A letter to "Ben"...

Today Avery is 2 years, 2 months, and 21 days old. She is 813 days old. You have seen her 4 out of those 813 days. You have been a part of less than 1% of her life.

She is a sassy, independent, smart girl. She has continually impressed the doctor with her developmental advancements as well as her growth. She is taller than over 97% of other kids her age. Something she can thank us both for. She can run and jump and loves to be outside. She has recently started to love playing with “Heidi” her sock monkey that she has slept with every night since she was a tiny babe. Heidi goes on all kinds of adventures and she’s frequently in time out, although Avery can never tell me why. She has a blankie. She sucks her thumb, usually her right because she’s left handed.

She adores coloring. The refrigerator at our house always has at least one of her recent drawings on it. She also loves to sing. She always sings in the car with me or to songs she has heard on tv. She’s funny. I usually have a very hard time scolding her when she’s being naughty because she always says something to make me laugh as soon as she hears my stern voice. Time outs have moved to her bedroom so she can’t see me laughing when she’s being silly or singing to herself.

Dora the Explorer is one of her favorite people. We have Dora to thank for my barely 2 year old being potty trained. Because Avery can’t peepee on her Dora panties. Dora will be sad. And big girls go potty in their Dora potty. I frequently find myself bewildered that I even have a 2 year old, let alone one that is potty trained.

I painted her fingers and toes a few weeks ago for the first time. A reward for multiple days in a row with no accidents in her big girl panties. I love being there for all the first times. There have been so many and there will continue to be many, many more.

Avery has an attitude much, much bigger than she is. I hear at least once a week how full my hands are. “No mommy, Avery no want to” is something heard frequently around here. “Avery can do it” is heard just as frequently. She will do as much for herself as she can. And when she can’t, “Mommy, help you”. Being told no is something she cannot stand. She will throw herself down on the ground and cry or throw an arm across her face. Avery is very dramatic. But, even more than being told no, Avery hates to be ignored. She will frequently try to get my attention when it is elsewhere to tell me something. She starts softly and grows louder until she has my attention. “Mom, mommy, moooommy, MOMMY, MOOOMMY, JENNI” (Which usually gets her in trouble.) “Avery what?!” “Oh…hi”.

This is just a small glimpse at all you have missed.

When I asked you back at Christmas to stop contacting us, you did. Without even a little bit of hesitation. But now you are calling me at all hours of the night…and day. I will keep ignoring you until you either go away or I get so exasperated I change my number. But, I will not answer the phone or respond to a single message. I told you at Christmas that I didn’t want you just coming and going as you please. If you want to be a parent, be a parent. There are no days off in this gig. But, you’ve lost your chance with my child. You ARE NOT her parent. It takes a lot more than 23 chromosomes to be a parent, which so far is all you have contributed. I sincerely hope you do better with your other children. I understand that you can’t keep your stories straight and all you know how to do is be untruthful. And I’m not mad about it, really I’m not. But I do choose to not let Avery grow up like that. She will grow up in a stable environment surrounded by people that love her and would do anything for her. I firmly believe that it is better to be raised in a household with one parent that is happy and supportive than it is with two that are constantly arguing. She deserves to grow up in an environment where she never has to worry about when dad leaves again. She will never again have to talk to your voicemail because you won’t answer the phone.

She knows what a dad is. She knows that her cousin Nathan has one, but Avery just knows him as Uncle Ben. She knows that her mom calls her Papa dad. She also knows who you are. If she sees a picture of you she recognizes you, but that is it. She doesn’t ask for you. She doesn’t talk about you. It is her normal to not have a dad. It is all she has grown up knowing. I know the day is coming when she will ask where you are and WHO you are. I hope when that time comes I can find the right words to tell her about you. Words that aren’t clouded by my own judgments and painful memories, but words that do speak the truth. I will not paint a sunny picture of you. I will not lie to her. I want her to grow up knowing that I am always going to be truthful to her, no matter what.

So, please, stop calling me in the middle of the night. Stop calling from restricted numbers. Stop texting and emailing me. Avery is fine. She will continue to be fine. But I’m not going to keep you updated on her life. You lost the right to know that information a long time ago. You cannot threaten me, I’m not scared of you. You have no control over me. I don’t feel anything for you, good or bad, except pity.

I pity you.