Nobody Loves Him, but me…
For the past several weeks I’ve been trying to tell this story, but it never comes out right. The story of my son. The boy that nobody loved. Except me.
When I told my mother I was pregnant again, she said “oh.” And later, to my face, she said I needed to “stop having these babies.” He was only my second. Later, she tried to gain custody/possession of my daughter. She made no attempt to “rescue” my son. Strike grandma off the list of people who care at all about my boy.
Ok, so the decision to have another baby with my (now ex) husband was probably not the wisest. I knew he was mentally unstable and abusive toward me. But he adored our daughter. And let’s face it, I just wasn’t thinking rationally after years of psychological abuse. I wanted more babies. And it was easy to justify when I saw the love between him and my first child. She was 110% a Daddy’s Girl. His spitting image, and his double down to the way she dressed. She loved her daddy, and they spent a lot of time together. I believed that this not-very-good-man could still be a good father. When I was just 6 weeks pregnant, I found out G was having an affair. He was planning to take my children and raise them with his mistress. I told him it was over, but he was an abuser, after all, and I was unable to leave. I vowed to escape with my children, no matter what.
Fourteen weeks later, on the night before my ultrasound, G withdrew his idea for a boy’s name. He said he knew God hated him and wouldn’t give him the second daughter that he wanted. He didn’t even want a part of naming him. And when the ultrasound indeed showed a son, G raged for days.
Still, I told myself that he’d come around when he saw that sweet baby face. He didn’t. Our son was born blue, umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, no heartbeat. The doctors started CPR immediately, as soon as his chest was free. They saved him, thank god, and G’s first words were to ask if he could go home to his daughter now. The nurse was appalled and started to chew him out, but I told her to let him go. The next day I dressed my boy in an AC/DC onesie, and wrapped him in a Slayer blanket. A desperate appeal for G’s affection. G brought our daughter by, but refused to hold the baby. He wouldn’t hold him for the first time until my Bub was five months old.
That was the first, and last, time.
G simply couldn’t mask his disdain for our son. He hated him. He tried to make our daughter hate him, telling her that mommy only loved the baby now. He left for longer and longer stretches of time, but when he was around he didn’t hesitate to rage at my baby boy. Bub wasn’t allowed to crawl around the tiny apartment I’d given everything to rent. He wasn’t allowed to eat pretzels because G said they made him stink. He wasn’t allowed to be anywhere in our apartment except the bedroom, or buckled into his bouncy seat in the living room. I wasn’t allowed to buy toys or gifts for Bub with the tiny amount of money I had on his first birthday, or Christmas. Everything my son did brought scorn from G. I was desperate to get him out of there.
Shortly before we were set to move, I looked over to find Bub unresponsive in his seat. He was slumped to the side, mouth slack, eyes staring my direction. I screamed his name and fell to my knees in front of his seat. I could tell how hard he was trying to pull his eyes toward me. Then his hand started to shake. Seizure. I called 911. Now Bub’s whole right side was shaking. He was burning up. Shaking, shaking, all the while trying desperately to look in his Mama’s eyes. The ambulance arrived and I hung up with dispatch. I called my boyfriend, the man we were moving in with. I called my best friend. I even called my mother. Finally, I broke down and called G…
He asked what I wanted him to do, as he was busy. He said he was with a friend, and that person wouldn’t drive him to the hospital. He said he wouldn’t be there. And then he hung up.
My boy seized for over 20 minutes before two shots of drugs finally stopped it. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was minutes from brain damage, or death. A second ambulance had to be called to take my daughter and me to the hospital. My best friend got a ride and arrived soon after I did. My mother showed up hours later, to drive us home.
When G finally came home, I overheard him on the phone with his girlfriend, lamenting his poor, sick boy. Using him to illicit pity. I shook with rage. I didn’t feel bad at all for taking my son away from the man a few weeks later.
My son was about 17 months old when we left. He quickly fell head over heels for my boyfriend, who later became my husband. They were buddies, and he became Bub’s daddy.
But one day, when Bub was 2, his daddy grabbed his arm so hard, it left marks. And my heart dropped through the floor. Daddy swore to do better. But somehow, better meant spanking my children with a wooden paint stirrer. Unsure of anything, as I’d developed a heavy case of PTSD, I let it go longer than I should have. But I did put a stop to it.
In the meantime, I noticed that my very small son had started having anxiety at around 18 months old. By two, he was clearly having symptoms of OCD. He shrieked for the moon anytime we went out at night. Once, he screamed for over an hour that he was “stuck” in his car seat, while we were on a road trip. Eventually, he started having severe night terrors, multiple times a night. Bedtime became terrifying to him. His Daddy quickly grew frustrated, unable or unwilling to see the underlying causes of Bub’s behavior. He wasn’t spoiled, he was unwell. My tiny son already had mental health issues by his toddler years. To top that off, Bub had had elevated lead levels as a baby. And one of the side effects of lead poisoning is ADHD, which Bub shows signs of.
Tonight, Bub’s Daddy, my husband, decided he’s had enough of Bub. He declared my children too horrible to be around. He declared me an incompetent mother. And he left.
And now I have to figure out how to explain to my son that nobody wants to be in his life. That nobody will stick around for him. Nobody will try to understand him. Nobody will be patient with him. Nobody will give him truly unconditional love. Except me.
Not his grandma. Not the man who gave him life. Not the man who has raised him for four years.
Nobody.
Except me.
How can I explain this to my child in a way that won’t shatter his soul? I can’t. Nobody will be there to pick up the pieces.
Except me. I really hope I’m good enough. Because I don’t think anyone really deserves this amazing, brave little boy.
Even me.
