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Houston…

March 5, 2009

We have a Problem.

Or do we?

Blake found my bra this morning and refused to take it off.

In fact, I was late to work because of the mini tantrum that ensued when I told him he couldn’t wear it to school. The bra fascination will be a nice addition to his obsession for my high heels and for wearing his best friend Sydney’s tights.

Now that he is becoming a little boy I’m more aware than ever that there is no man in this house. There are certainly things he’s missing out on… like being carried around on Daddy’s shoulders, trying on Daddy’s shoes or wearing Daddy’s watch.

But that’s fine. Really. The alternative – actually having Daddy around – is far more frightening than his absence.

Yesterday while volunteering at Pine Grove – I was unable to answer my phone – As I was leaving the building I played my messages and noticed I got a voicemail from his father.

“I’m not bringing him back,” his voice sounded odd, not threatening but completely heavy and off kilter.

My pulse started racing at a million miles an hour.

Then I get a text message.

“I just had a mega break down. It’s been five years.”

The vision of my son alone with his father in the midst of a mental break down had me in a complete panic. My ex’s mother lives in Canada and that is what the five years statement pertains to. His childhood was not a pleasant one – far from it, which explains why he is the way he is – emotionally unavailable and completely devoid of feelings, care or worry for others. It’s quite depressing actually. Until now, he hadn’t mentioned his mother in years.

To say I was freaked out would be an understatement.

After hearing the voicemail I bolted to my car in the midst of a semi-blizzard to make the hour and a half drive to Blake. It happens at least once a month, leaving town after his father freaks me out or he bails on one thing or another.

I told him calmly to take Blake to my cousin’s house which is close to where he is at. When I got there, at record speed, I found him on the couch still asleep from his nap in Daddy’s car.

——-

I’ve mentioned this before… I know one day Blake’s father will leave this country and go home to Montreal, it’s just a matter of when. I have debated the moral question of giving him a little shove – simply wanting to save my baby from the pain he’ll feel when his father does leave – thinking that sooner is better than later. But I’ve stopped myself – until now.

Last night was too close, too weird, too scary.

So this morning I called him.

“Do you want to go back to Canada?”

“Yes,” he said calmly, “that’s what I’ve been thinking this week.”

“I just want you to know that you have my blessing to leave. I want you to be happy. And Blake will be happier if you are happier. We could come and visit, he could even spend a few weeks with you every summer. It would be better for him if you were happy.”

I went on and on. Sounding too excited, I’m sure. The conversation I’d had in my daydreams was happening. And just as I had envisioned he agreed, without protest.

Then I gave him an extra push.

“I’ll give you money for a plane ticket and a down payment for an apartment.”

Bingo.

Silence.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

Now I’m waiting.

This could either get brushed under the rug or in a week I’ll find him on my front porch asking for a plane ticket or a bus fare.

It could be over. Finally. The worry, the angst I feel when he has my son. My gut has been screaming for so long and now I’m trying to listen… and you know what? It feels right. I know I am doing the right thing.

And it’s true, my ex does not belong here – he should be home, in his culture, with his family and friends. He would be happier and so would we. This could be for the best.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t completely forget the little English he’s learned if he did go back. That could be interesting.

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