Do little itty babies really react to what's going on in their mothers' itty bitty minds? Because S (going with anonymous type initials rather than identifying type names from hereon in) and I got into it last night, which is actually code for I've fucking had it with him. I've been reasonable these past several weeks because he's my son's father and I just don't have the energy to be all grumpy and resentful when we've got to a lifetime to enjoy (!) together.
As you know, we've been talking since he, in his version, decided to take responsiblity for his actions (ahem). Of course, my version is that he only called because he received a letter from the Child Support Agency's legal department stating that he'd be taken to court if he didn't pull his head from his arse and stop being such a flake, but potayto/potarto, you know? Anyway, we were talking last week as I had to follow up with him because he was taking his sweet ol' time getting his post DNA test, statutory declaration back to the lawyer and obviously needed my gentle encouragment to get the damn job done, and toward the end of the conversation he asked my advice on how to tell his eleven year old daughter, T, that she has a brother. As an aside, his super-nifty idea was to invite Daniel and I over one weekend when she was with him, and to tell her, kind of like a show and tell at school, al la "This woman? My ex. This child? Your brother". Brilliant plan, yes? I especially adored the bit where, when she meets us and goes over all ga-ga about the cute baby, her father says to her "Do you like him? Do you really like him? That's good because guess what?! He's your brother! Wee!". I could practically hear the poor kid's head explode already, but rather than calling him a fucking idiot ("Are you off your face
?! Oh that's right, the qustion is actually are you ever not
."), I suggested that there might be potential drawbacks to this cunningly crafted plan. He was all "she'll be fine, she likes babies". Good grief. Although....am I the only one who thinks that this is the most ridiculous plan in the world? Or do I have to go eat some worms because I'm wrong and he's *gulp* right? As another aside, does anyone else think it's weird that, after this past year, he's asking for my help on how to run his damn life?
Anyway, having never nutted out the solution to the complex daughter problem, S asked if he could call over the weekend to discuss it some more, and I said yes. Then he sent me a text message at 10pm last night, saying some shit about being too busy to call because he was going to watch soccer with the boys (wog code for grown up male friends)(we're Italian-Australian, aka wogs)(Skips can't call us wogs without getting their heads kicked in)('Skips' being code for Australians)(as in Skippy The Bush Kangaroo
) but would call around midnight instead. I was just about to text him back (aside, I hate hate hate stupid text message conversations, because fucking call me you tight arsed bastard, but when in Rome, etc) to say not to bother because, fer real - and by the way, when you want to see Daniel, you'll need put in a contact order with the Family Court because I am just about done with your bullshit.
Bit of background, one of the more annoying things about our relationship was his penchant for doing the exact same thing he did last night, so I'll be fucked if I'm gonna stand back and put up with it now.
I didn't text him, thinking instead that I'd explain when he called that there are consequences to his actions, and this was one of them because apparently he's five years old and I'm apparently his mother. Eww. Anyway, thus far and because I'm either an idiot or very reasonable, take your pick, he hasn't really had to endure any, despite fucking off when I was six weeks pregnant and reappearing only after a court ordered DNA test was threatened, but texting me in the exact same manner that boiled my beans for five years and acting like it was okay to continue to do whatever in hell he wants, was the final straw. I'm done with being reasonable, so I don't want to talk to him any more, not until he grows a friggin' brain and stops being such a dickhead. Or words to that effect.
Midnight came and went and still no phone call, so I called him. And called him, and called him again until he answered the stupid phone that he wasn't answering because he was out with the boys watching the stupid soccer, which was over anyway at that point. Then, with a calm that imnpressed even myelf, I explained all of the above. He was all "but, but...we need to talk" and I was all *yawn*. Then he said something about I'd realise we needed to once I lost my "attitude", and that's when my
head exploded. My attitude
? What the fuck
It's 6.30 in the morning now, and I've been up since 4 because the midget has been driving me nuts since around 1.30am. He's asleep now, but god knows how long that's gonna last for, probably until I'm ready to go back to bed, and I'm out here stewing on what a dolt his father is.
So yeah, the question was, do babies really tap into their mothers' brains? Because the little tyke hasn't been settled since I went to bed after that phone call last night, and in true vicious circle fashion, I'm not settled now because the little tyke has had me up every fucking hour since then, and he's not settled because I'm not settled, and I'm not settled because he's not settled and if I keep going on with this monotonous description, I may be lucky enough to bore myself to sleep in time for Daniel to wake up and make my friggin' day. Not that I've got a lot to do today. I'm getting my eyes checked this afternoon, woohoo, because giving birth apparently shot my eyes to shit, and it would be nice to not have eyes so red and veiny that I threaten to bleed to death every time I blink when the optician flips over those freaky lenses and asks me "is it better like this...or like this...?". I never know which one is, what with my short attention span and all, so I generally take a wild guess and hope for the best. And because I'm on a roll, giving birth seems to have also ruined my hearing as since the Deebs arrived, I've been tilting my head and asking "What's that you just said, dearie?" while sticking an earhorn into the appropriate orifice. Apparently I've lost my high(?) frequency range, so while I used to hear something like "Do you understand?" now I hear "o ou uneran?", and because brains are so good at doing what it takes to fill in the gaps, it no longer filters out the background noise. What happens is it turns up its volume up in an effort to locate the missing consonants, so not only am I OD'ing on vowel sounds, I'm also getting an earful of rumbles and murmurs. Aweseome. It'd be fascinating stuff, if it wasn't happening to my own damned head.
And if anyone tells me that age fucks up your senses more than dropping a cub does, I may cry. Boo hoo.