This post has been an extremely long time in coming. I’ve opined and gone on work-related tangents for the last couple of months and have completely lost sight of why I began writing here in the first place. Thus, I've included an excerpt from my original post as prelude to refresh the memory. For my newer readers, the post about meeting and falling for Maddie's Mom will explain a lot.
And, of course, thanks for reading.
I've wanted children as long as I can remember. Okay, since I was about 12, but really, when you start wanting to have your own child at such an early age, isn't it essentially a lifetime? I had been especially drawn to babies, in a nurturing, loving way that I couldn't explain nor understand then, though I now recognize as vicariism, a catharsis for that which I lacked as a child.
But when Maddie's Mom called, crying, to tell me I was going to be a father, it wasn't the joyous occasion of which I had dreamt.
Mom (I'd prefer not to name her, so Mom will have to suffice) and I had, at that time, been dating for about three years, which was probably about two years too long. We met in college and had a lot of fun times together, but trust and honesty issues plagued our relationship and dug a hole from which we could never recover.
I was interning in New Orleans when the news came; Mom was back in Indiana. Our relationship was in disrepair when I left for the South, and had we not gotten pregnant, I'm certain we would have broken up that summer.
Now, on with our story ...
Maddie’s Mom and I had an on-again, off-again relationship for, well, nearly the whole time we were together. The overwhelming force of our attraction to each other created a passion we could not wield, and it would inevitably lead to our undoing.
To say I mishandled most things regarding our pregnancy would be a gross understatement; in a land of fools, I reigned supreme. It’s stunning the mistakes I could make when my immaturity, insecurity and selfishness collided with one of the biggest moments in my life.
I didn’t trust her, and I’m sure she didn’t trust me. When I left for New Orleans in May 2000, I was fairly certain it would be the end of us. Going away for three months and becoming subsumed in a different life would have made it far easier for me to cut the tether and free us from the ridiculousness that often defined our love affair.
So, when she told me she was pregnant, I did what any loathsome *** would: I questioned whether I was the father.
Yeah … let that sink in for a minute.
Understand, I wasn’t seeking to walk away from her or my child. I had wanted to become a father for as long as I could remember, and there was never one second that I felt anxious or scared about having a baby, even with her, despite all that was wrong about us.
The insecurity and mistrust in our relationship had simply become undeniable parts of our dynamic, things that we could not put away. Questioning her was not so much a willful act but an uncontrollable certainty. And she saw it coming.
And that christened our journey into parenthood.