I’m warning you in advance that the word “fuck” appears 12 13 times in this post. If you are offended by my cursing, I suggest taking a break from my blog for the next 4-8 years.
We drove home from my in laws’ house yesterday. It’s about a 2-3 hour drive and Charlotte was taking a much-needed nap, so we were both quiet. I was browsing Facebook on my phone and Catch was driving.
I don’t know how long I’d been engrossed in my phone, but when I looked over at Catch, I saw tears running down her face.
This is what my in laws do to us. Her, especially. It has been one of my biggest struggles since the election the day I walked into a restaurant to meet them for the first time and came face to face with my FIL’s confederate flag t-shirt.
But specific to the election—how does our little family accept that people who claim to love us and our daughter so much voted for a man who won’t stand up for us? How do we make peace with the fact that fetuses and guns are more important to them than their daughter and granddaughter? How?
I am completely at a loss.
We went to the beach on Saturday. My in laws have been dying to take Charlotte to the beach ever since she was born. They asked if we’d take a photo of them with Charlotte for their Christmas cards.
It took absolutely every ounce of strength I had to allow that photo to happen. I was so angry. So incredibly fucking seething mad. I wanted to rip Charlotte from their arms and throw the camera in the ocean.
No. You cannot claim our baby girl. Not if you refuse to do everything in your power to protect her. You cannot say you love her when you use your power against her best interests.
That is all I could think this weekend. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU.
Catch is hurt and confused. She loves her parents. She hoped they would do better. Me? There’s no love between me and my in laws. I’m just angry. So incredibly angry.
So what do we do? How do we move forward?
We have no idea. Absolutely no idea.
We could cut them off. Write them out of our lives completely. The devil on my shoulder pops the champagne when I say things like that, but I don’t actually believe that’s the answer.
I think the answer is complicated. To begin with, I think we need to reclaim the power in this relationship. I don’t want to hold our daughter over their heads like a pawn, but that’s really what it comes down to. You want Charlotte in your life? You need to be decent human beings.
We’re not asking for much. We’re asking for them to respect the future we’re trying to shape for our little girl.
On Friday night, we had Sesame Street on. A black bear came on the screen and my FIL said, “Oh look, it’s Obama.”
What. The. Fuck.
I mean for starters—huh? It’s a bear. A muppet bear. WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH PRESIDENT OBAMA? He meant it as an insult, but what’s insulting about that?
Bears = TOUGH
Bears = STRONG
Bears = DON’T FUCK WITH ME
So fuck yeah, OBAMA = BEAR
Really though, it’s goddamn Sesame Street. Can we just shut up and learn about the number of the fucking day? Can we just let Sesame Street be fucking Sesame Street?
That’s what I want going forward. I want a muppet to just be a damned muppet. Check your confederate flags at the door. Leave your gun at home. Shut up about your religion. JUST BE A FUCKING GRANDPARENT.
I can say that now! I’m a mom! DO IT OR ELSE!
Or else what?
OR ELSE WHATEVER THE FUCK WE DECIDE. KEEP PUSHING US AND YOU’LL FIND OUT.