"I know the f word mommy. It's fuck. No wait it's fuck-in." My stepson does not mince words and he listens very well. He's constantly working on his vocabulary. Smart kid, like engineer smart. We know our Avery will do big things one day. But his sarcasm comes from his mother, respectfully cited. That is my wife and so is her son. It's annoying at times but an idiosyncrasy I would surely miss of the two. And it's not nearly as blistering as my quirks can be.
Speaking of blistering, there's Cori. She will talk your head off, scream hers off, and then by the end of the day charm you with a smile. She's a tapestry of emotions and moods. She's probably the most similar to me in this house yet ten times more tangibly driven. She definitely gets that from her mother, a true glutton for touch and affection. She is the one that drives me the maddest and still the one I bend over backwards for by bedtime. I can't tell if she just requires the most attention or whether she just gets the most patience out of me through some kind of symbiotic understanding. Either way she is a real enigma, kind of like me.
My youngest Lyric, had blood drawn last week to test for celiac. I'm getting so sick of the pricks and the prods and the tests. I'm done with the tears and the fears, special diets, and medicines. I don't know if I'm tired of it all or just tired. Whatever the case, she tested negative. I can't tell if Hilary is relieved or not. I think she wants an explanation for Lyric and her behavior, at least a reason for her finicky eating, or constipation, or general longing for the boob. It's an addiction to be more factual. I know that Hilary needs a connection as badly as I do, yet in the opposite way. My wife needs a break. So I leave her room like a ninja, aware of every creak in the floor and noise of the door. Every time I can successfully lay her to sleep, I walk away, feeling alive. See, watching my daughter fall asleep has become a ritual of ours. I lay her down gently, stuff her arms with as many lovies as her grip can take, and wait. It doesn't take long but she goes to sleep. Its a little strange due to the fact that she wants nothing to do with me right now. I find Hilary and I fighting over it sometimes. But only when I start the day with snide remarks about my child. It's hard for me. I want to connect with her on a level that I can't reach. I want her to love me. I need her to need me. Our arrangement works though, which helps my wife a lot I hope. It's a fair trade to make up for the times I bitch like a teenage girl. I'm a grump, what can I say.
Finally there is Fox, loud enough to be noticed but still sometimes lost in the shuffle of older and younger siblings. He used to be such a daddy's boy when he was here but lately I find myself wondering if he truly wants to be around. Everything that happens here is trumped by stories of mommy and how she does it better or, most frustratingly, first. This drives my wife up the wall, as she constantly vies for a place in his heart, trying to become a firm fixture in his life. We make strides and we fall back, victims of what happens at his other home. There he is number one and here he is the middle child. But as far as children go, Fox is my first, my baby boy. I have to be careful not to favor him over the others even though Hilary would tell you that I probably do. I don't know why I feel sorry for him sometimes. It can't be because I'm half responsible for him not having a solid home, since that's exactly what he has under our roof. Maybe it's because I can't give him 100% of me like his mom can. It's probably for the better, so that one day he can be certain that Daddy was not only present in his life, that he could also take care of a whole family. I need him to see that I can whole-heartedly love a woman in his stepmother, as well as he and his step siblings. After all, we can all be assholes.
