The gestation of a human baby is measured at 40 weeks. 2 of those weeks actually happen BEFORE conception. It’s supposed to be the first day of the last menstrual cycle. That’s right. If she says “I’m about 12 weeks”, that means the baby was conceived 10 weeks prior. If you count 12 weeks back, you’ll find it was right around the beginning of her period. Strangely, a woman is only supposed to get pregnant maybe 2 or 3 days out of a month…those 2 weeks before/after a period (because a cycle is 28 days…get it?).
We don’t make this shit up, man, it is what it is.
Now, that rule isn’t hard and fast. There are exceptions, but be aware, those exceptions are few. That’s why they’re “exceptions”.
When I tell you that the first day of my last menstrual cycle was March 6 (first day of my show and I had to start, like I didn’t have enough on my mind that day!), that means that I probably got pregnant somewhere between March 19th and 21nd. Again, not hard and fast, but a ballpark. I know exactly where I was on those days…and so do you. Because I was in your bed the 5 days prior, and until I got up to drive the 9 hours back home on the 22nd. And I talked to you most of the way. And called you when I got home. And talked to you most of the night. And we repeated that process day after day. Just like we did before I came out to see you. So the chances of me being in someone else’s bed are non-existent.
So you see, you telling me my “math is wrong, sweetie” is just another reminder of how much you twisted us in your head to make me out to be the villian.
.I loved you. I loved your psychopathic (remember when we wikied that one together and agreed it fit you so well?), misogynst (remember when we talked about your deep seated hatred for women?) ass? You were a nut. And I loved you.
But then shit got real. We found out it was a girl, and you got even meaner. Telling me the things you would teach her. How she wasn’t any more important than any man. How she needed to know her place in a man’s world. Just like you felt I needed to learn. She needed to accept your “shut up and let me talk you fucking bitch” anger just like I was supposed to. She needed to accept your name calling, hate filled rants because “a chick should know her place”. Your own child? Really?
I don’t think so. I believe that sometimes a child is better off with only one parent if the other parent is destructive. Full of hate. Sick. She would not be safe with you.
And I got sick of your crazy. I couldn’t take the anxiety of dealing with you (and everything ELSE I had going on). It was causing heart problems. It put me into labor early. I was 2 cm at the beginning of october. She would have been 2 months early! Of course, I couldn’t tell you any of that. You can do no wrong. It must be my problem. You were too worried about your blog. Not that you really listened anyway. You didn’t want to hear about the pregnancy. Isn’t that what you said? “Just tell me when we’ve got a baby. I don’t need the swelling ankles stuff. It’s not like I can do anything.” Wow. Just…wow. My favorite? “Pregnant women just aren’t sexy. Whoever says they are lied. I think it’s gross and I don’t want to see it, so don’t push it on me.” So I hid my belly so you wouldn’t be…revulsed. Bastard.
So yeah, I “broke up with you”.
I bit my tongue. Let you spread your “she won’t let me be a part of baby’s life” lie. And when it started to weaken (because people asked me why I wouldn’t let you near the baby, and I calmly explained that I was fine with it, where in the world did that come from?!), you started the “she won’t take the paternity test so it must not be mine. She realized I wouldn’t let her pawn off some other man’s kid on me.” By then I was gone. And my side was moot.
By the by…I don’t need a paternity test. I understand in the universe where you come from, baby mamas and baby daddies are a penny a dozen. Paternity tests are probably sold in grocery stores because they’re needed so prevalently. In my universe, we don’t need all that. Because someone’s word is good enough. Because I’m not in every bed I get near. I know where my vagina was that weekend. The “my family will want it” story was good. I almost agreed then. But when it was plain because you didn’t trust me, that sealed it. I don’t prove myself to anyone. I don’t have to.
She was born. 6 lbs and change. With MY last name. At about 38 weeks. Interestingly enough, her size would indicate that the math was indeed accurate. Strange, huh? She was strong and beautiful and never once looked for you.
So now you tell it like you were wronged. Some sort of tragic, “I loved her and her kid and would have raised that girl as my own, if she had only told the truth.”
Here is the truth:
You were dumped. You cried on my phone the night after I let you tirade at me for the last time. You called me out of my name. You embarrassed yourself. Your family. Your all-important manhood. You sniffled, you begged. You were weak. And I didn’t budge. For the sake of my daughter.
I left you because you are mean.
I left you because you are abusive.
I left you because you would have been a piss poor father.
I left you because you are a piss poor human being.
And I don’t regret it for a second.
Do I feel bad about her growing up without a father? When I consider who her father is, I’m GRATEFUL she will grow up without you. I will let her meet you one day. When she is strong enough to face your anger. Your hate. Your bullying. And be able to stand up to you. Not let your words hurt her. Since you say that’s what you do. You hurt people before they can hurt you. Well, now you reap what you sow. You WILL NOT HURT MY DAUGHTER. And I will do what it takes to keep you from doing it. And that means removing you from the equation.
Tell THAT truth to your Man Law.