Mama Bear Bitter Pill

Sitting down for dinner the other night getting Bugs ready to go to his dad's house, I hear the knock on the door. I know she's coming. She's picked him up before. But there's something new bubbling up in me today. Something that makes me a little bitter about this moment.

She comes inside. I invite her in because, well, because I'm me. I'm good at putting on the "happy" face. I know that being a bitch won't make any of this easier for anyone involved...especially Bugs. She pets the dog who has greeted her at the door. She coos at Squidgy who has also greeted her at the door.

She's meek. She's timid. She's so very young. I'm almost twice her age and I'm getting ready to send my son off with her as the responsible adult. For fucks sake, she's still just a kid herself! How could she know what he needs? How could she know how to be there for him? How could she be in charge? How could she ........Ouch.

There it is. There's the bitter pill this mama bear has to swallow. That's real shit, folks. Bitter, bile filling my throat as I choke back down the resentment. Resentment towards her, my ex and the fact that my son is walking out the door, away from me one more time, one more night. It's not her fault. She's a bi-product of the situation. She's taking this on willingly...or what appears to be willingly.

One of the things I wasn't really prepared for was allowing another woman to raise my son. I had already come to terms with another woman being the needle that broke my marriage's back, but I'll be damned if I let another woman be a "mom" to my son. There have already been more women than I can count in the years we've been divorced. I'm certain the very well paid for therapist will hear all about them at some point in the future. Also, I never really counted on any of them sticking around long enough to matter. Long enough to be seen as someone that would need to be considered. Considered what though? A threat? Maybe. Fuck, just maybe.


I hate that I feel threatened by her. She's not me. She never will be. I'm his mom. I'll always be his mom. I'm sure she cares for him and wants to keep him safe and does all the "right" things for him. I hate it. I can't lie about that. I guess I just don't want to share him with her...or any other future versions of her. Shit, if this one doesn't last, I'm a little worried about how young the next one will be.

As I sit here pouring this out for you, I've flashed to the movie Stepmom. Julia Roberts as the young, new wife & stepmom and Susan Sarandon as the ex-wife, the mom. I watched this movie in my 20's and, sure, it was touching and emotional, but today...right this moment...that is raw. Pure raw.

You know every story, every wound, every memory. Their whole life’s happiness is wrapped up in you...every single second. Don’t you get it? Look down the road to her wedding. I’m in a room alone with her, fixing her veil, fluffing her dress, telling her no woman has ever looked so beautiful. And my fear is she’ll be thinking, ‘I wish my mom was here.’ - Isabel
”And mine is...she won’t” - Jackie
— Stepmom, (1998)

I'm not sure how to put this into my life, so I'll choke down the bitter pill one more time. I'll find a way to allow my world, my Bug, to be more open to those that want to love him. To those that can be new, fresh and wonderful for him. I can be his rock. I can be his steady. Maybe she brings new air, fresh ideas and youthful fun. Those aren't bad things. Those are her and if he could have the best of both of us, how is that bad or wrong? How could I not want him to have the best? I'm selfish, that's how.