Proceed (reading this post) With Caution!

I am so irate right now. I have had enough of my father. For the remainder of this post we shall refer to him as “BP”…biological progenitor, as he is referred to as in an earlier post. “BP” is much better than what I would really like to call him…“P”. I’ll let you figure that one out on your own! And while we’re on the subject of prescribing names to people, BP’s wife is now “C”, also left to you to figure out!

All of you are aware that I have issues with BP and C. I have tried for years to accept the fact that BP married a dingus. I have said to myself many times, “if you want to have a relationship with your father, then you are going to have to deal with her!” Now it’s come down to me not wanting to deal with him.

About a month ago, C’s father passed away. He had been sick for a very long time and it was time for him to go. He’s in a much better place. I had every intention of sending my step-mother a sympathy card. I met her father when I was 14 and hadn’t seen him since. At dinner with Mike’s family, I get this text message that states, “Check your email!” BP sends me this long, drawn out email about how I need to make a cash donation to C’s father’s church. I needed to call C, tell her I wanted to make a donation but not tell her BP told me to. At the end of the email he tells me I need to forward the email to my brother because he doesn’t have his email address. So what’s wrong with picking up the damn phone? I call my brother only to find out that my father had emailed him just 2 days before (but not about this issue). He lied to me and was putting all the responsibility on me because he didn’t have the balls to call my brother and TELL him to donate money. Asshole! After venting, I decided to ignore the email. I was not about to donate money to a church that I knew nothing about for a person I didn’t know and I wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. Three days later BP calls and tells me to forget the whole thing but to send C a card. Him telling me to send that bitch a card made me not want to the send the card I had already planned to send. Plus, the bitch wasn’t even home. She was gone for three weeks. Ugh!!

Two weeks ago my 84 year old diabetic, crazy grandmother who should be locked up in the nut house had hip replacement surgery. The woman doesn’t even like to walk so I have no idea why she had the surgery anyway. BP leaves me a message saying, “Call your grandmother!” Again, I had every intention of sending her a card, but talking to her on the phone is sucky. She barely knows who I am. Again, I ignored the message. I find out today that BP text messaged my brother’s wife and told her to call her husband’s grandmother because she was in the hospital. First of all, my brother and his wife didn’t even know my grandmother was having the surgery until I told them. BP says, “Grandma is having surgery. Can you let your brother know?” So BP didn’t tell them. Then he has the audacity to TEXT MESSAGE my brother’s wife…again because he doesn’t have the balls to call his son and TELL him to make a phone call.

So, I’ve had enough. This is just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Who the fuck does he think he is? We are grown people. And to top it all off, they are supposed to watch Jake this weekend so Mike and I can go on our first date since Jake was born. I guess I’m just really mad at myself. I keep willing change in my father but it’s not ever going to happen. The man is never going to change. I thought I could accept this, but ya know, he won’t accept me for who I am. I am tired of tolerating their bull shit and for what? What is it exactly I get out of tolerating their shit? Nothing. I get put on guilt trips. I get lecturing on how to take care of my baby. I get fucked up excuses as to why they think it’s easier for them to watch Jake at their house instead of mine. To take Jake to their house, I have to pack up practically all of his belongings (pack n play, sheets, blankets, bottles, water, formula, wipes, diapers, change of clothes, medicine, pacifiers, the list goes on). What the fuck do they have to pack to come to my house? Uh, nothing! I guess I should just be grateful I’m going to get to spend 5 uninterrupted hours with my husband. For real, this is the last time I’m asking them to watch my son. I am going to find every excuse in the book to use when they want to see him. I don’t want their fucked up opinions and suggestions being pushed on me or my child.

I guess it could always be worse, but when you reach your limit, well, you just reach your limit. I’ve reached mine. Enough is enough. If I could pack up and move to Mexico, I would. Being in a different country would most certainly deter them from visiting. God help me, please!