Custodial parent

Coparenting, for me, goes a little something like this …

If there are 365 days in a year – I am responsible for at least 300 of those.

Most of them are school days.

Last year that entailed:

waking up early, packing snacks, arguing with the schoolboy to fall into the routine of putting clothes on like we’ve done every other day of him being in school [side eye], bustling through traffic because we usually always run late, affirmations, prayers, drop off.

JUST in the nick of time for his day, away from home, to start.

A regular day would be ridden with the anxiety of whether or not he did was he was supposed to do when under the supervision of the adults at school.

Begging for a late lunch so I could be the one to pick him up for early dismissals.

And sometimes a consistent deposit from the child support office.

Yay!

THEN, you gotta feed him.

Cus apparently, he didn’t eat at school.

So, snack.

Bam.

Dinner.

Bam, bam.

Do that five times and there went that deposit.

And the infamous time of homework.

Bathe.

Quality time?

Bed.

Repeat.

Cool.

No complaints here.

Cus that’s my child.

I will always do what I need to do for him.

And we got some sort of system down.

And, finally!

A break! Whew!

Free time in the house.

With each other.

No schedules to adhere to.

No stress of them other folks out doors.

And then here comes his damn father.

I feel guilty to complain about this part because I know I should be grateful because some fathers don’t look for their kids.

But fuuuuuccccckkkk that!

This is my story.

Here comes Daddy to save the fucking day!

He usually plans “big shit” for them to do.

Fun stuff.

Trips to the beach.

Parties with cousins.

And, this time, it was Christmas AND our son’s birthday.

While I am happy for the break.

I am still feeling a type way.

As I scrolled through the internet, browsing through pictures of families posing in front of their trees.

My child is with his other parent.

BEcAusE wE’re cOParEnTIng.

And I found myself being jealous.

Salty and all.

Like on pretzel.

Cus my 300 days are usually business, business, business.

Pick that shoe up! Put that bowl in the sink! Finish that homework! Leave the cat alone! Get in the shower! I don’t know the password for that! Make sure you brush your teeth and wash your face!

You know, tryna make him grow up and be worth a damn.

Only to have to hand him over to the noncustodial parent on some weekends and holiday breaks.

Where they can have big fun.

To be completely honest, I love this for my child.

I love that he has a father that loves him and isn’t afraid to show that.

I love that he has a relationship with the other side of his family.

I love that he has more than just me to call on.

I just hate that he can’t be in two places at one time.

I hate that he has two rooms and that they aren’t both at my house.

I hate that I have to share.

I hate that my Zion is in the middle of this.

Tip: You gotta take you and the other parent’s feelings out of it. This is all about the kids.

Blah, blah, blah.

I know all of that already.

But that still doesn’t change the fact that I miss my baby.

It feels weird.

It feels unnatural.

One thing my parents didn’t do was coparent.

Nah.

They just kept they miserable asses together and tried to make a house a home.

What not to do: Don’t repeat that dumb shit.

I’d rather Zion have two rooms and two happy parents any day.

And because of my love for him, I sometimes have to share.

Even when I don’t want to.

+ Ci Ci +