Kidless Christmas

As Christmas Eve 2018 comes to a close, I'm sincerely missing my boy. I recently lost custody of him after 8 months of court and attempting to represent myself in a trial. Due to my mental health issues in the past, the judge ruled that he return to my emotionless ex in another state. He left less than 24 hours after the judge made her decision, and we had our Christmas with him during that time.

I wanted to be woken up at the crack of dawn by an excited little boy wanting to see what Santa brought him. I wanted to take him shopping for his baby sisters first Christmas present from him, and to see his excitement when she opens it. I wanted to sit and watch him play with pure joy on his face because he's happy with his day.

Instead, today I got to video chat with him and watch him cry as he couldn't put his cowboy shirt on because the buttons made the head hole too small. He'd just seen his sister for the first time in a few days and got to see her stand and take a few steps for the first time ever. He loves his baby sister, probably more than he loves his mommy. And that's why I did what I did that made the judge make the decision she did.

In April of 2017, I had a trauma induced bipolar manic episode while my son was visiting with his father and paternal grandparents out of state. I had cut myself on my leg and posted pictures of it along with a narrative about it on Facebook. The reactions I got resulted in me removing the post and full of embarrassment and regret.

Furthermore, my son's father decided that he wouldn't be returning our son after their vacation and that he would be in charge of our son's life from then on (his actual words). We had made an agreement that he would return to my care in time to start kindergarten a year and a half later.

During that time, I stopped drinking, fell in love, got married, and got pregnant with my daughter. I finally moved out of my parents' house and away from my abusive father, and got my Veteran's Affairs disability started, giving me a stable income for the first time since I separated from the Navy.

Life finally started to work out, except for the fact that there was no budging with my ex on getting my son to come spend some time with my new husband, myself, and his unborn baby sister. He let him visit for 2 weeks prior to her birth, and then again "allowed" me to pay for his daycare in order to fly him out for another 2 weeks at the time of her due date.

I use the quotation marks around allowed because in order for him to let my son visit me again for 2 weeks, I had to pay for the full month of daycare on top of our previously agreed upon child support amount and plane tickets for our son and my mom.

About a year after my episode, my daughter ended up being born via emergency C-section and was helicopter flown to a NICU in a hospital that was an hour and a half away from where I was being held for post-surgery recovery. Because of the time of year she was born, the hospital policy on children visiting the NICU was that no children under the age of 12 could visit until the end of the flu season, which was 4 days before he was supposed to return to his father.

So, during her 12-day stay in the NICU, her big brother was only able to visit her once. Even more, because I had to be there with her and he couldn't be, I only had 4 days with him out of his 14-day visit.

Hoping that his father would have some compassion, I requested that we delay his return so he could have some more time with his mommy and sister. His response was no and that our 4-year-old son needed to get back to his daycare routine.

In between making that request to his father, and receiving his response, my son video chatted me from my sister's house in the middle of a panic attack about not wanting to leave his baby sister in the hospital. He was telling me that he was scared that she would never come out of the hospital and that he would never see her again.

He mentioned that he thought she was going to die, and that seeing me in the pain I was in when I was having her was scary. He wanted to stay to make sure I was going to be okay, and to spend some time with his sister. He could barely breathe between words and tears, and we had to implement our relaxation techniques.

And then I canceled his plane tickets back.

I could see that his father had read my message requesting a change in his return 4 hours prior to my son's panic attack, and had still not responded. I made an executive decision and canceled them before he told me not to. I honestly felt it was in the best interest of my son to do that.

I immediately filed my petition for custody with the courts, and spent 8 months in and out of hearings to end with the trial results I got. I basically had everything that I had little to no control over in my life thrown in my face and used against me to take my son from me for the second time in two years.

I've made my mistakes, but I'm someone who honestly learns from them. For example, I've had problems with alcohol in the past, so I really watch and limit my drinking. I don't drink when I'm upset, I never drink alone, I never have alcohol in my house, and I never get drunk if I know I'll have to be caring for my children.

In the 8 months that my daughter has been alive, I can honestly say that I have only been intoxicated 3, possibly 4, times. I used to be a daily drinker for over 2 years, drinking about at least a pint of whiskey to myself every day, if not more.

But I learned that doesn't work for me. I learned that drinking screws up my life. I've learned that having toxic people around me makes me unhappy, so I do my best to only surround myself with people that I can trust and love me unconditionally. I've learned that my anger can get the best of me, and that I need to think VERY carefully sometimes before I react, even if I need to take days to respond to a message. I've learned that my judgment and brain can get clouded due to my mental health conditions, but that doesn't mean I'm broken, untrustworthy, or incapable of caring for my children, even if my anxiety and depression tells me I am.

I love my children with everything that I have. I've removed family from my life to make them safe and happy. I've given up my independence to move in with my mom again after my dad went away to rehab in order to give my son a better place to live than the crappy apartment we had when he got here, and to save money to buy a house of our own. I've given up my wild side and settled into my role as a mother, despite what my inner voices tell me to do.

The idea of having a crazy night drinking gives me anxiety, so much so that I don't drink because of it. My idea of a fun night is being snuggled up in my bed with my kids, watching my husband play his video games and watching my son jump around with excitement every time he wins. Or going to the trampoline park and wearing out the child to the point that he passes out on our way home. Or going out for frozen yogurt on a cold December night, just because it's Friday and mommy was in the mood.

I love having my baby girl, and I'm so blessed that she's here this time my son was taken from me. I still have my sense and identity of "mom", unlike last time. But she doesn't call me mommy yet.

I don't get to hear my little one yelling, "Mommmmyyyyyyy!!! I love you!" from across the entire house in the middle of his movie just because he "felt so much love just then and just had to let it out," as he would put it.

Yes, it's great when I walk in the room and my husband says, "Momma's here!" and watching her smile so big it can't fit on her face. It melts my heart so much when she gives me kisses because I'm sad, or just wants to be held because it's been too long since the last time someone picked her up.

But it's not the same without my kid. I have my baby this Christmas, but I still feel kidless.