of understanding with my son.
Until next time bloggers…