Joy and and the absence thereof

I experienced pure joy today (well yesterday when I started this blog entry) at my son's accomplishment. I watched him stand up without holding onto anything. I asked his mom when he started doing that. "He's been doing it for a while now." Complete letdown.
"He's doing a lot of new things."
I haven't seen him in a week and a half because she expects H to ASK to see his son. The last time I saw him before today was because I asked HER to dinner so I could spend time with the two of them while H and the girls were doing church stuff that our boy wasn't welcome at.
And while the two of them were so much in love and so much on the same wavelength that they could fuck behind my back, now that I'm in on their little secret, they're having a hard time talking to one another. They can't be adult enough talk to one another about what they want and need for the sake of their child.
She and I text. Probably too much... But no more than he did while he was fucking around behind my back. I'm trying to catch up and become friends with the person that's raising my son. He resents me texting her. "That's MY toy, not YOUR toy!"
They need to grow up and talk. Just fucking talk. Don't fuck, but talk.
I will leave him if I lose my son because he can't grow up. I will change the locks and have him move in with his bigoted mom. I draw the line at my kids. Even the one that I didn't carry. I loved him from the first ultrasound picture (that I saw only two days before he took his first breath). I love my kids and will not tolerate his stupidity and stubbornness when it comes to them.

C.D.

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