Jealous

Lately Doof has been asking me questions about his birth mom. I knew these days would come. In my mind, I knew exactly how I would answer him.

I guess I will preface this story by saying that my parents divorced when I was very young and they had nasty custody battles for years and years and years and years...you get the point. My mom was not very kind in speaking about my dad and many times I thought I was not loved by him nor worthy of love from others. It's so strange (and permanent) what a five or six year old mind can do to a person.

Anyway, I knew these days would come and I knew exactly how I would answer his questions. I would be different from my mother in handling things with Doof.  I would use my experience to be a "better" mother by answering him in a very loving way and making sure he knew that he was loved by her, even if only in the fucked up way she could muster. Well, I wouldn't say it like that, but I would make it sound all butterflies and bunnies and he would be satisfied.

These questions have been going on for a couple of weeks now and I was doing a great job of fielding his questions while considering truth and his feelings at the same time. I was saying things like, "She couldn't take care of you because she couldn't really take care of herself" and "I know she loves you because all  mothers love their babies". I was proud of myself for being so kind and thankful for my education in social work and therapy. But I am beginning to lose it. In the same amount of time this has been going on, I have found myself becoming uneasy and increasingly anxious about why he is asking these things. I have almost on numerous occasions told him things that he never needs to know. It won't hurt him to go through life thinking she actually loved him. It will only help him to think that he was not to blame, that he was always worthy of love. If he knew the things she didn't do for him, he may think he didn't deserve to be cared for. I have been up at night thinking about this stuff for weeks and even though I know what is appropriate and inappropriate to say to a wee boy...I am getting mad/sad/territorial.

And for some reason today I can finally name this feeling.

I am jealous.

I am not saying this is a mature feeling or that I have thought this out or even that I really understand it. But, ya know, I just don't want to have to share him. I am the one who was rocking him in the hospital those endless days. I am the one who was spending my nights laying awake worrying about him and his adjustment to our family. I am the one who signs him up for soccer and takes him to the practices and games. I am the one who does his laundry, packs his snacks, shows up for school functions, takes him to the zoo, the museum, the doctor, the emergency room. I wipe his tears. I laugh at his jokes and general craziness. I enjoy him. He consumes my every free thought, I LOVE HIM. He's MINE! And I should not have to share his heart.

But ya know what else is true? Because he is mine, I love him too much to break his heart and tell him all the things that she never did for him. All those little ways that a mother cares for her baby; the diapers, the doctors, the cooing, the holding, the playing...all those things she never did...

I need to come to a place where I am not so reluctant to share his heart with her. I'd rather share it and make it so full of love and positive images of himself and his life that it bursts rather than breaks. A broken heart can follow you around for a long time. A heart bursting with joy can carry you. But knowing these things and biting my tongue are two different things. And today I am really struggling with biting my tongue, which turns out to be a recurring theme in my life.