What a weekend. I am exhausted, but that seems to be normal for me. I need to find some energy so I can go for a ride on Boyfriend’s motorcycle later – the first of, I am sure, many.
I met Baby Mama this weekend, briefly. Sugarbutt had a runny nose when I got there Friday (my first time alone watching him, WOO!), but we all just figured it was a cold. Saturday it was a bit worse, but again, nothing I didn’t chock up to him just starting daycare. Saturday night, in his sleep, Sugarbutt could not breathe. He woke up choking on his own mucus and Boyfriend went into poppa bear mode. Off to the hospital we ran. On the way there Baby Mama was called and asked for pertinent medical info about Sugarbutt, to which she replied ‘I don’t have it on me.’ Um? Excuse me? Any of you out there with kids think that’s the right answer to ‘I need his medical info’? How about ‘well, he is allergic to x and has been diagnosed with y’? Yes, Boyfriend should also know these things.
I dropped them at the front door and went to park the truck. I cannot describe to you the deep instinctual urge I had to comfort Sugarbutt. When I walked back into the ER, they had him in triage. I heard his cry from across the lobby and dared anyone to tell me I could not be in the room. Instead, Boyfriend handed me his phone and told me to call Baby Mama and have her meet us there. After all, Sugarbutt is her son.
I should stop and inform you that her and I have never so much as spoken to each other before. I found out some information earlier that day that had me angry, so angry that several Twisters volunteered to be my alibi if I needed one. This. Could. Not. Go. Well.
I called, had a 30 second phone conversation with her, in which she never asked how Sugarbutt was, and ran back into the hospital. Quickly we were ushered into a room. They gave Sugarbutt (who was understandably scared) the head-to-toe and decided he has Croup. He would not let go of daddy the whole time he was there, except for the 2 mins he cried ‘I want my Dobbie.’ Then, right then, he became my son too. Meds were dispensed and we were sent on our way.
I was sent with a broken heart. The sting of seeing Boyfriend looking for Baby Mama expectantly, of knowing that no matter how much I wanted it to be, Sugarbutt, Boyfriend and I will never be his complete family hurt. It was similar to the pain I felt the first time I watched T rock Monkey to sleep.
So we get back in the truck and Boyfriend calls Baby Mama, who had yet to appear. She got to the hospital, I suppose, just as we were walking out. We met up with her just up the street. She was just going to go back to her place like nothing had happened, not check on her baby. (I do not like her. Just typing this uncaring behavior makes me rage.) Instead, Boyfriend and I found out that she has Sugarbutt calling her new boyfriend “Daddy Axxxxx”. I saw how cold, uncaring she really is. She also never said anything to me, but I can let that slide. What I cannot let slide is the rest of it. He is her son, yet she seemed to not care that he was at the hospital. Let anyone tell me Sugarbutt is going to the hospital and I will be there. *Sigh* Yet we have to get along, at least for his sake.
We got back to his place and finally got Sugarbutt settled and asleep. Then Boyfriend and I talked – about how much Boyfriend thinks I love Sugarbutt more than Baby Mama does, how I treat SB better that Baby Mama ever has, how SB is MY SON TOO. This felt good. This hurt. I now have two sons who will never call me mom.
Alas, though, amongst other things I wiped a tiny toddler butt this weekend. I put on in bed, all alone, for the first time. I became step-momma this weekend, though SB will never call me any variation of ‘Mom’ – at least not any time soon. I am heartbroken and happy. I have my family. I never would be here without the road I have walked.
I love you Monkey, I miss you. I wish you were here to meet your ‘brother’.
With Love Always,