Because Unexpected Is Best.

Can we pretend that my previous post, of a mere few days ago, regarding the heinous and absent nature of Eva's father didn't really happen?

Not that I completely want to eat my words, but maybe I'll just nibble on them a little. Around the edges. Take a bit off the top.

Let's move back a bit - back to the morning after I wrote that blog post. I woke up, as I do every morning, with a sweet little 3 year old munchkin climbing sleepily into bed with me. While all projections of co-sleeping with a toddler are wildly over-glamorized and even, I dare say, ridiculous, the precious early morning moments when your child 'sneaks' into bed, both of you sleepy and content, are nothing short of magnificent. So, it is safe to say that my morning-after started off well. I proceeded to call a good, very good, friend of mine who is in a similar life situation that I am.  A single mother with heaping mounds of wisdom, patience and fortitude. She is the picture of everything I want to be as a mother and woman. Incredible, just incredible. We'll call her Ms. T.

Well, Ms. T is always there for me when I call frantic and in dire need of advice. She speaks words that I already know, or that I should already know, but makes sense of it all in practical terms. Her daughter's father is the only man I know who contests Evas's father for stupidity and a-hole-ness (not a word, I know, I gotta keep this G rated). And yet, somehow, Ms. T is able to take all of the difficulty that 'he' has placed in their lives and makes the best of it. And I don't say that lightly. I mean, she makes the ABSOLUTE best out of a terrible situation. Perhaps even better than some co-parents.

For what does she give her daughter? Trust. Faith. Acceptance. Validation. Opportunities for growing, thinking, comprehending.

Ahhh, what more would I want for my Eva?

And that Ms. T, why, she had the audacity to suggest that my solution be thus:

Eva, sobbing : "I want my daaaaddy!"

Me: "Ok, sweetheart, would you like to call him on the phone?"

Wait, what? What?! Nonono, that can't be right. She must not understand. He. Is. Awful. Unworthy. Slime. Poison.

But wait, could it be that perhaps the relationship of Spencer+Nicole might have a different equation than Spencer+Eva? Maybe, just maybe, by not allowing my daughter to express and feel validation in a basic desire that stems from her 3 year old heart - the simple desire to have her daddy (and no, not Spencer - the person; her daddy - the concept of fatherly love) - I am the one hurting her?

Wow.  That was a biggie.

And only Ms. T could have said it in a way that gave me courage and strength, not humiliation and despair. She really is amazing, isn't she? I know. We should all have friends like her. Seriously.

And so, I called Him. Ya, I did. No, serious. On the phone. Spontaneously. I was Nicolebobpowerpants - strong and confident woman IN - EFFING - CHARGE. It felt good. I quit caring about the games he plays, the constant chess board that I find myself in whenever we converse, and I opened up to his sensibilities - which I'm not really sure are there, but I hope are - as a human being and as Eva's biological father. I hope, sincerely, desperately hope, that somewhere in his DNA is the capability to be a passable father figure to Eva, if only for her sake. While the conversation was left on a positive note, I still remain skeptical. But that's okay, I think. That's my job. As long as it doesn't interfere with Eva's budding relationship with her father. As long as I'm only the referee on the sidelines, watching for incongruities and fouls, calling penalties where needed and taking Eva to the sidelines for encouragement, direction and advice. If he breaks her heart? Yes, that will be awful. I will hate him all the more. But HE will do it. Not I. And I can try to make the best of that situation and help it be a learning experience for her.

And that's the worst case scenario. What's the best? Somehow he pulls the mediocre-father card out of his butt somewhere and fosters a caring relationship with her? And I wouldn't want that? I'd be a selfish lunatic if I said no.

So yes, Eva now insists on sleeping with her 'Daddy picture' - a picture of Spencer I put in a frame for her. I pry it out of her chubby grasp every night, her breath steaming the glass, and I place it on her bedside table. I cry a little, my heart breaks a little, I hate it a little. No, a lot. I hate it a lot. But it makes her happy, it gives her peace. I like the thought of my daughter being happy and peaceful. So I take a deep breath, I try not to bash the photo into the wall, and I place it gently down. She will find it in the morning, no doubt, and will coo lovingly, "Aww, my daddy picture... I love you, Daddy." I'll cringe at that one, too. But for now, she'll be happy and peaceful.

What more could I want?