The new face of a bad mother

This is the new face of a bad mother.
Take a very good, hard look at it.
It could you be you.
And maybe you don't even realize it.

Yesterday I was judged.
It's temporary, they said.
Three weeks, they said.
It's "nothing," they said.

What is three weeks to very young children?
What do you say to our very young children?
Who is caring for them?
No answer.
There was no order for him to be answerable to me.
And yet, we are not supposed to be stripped
Of our right to parent.

Let me tell you what a right to parent looks like.
It looks like 2-hours a week.
And oh, it must be supervised.
By strange people, in a strange place.
Strange to the very young children.
Strange even to me.

Oh! But I have a second choice!
Still two hours a week.
"At my house. I'll even supervise you!"

Because I do not trust you.
You failed to care for our children.
You emotionally abuse them.
You scare them with horrific, horrific monsters.
You lock them up in a time-out room.
There is a gun in your home!
Look at these pictures of bruises!
They're physically abused!
You neglected them!

Are these true?
What are the context?
Oh, never mind.
Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, 
Custody to him, not you.
Custody maybe next time.
Maybe.
Take a parenting class, learn how to be a parent.

A parent should have frequent, and ongoing contact with the children.
You can FaceTime, Messenger, whatever medium you call it.
And you can see them, supervised.
Because you are not trustworthy.
So, what do you say: Saturday, or Sunday for two hours?
Ok, so Saturday for two hours.
That's about the lunch hour, are you thinking of bringing lunch?
Yeah?
Ok, so Dad, you'll provide paper cups, and paper plates?
Ok, good.
Let me write that down.

Paper cups, and paper plates are provided.
I should be thankful.
You are fucking kidding me.
You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

And that's how it was decided.
Three weeks, they said.
Two hours of visitation for three weeks.
Forty-five minutes to talk to your children at night.
That constitutes your parenting right.

As for who you really are, well, maybe later.
As for who he really is, well, who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares about the truth?
Who cares that I tell them stories at night?
Who cares that I nurture their creativity?
Who cares that our wall art at home consists of kids' art on large canvases?
Who cares that I have to keep leading a Zoom meeting,
while my child on the toilet screams, "Mama I'm doonne!"
Who cares that I cannot bear to neglect that,
so I turn of my video and go on mute
while I proceed to clean my child?
Who cares that I'm surviving this covid pandemic
with kids at home, a full-time job,
and a household to run?
Who cares that at the end of the night, we have lots of hugs and kisses?
Who cares that I tell them not to be scared of the dark,
and that the dark is good because it helps their bodies rest?
Who cares about monsters?
Who cares that I demystify the monsters?
Who cares that I tell them they're just creatures in the night?
Who cares that I teach them how to pray?
Who cares that my daughter and I hold hands 
when we walk to her piano class?
Who cares that I live to carry my 4-year old son
and envelop him as if he were still an infant?
Who cares that I forego sleep to make their birthdays memorable?

Who cares about the past?
Who cares about how we got here?
Who cares about why we're no longer together?

What happens to the children?
Will they be alright?
​
Who cares that I'm crazy about my children?
Who cares that I love these children so much I would die for them?

In the meantime, you will decide what's best for them.
And that involves very little of me.
Because it was decided.
I am not fit to be a parent.

Who cares about the children?
Who cares about the best interest of the children?
Ah, the paper plates and paper cups!
Don't you worry about those, they will be provided for you!

So who really cares about the children?
No answer.
No answer required.

We have beautiful, wonderful kids
And, you're welcome.