A Broken Home

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When Zineah starts screaming into her calculator phone,that word I seem to loathe when associated with him.

“Daddy!!! Daddy!!! Daddy!!! Daddy!!! Daddy!!! Daddy!!!”

When I kneel down beside her and we start a dialogue on that word.
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Athena: What did you just say?
Zineah: *whispers* Daddy
Athena: I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you
Zineah: *more proudly now* Daddy
Athena: Ok. Where is he?
Zineah: I don’t know. He isn’t here
Athena: Ok
Zineah: Talk to him Mommy
Athena: What?
Zineah: Say hello
Athena: *with the calculator phone in hand* Hello Daddy
Zineah: *laughs* He’s not there
I stare blankly in Zineah’s direction
Zineah: *staring at me intently* I don’t have a Daddy. Only a Mommy
I then realise that this is not posed as a statement or question but more of a reassurance,to herself, that she does, in fact not have a Daddy and only a Mommy

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Now, I know that she knows the “D” word because alot of kids at creche use it and most of them have Daddy’s. I don’t mind her using it but I find it hard to explain and heartbreaking to fathom when she looks at me and very innocently asks, “Mommy, where’s my daddy?” What the holy hell am I suppose to say. I dodge. Yes she might understand but I don’t know how to word to a 3 year old that the man who so adamantly wanted her less than 5 years ago,now has chosen to no longer be present. No longer caring. I am a bitch but I am not the kind of bitch to keep a father away from his child.

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She acts out. Not all the time. But when she does it’s bad. Throwing things. Biting. I try not to hit but sometimes she just needs a quick hit. On the leg. Just one lekker big klap. I do it. Just once. I try talking to her. Letting her know that her behaviour is inappropriate and she needs to listen etc. It works. Mostly. Sometimes not so much. Most ot the time I put it down to her knowing. Just knowing. Just knowing that something is missing. Someone is missing.

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I don’t want her to feel less than so I tend to overcompensate. Money. Time. Sweets Things. I try to be her everything. All the time. I know that’s bad. I know I shouldn’t. But I don’t want her to feel like this is her fault and in time, I’ll explain that to her. That this,all of this, is none of her fault.

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