I hate conflict, and yet, here I am, embroiled in the worst possible, Solomonesque contest. My winsome girl is being drawn in two directions and her protests come up at every transition.
Last evening she wailed, "But Z said I have 2 mommies."
"I know, sweetie," I replied.
She continued to wail this all the way home . . . and I have to think it is the one thing she knows that draws attention and that is really what she wants. I hope that is all she needs.
I'm left considering two almost equally unpalatable options. Do I cow to my horrid-ex's demands and let him have half-access to a child he loves but torments (and I have to question if that's love of any value) or do I try to rouse myself to launch into another long series of legal battles to possibly end up with a delay or marginally more time? What do I fight for and what is the consequence of the fight?
A wise once-date said, "When you seek revenge, dig two graves," but this isn't revenge . . . it's justice. When you seek justice in custody situations, you probably have to dig three graves, and that is the horror of being here right now.
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