I try my best to stay away from the grief huddles. Parents who have lost babies, spouses living without their spouses, hell, I can’t even talk about people losing their pets without wailing.
I’m such a fucking crybaby.
As most of you are aware, it isn’t often I bring my own babygirl into the mix. Generally twice a year, like clockwork, and I’m not changing that schedule if it can be helped.
It doesn’t help me to live in that time. I am susceptible to getting lost in the grief. I don’t just put my toe in, I dive headlong and breathe all of my air supply out long before I reach the bottom to propel myself back out.
I gulp that grief and damned near choke to death on it.
However, I have a friend who I’m keeping an eye on right now, and their visits took me into some places I’m usually reluctant to travel. I overstayed, thankfully, didn’t overshare, but it’s left me feeling some type of way.
I saw some parents, and I use that term in a very loose fashion, talking about “if their kid had done xyz”, or “I wouldn’t support abc in my house”. Well, it must be fantastic to have the ability to throw your children into the fucking streets because their views don’t align with yours.
Now, being the woman I am today, I try very hard to keep my snap judgements to a minimum, and to always maintain a level of class that separates me from the white trash bitches in the back row. I am sad to admit, I have failed in much of that today. Because my mouth. It doesn’t have a governor.
I don’t often say much on the parenting side of shit, because I don’t have a vast pool of knowledge there. I am aware of this. However, I was once a mother, and I try to imagine ever looking at that babygirl and telling her that some choice she has made has led me to no longer want to be her mother.
I can’t see it. No part of me can imagine a scenario where that would be a reality. I can tell you what is a reality. I can tell you exactly what it feels like to be on your knees in the cold February rain with your hands scooping mud off of a shoebox sized casket and everyone sucking their breath in horror around you.
That one I’ve got down to a science.
We can all agree that I’m not ever going to be a PTA mom, but maybe that’s for the best. I just saw some PTA moms saying some of the most horrible things ever written in a forum allegedly about parenting. They can keep their fucking baked goods, because no double chocolate brownie is worth tolerating the outright hatred these bitches were spewing.
Disgusting.
“If my child turned out gay…”, or “If my daughter got pregnant…” are two of the top contenders in the Shitty Parent Hypotheticalympics, both seem to be really aiming for the gold this year.
I can tell you with no level of uncertainty, if my choices were Taylor coming home to tell me she had met a nice girl, or hell, even a really shitty girl, or being on my knees in that cold February dirt, I’m serving iced tea to my daughter and some chic with a half sleeve and a mohawk before 4pm.
Even if my Taylor were to magically be allowed to come back and want to be a Tyler, I’m still electing shopping the men’s clearance racks at Dillard’s over the sound of my Momma saying, “Ape, God, don’t.” while my husband held my arms at my sides and pretended it was hugging me.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly Susan can go from being the greatest Mom ever (so says her coffee mug) to disowning her daughter for having a girlfriend (you knew she pledged Kappa Lambda Alpha, she tried to warn you).
I know I can’t in all honesty say for certain, but really I can. There’s no fucking way I would ever turn my back on my baby because of her lifestyle if she wasn’t hurting anyone. Even if she did hurt someone, I know me, I’m the one who would tell her to jump in, I’ve got fake ID’s and cash, we’re putting this body in a lake and heading to Ecuador.
That’s a sound plan for a bad set of options, I’ve no qualms about telling y’all. You’re all aware I’ll run from a warrant.
I just want to know how one rectifies shit like this. You love them unconditionally, except, well, these conditions apply.
That doesn’t seem very “greatest Mom ever” to me. Matter of fact, it seems pretty fucking awful, and I wonder if you’ve considered the alternative. I wonder if you’ve felt that break in your chest, it’s not just a phrase, you can actually feel it, when they told you that “we’re sorry, we tried everything to get her back.”
I heard my shit snap. Like, with my fucking ears, ok. Not in my brain.
I would take a Doc Marten wearing, lip ring sporting daughter in law any fucking day of the week over that. Hell, they could be polyamorous and force me to call all 5 of them my daughters in law, I would still choose that literal hellscape of PMS and new age sex terminology I’m uncomfortable with over that little fucking room where you know what’s coming, but you have to wait for the doctor to come in and surprise you in the most horrible goddam fashion known to man.
Maybe some of y’all should really think about what you’re fucking saying. I’m not usually one to throw the “be thankful for your own” cards, but perhaps you should.
You sound like bitches who forgot you’ve got something to lose, and trust me when I tell you, that being taught that lesson slaps in a fucking way you won’t forget.
Ask me how I know.
That’s it, I’m done.
Q
Yeah, I don't get those kind of parents either. I'd give all of my tomorrows, for one extra day with either of my girls.
I think it is well within reason for you to speak on this subject. Too many people have kids for very selfish reasons, so it's no surprise they want little mini versions of themselves. But it is disgusting and ignorant.