The Beginning

            I have always loved to write and do so in all-too-often short moments of me time.  My sister-in-law to be has peaked my interest in blogging.  She blogs for a big-name entertainment blog (not really my cup of tea).  I have been reading her work for months now in envy, waiting to make my move.  I finally mustered up the courage to ask for her advice.  She explained to me about mommy blogging, and I fell in love with the idea.  While I have no experience, I have the passion and drive to be successful.  I have plans to write about what it is like to go through with split custody with a child of a young age.  It is hard for any parent to go through, and there are not many voices on the web sharing their experiences in this area.  So here goes.

            My daughter’s father and I had been separated for the final two months of my pregnancy.  We had never been married or engaged, simply “partners”, as he like to call us.  To me, that would be a good term if we had both agreed never to wed, but he was the only one with the goal to remain single for eternity.  We had very limited communications, but I had promised to call him upon going to the hospital. 

I had moved into my parent’s house, since I could no longer work to support myself.  My mother also wanted me to be close, since this was, after all, my first child.  I had been having contractions for two weeks prior to going into full labor.  Honestly, the last few days beforehand, I was trying almost everything to induce labor.  I took a light jog around the house, did squats – I even tried nipple stimulation.  Alas, nothing had worked until we went to one of those chain restaurants that use a piece of fruit in their logo.  I only got halfway through my plate of boneless wings when my extreme exhaustion set in.  That must have been my body’s way of preparing itself.

That night, I could not sleep even if it were to save myself from the brink of death.  Five AM rolled around, and I finally realized that my contractions were no longer for warms ups, but the main event.  My parents took me to the hospital, where we found I was already six centimeters dilated.  How had I not noticed the intense pain so many women gripe about? I had never noticed being less susceptible to pain prior to this of all occasions.

The first round of phone calls was made.  My mother called my grandmother (who my child is the namesake of), whilst I called the F.O.B. (father of the baby), to which I received no answer.  I then tried my sister.  You have to understand that at the time my sister was a senior in high school, living up her last few days of winter break.  She answered with a groggy salutation and said she would be right over to the hospital.  An hour went by of nurses hooking me up to IVs and monitors and going over information, and still no homegirl.  When I called her again to make sure she hadn’t been in an accident, she reassured me that she had “only fallen back to sleep.”  I only wished I had let her continue to sleep on whatever couch she had surfed for the night because when she arrived, instead of providing helpful words of wise encouragement (she was, after all, my cheerleader), she instead sprawled out on the fold out couch and did not push her restart button for some hours. 

My parents left me in the trustworthy hands of my dear younger sissy, and went home for a shower and a bite to eat.  A nurse came in shortly after and found that I was already eight centimeters and completely effaced.  The FOB arrived post-vaginal examination as my sister frantically attempted to reach my parents.  They made it back just before the pushing stage engaged, but I will spare the details of the birthing process.  My daughter was born at 3:42 PM on Sunday, January 2nd, 2011.  She was a mere five pounds and fifteen ounces, measuring at nineteen inches long.

Everything was typical of a baby's birth until dinner time.  My sister was the first to leave, followed shortly by my parents who were figuring that Julia’s father would stay overnight with me.  We talked briefly about where our relationship had gone wrong.  We caught each other up with where we each were in life, and after a few minutes of silence, he began to gather his things.

            “Are you leaving,” I asked in surprise.

            “Uh, yeah,” he replied nonchalantly as though I’d asked him if the sky was blue.  What a jerk.  I had just given a new life to the world, and he couldn’t even stay one night.

            With that, he kissed the baby on the forehead, and left the room.  And so began the lifestyle in which we would raise the child together but separately.  He was there when it was convenient for him and pawned her off on some other family member when he tired of her caretaking.  Meanwhile, as she got older, I had to readjust the way I truly wanted to parent to coincide with him in a manner that she would learn right from wrong without sacrificing my relationship with her by becoming “mean mommy” as she now puts it. 

Shared custody has no manual and little information otherwise, especially in cases of infants and toddlers.  I have had to fly by the seat of my pants most days and hold on for dear life through all the tantrums, teething, and the tossing away of the binky.  From court cases and child support, to missed visitation and recalled car seats, we’ve seen a lot.  We have even helplessly watched Julia grieve for her teddy bear that was lost on Black Friday by my careless consort.   Through all of my efforts to put my child’s heart in my corner, I’ve come to realize that I simply have to live my life and allow her to form her own opinion on how she has been raised on both sides.