Updated: Oct. 16, 2023
Originally Published: Jan. 29, 2016
Last Sunday, I discovered that my son had his inaugural Cub Scouts meeting last Wednesday. You know, the one that happened five days ago. Great. Just great.
Honestly, I’m usually busy, and I forget things—like my own lunch. But I don’t overlook significant events like my son’s first day with the Cub Scouts.
Because he’s my son. Mine. And his sister? She’s my daughter too; they are my responsibility. I handle everything—appointments, enrollments, phone calls, and all the kid stuff. I do it all on my own.
Except now, I don’t.
I’ve been divorced for over five years, and for at least four of those, I was navigating the parenting journey solo. There was no co-parenting, no shared decisions, no joint attendance at school events—just me alone in that parent-teacher conference chair and sitting in the stands at soccer games. It was just me and my kids.
And it was incredibly tough.
He remarried quickly. His new wife wouldn’t even make eye contact with me—not just because I tower over her. I didn’t engage with her either; our interactions were minimal and brief. With the infrequent meetings every 12 days, I didn’t think much about their “family”—I refused to see it as anything but an intrusion.
I was their family. I was the mom—the only mom.
And I let that conviction fuel my resentment. I was doing everything alone while he seemed to be absent, failing to show up for our kids when it mattered most. It was his fault. If he couldn’t step up, I’d do it all.
But while I had the power to make all the rules and create cherished memories, I also felt the weight of that responsibility. I wanted help—someone to back me up, to take charge occasionally, to remind me of my own lunch, or even to wash the dishes once in a while. It was exhausting trying to be both the mother and father, the enforcer and the fun one.
Adulting is hard. Parenting is the hardest.
My parents live far away, so if I wanted to do anything outside of the kids’ school hours or during that small window every 12 days, I had to rely on babysitters or swap childcare with friends.
About two years ago, everything shifted. He wanted more time with the kids—first one weeknight, then two. I was furious. He had missed the toddler years, potty training, and all those firsts. He hadn’t been there for sleepless nights tending to fevers or during ER visits for the flu or injuries. Who did he think he was, just waltzing back into their lives when they were already five and eight? Did he expect a pat on the back for showing up?
I was seething.
But I also didn’t want to hinder my kids from having a relationship with their father. So, I reluctantly allowed them to spend more time with him and his wife. It was a rollercoaster—sometimes things would be fine, and then we’d fall back into tension.
He started having opinions about their activities, and we clashed. He attended parent-teacher meetings and even toured schools with me. I hated every minute of it. When his wife bought my ten-year-old daughter bras, I lost it.
They were mine. Just mine.
Then, my kids began taking vacations with them. Suddenly, we were at a 50/50 custody arrangement, and the realization that this other family was creating memories with my children hit hard. I had longed for support, and now that it was here, I found myself riddled with anxiety.
What if they did it wrong? What if they weren’t as good as me? I feared I couldn’t shield them from hurt if I allowed them to go. No one could love them like I did. They didn’t need a spare parent; they needed me.
Oh no, what if they preferred their father and stepmother?
I believed all their memories should be connected to me, as if they were my possessions alone.
But who’s the real jerk here?
Yes, they are my kids, but they are also his, and now they have a stepmom and a stepdad. They have four parents. Not one or two, but four. We are all in this together.
In reality, my kids are just two beautiful souls surrounded by four people who love them. This isn’t a competition; we can’t win, but we can certainly lose, and hard.
He missed moments, sure. But I also made it difficult for him to be involved. That part is behind us now. I have a choice: stay mad, jealous, and insecure, or embrace gratitude.
I’m grateful my kids have another woman in their life who loves them and wants to be involved. She chooses to care for them, and what a blessing that is.
I’m amazed by my new husband’s love for our kids as we build a family together.
I appreciate their father’s commitment to being present and engaged. I’m thankful for the effort he puts in now.
I am grateful to have help. I can take a breather, knowing that when the kids return home, I can simply be myself.
I’m thankful for the opportunity to reflect and redefine our co-parenting relationship.
If you’re navigating similar challenges, check out this other insightful post on co-parenting here. Also, if you’re looking for reliable at-home insemination products, consider visiting Cryobaby for their kits. For further resources on pregnancy and home insemination, NHS offers excellent information.
Summary:
Transitioning from sole custody to co-parenting can be a challenging journey filled with anger, fear, and potential resentment. However, embracing gratitude and recognizing the love and support from all parents involved can lead to a healthier co-parenting dynamic, ultimately benefiting the children involved.
Leave a Reply