Sunday morning

I am still in the process of attempting to get my head around my partner’s hereditary RC glasses trend, and therefore I am undertaking lots of background reading on the topic. For this reason I decided not to continue my pontificating from the previous two blogs just yet...but alas, denial did rear its exasperating head in our house again this morning, and I feel the need to get this conversation off my chest. 

My partner and I were having one of those yummy Sunday morning chilled-out pillow-chats in bed; lightly dissecting our life together, reminiscing about the halcyon-days when we realised we were first falling in love; and having a chuckle over my ‘list’ of attributes that my perfect man was ideally to possess. Remember, (from my first blog), I had put out to the universe (I had recently come into possession of the book de jour – The Secret ) that he was to have a child...my thinking being that men with kids tend to be more evolved than those without...we agreed that while the fundamental requests of my list were most certainly met, there was clearly justification for ensuring any future wish-lists were 2000% more thorough and precise...the small print ladies and gentlemen, the small print!  

My partner shows me no quarter when I bemoan the fact that our life together is dictated by the limitations of his son’s conduct and our lack of extended family support, which respectively impose upon our enjoyment of family outings, and on our social and private life as a couple – not to mention both of our mental health!!! The fact that we have the little tyke full-time, the fact that he is young (I didn’t specify an age for my perfect mans kid to be...I recommend...18 years upwards to any women contemplating step parenthood...), the fact that he is hyperactive, the fact that he can be rude and cheeky and demanding and in your face 24/7 – all these variables that I just didn’t consider when conjuring up a life with my dream guy. The fact that I get no sympathy doesn’t, however, stop me bringing the topic up. And this morning I was having a moment of exceptional clarity...really the situation couldn’t be any worse from my point of view. It is more than any woman should have to cope with. Mother Teresa, at a push, would have relished the role, while the rest of us flee to the local library and bring home books about demanding children with (not so) subtle titles such as ‘Only a Mother could love him’, or ‘Should I medicate my Child?’ 

This morning my darling partner, listened to my commentary – which was tinged with a particular flavour of self-pity as we had spent some time yesterday with friends who have what I term ‘normal’ children, and responded with the following...

He (the tyke, hellion, skulk, little shit – you know who I mean), was the perfect specimen of a human off-spring. He is physically strong, fast, agile, cute looking (blonde hair, blue eyes – Hitler would have been very proud...). A true ‘hunter’; were he a caveman he would be head of the clan... I really can’t say out loud where my thoughts drifted off to with this comment...except that I plan on heading out to the hills later today to look for large holes in rock faces...

Yes, my stepson does possess all the above attributes, but the reality is that he is a bit like eating a perfectly ripe, chilled watermelon in the blazing heat of summer–the first bite is delicious; until you encounter all those goddam pips...and then the enduring question is...does one swallow them, or spit them out...

For more info on the 'hunter' justification, see a book called The Edison gene...certainly can give parents of 'busy' children a positive slant on a bit of bad fortune...