You’d think it’s obvious

Yesterday at 7:00 am, there was a knock at my door. Who was it? Daddy McTrouble, of course, living up to his moniker. There was no phone call, no text message, no unread facebook message, just him bursting into my home. He says he wants to help me get ready for school. Fine. He reads a few stories to Eden, stared at me awkwardly and slept on my couch.

Helpful.

You see, Trouble is incapable of actual helpfulness or really anything other than shooting zombies. I’ve tried to explain to him how his flakeyness hurts Eden, but he never listens. He doesn’t see her when he abruptly comes over and then abruptly leaves again, and she’s confused and upset. He doesn’t understand that, while most kids thrive on structure, Eden breathes it. She doesn’t take kindly to schedule changes or impromptu anything, let alone an impromptu father. I’ve told him 1,000,000,000,000 times that if he wants to be in her life, it needs to be consistent. Does he listen? No.

Maybe I should just look the door from now on. I mean, seriously, what do I have to say to get through to him? All in or all out, baby. Either be reliable, present and a co-parent or get away from us. It is not fair or reasonable for him to expect me to allow him to treat us this way. He wants to act like he’s such a great dad, but occasional lunch dates and a facebook photo album do not make someone a father.

What was her first word?
What is her preschool teacher’s name?
Which is her favorite toy? Her favorite story to read?
When is her bedtime?
If you can’t answer those, then you’re hardly a father. If you can’t respect Eden’s quirks and put yourself on her schedule, then you’re hardly even a friend.

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