My ex is that person I used to be, the Amanda who existed before attending college, signing for home loans, birthing two kids... Like many exes, that ex is someone I both love and hate. She was imperfect, thinner, immature, and she had much less responsibility. God I miss her sometimes. Especially when I'm awakened by my two-year-old, screeching from the bathroom, "Mommy, wipe my butt!"

Yeah, he makes me yearn for my ex-self. BIG time. That person got to sleep in and didn't have to make anyone breakfast or wipe anyone else's butt. She only had to think of herself. She could also look in the mirror and make only a short list of complaints. Now, after many years and two baby deliveries, the list has quadrupled. How depressing.

My ex had confidence, flair, and the cocky attitude of a rock star. She knew she was worthy. I'm always finding myself wishing for that person to visit me again, even briefly.

But she also cared so much more about herself than she did others. She was often thoughtless and stupid; she acted first and thought later. She could be unapologetically brash and bold and bossy and one-sided. I hated all those things about her. That's probably why I slowly left her behind and moved away toward a new me.

Like many separated parents do, I see my 'ex' in my daughter now. She can be stubborn but sweet; immature but well-intentioned. Also like other parents, I hope my daughter embodies all the good that my ex possessed--and none of the bad. Only time will tell.

My ex is almost gone now. I get a glimpse of her occasionally, when PMS sets in and I act irrationally, or when I'm looking less fat and therefore feeling more confident. Sometimes--very rarely--I get to relish in her lack of responsibility, like when some saint offers to babysit my children for the night. That's when I get to be my former self, when I become an ex. And I realize: being the ex isn't always such a bad thing.

That did not last long, before he started to put me down. He would have nothing to do with my family or my friends. He had no tolerance for weaknesses of any kind.

I soon learned that the only friends, and I use that term lightly, were those whom he could get something out of. That applied to his significant other as well. As I found out when he talked about quitting his job.

I went screaming from that relationship, right into the arms of my soul mate.

I got pregnant. “Let’s name her Annabelle,” he insisted.
“That makes me think of a cow,” I replied.

He broke the news to my mom first, “We’re having a baby he said.”

“What are your plans?” my mom politely asked.

“I will support your daughter no matter what her decision,” he answered.

DAMN LIAR!

We got into a fight. I ended the relationship before I was even three months pregnant. Everyone thought I was nuts, “Why’d you break up with him?” they asked.

“I have my reasons.”

It turns out my instinct was right. He was still married, and the child he claimed was his nephew- was in fact his son. (Two facts he conveniently omitted / altered.)

The pregnancy flew by and not a word from him.

I visited his mother when my daughter was a year old. “He’s very family oriented,” she insisted. “I really wanted you guys to stay together.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He’s interviewing for a job in New York.”

“Doesn’t he want to see his daughter?”
No response. Instead, she said, “Tell me if you need anything.”

Summer turned into fall. I thought it would be nice to visit his mother again, so she could see the baby. I got to the house, and EVERYONE was there – his grandparents, stepfather, and the neighbor (I have no idea what she was doing there.)

Conversation was started. His mother decided it was time for a little truth telling, “He’s married. That’s not his nephew; that’s his son.”

WHAT THE HELL DID I GET MYSELF INTO?

Four months later and I tracked his wife down to Florida. I called her to tell her who I was. “HE GOT ANOTHER GIRL PREGNANT? I can’t believe he had me give up my son,” she sobbed. “Did you know that there’s another girl down here who will give birth next month?” she asked.

So now, my daughter is almost a year old and has never seen or received a dime from her lying, useless father. He is denying we ever had a relationship. His mother, crazy as she is, insists that the pregnancies aren’t his fault. I guess it was the immaculate conception twice over.

A year and half later, his wife is STILL with him (only God knows why), my daughter now has a month old little half-sister from another woman, and I’ve yet to see the child support he said he’d provide. It seems like a Jerry Springer episode, but it’s actually my life.

The sum total: I have a beautiful little girl, and no one can take that away from me.

I’ve finally stopped crying every day for a month straight. I used to wake up in the middle of the night while he slept like a baby. I knew something was wrong, but sadly I let his charm win for quite some time. I let my libido suffer since he preferred to sleep beside me instead of sleep with me. I catered to his mood swings and was far too understanding. I had become what I hated.

Now the hard part: getting over him. Days go by. Nights are the hardest. I can’t listen to music since the sound allows my thoughts to wander to him no matter what the subject. The usual.

I’m still what I hate.

I want to be with him. I crave making contact, but fight it. One day I open my CD player and there it is, my opportunity. He has left one his CDs at my place. I quickly email him while my level headed roommate who is also my closest confidant isn’t home since I know she will disapprove. I claim I wouldn’t want it to break in the mail, but she assures me that it won’t when she gets home. CDs are mailed all the time. I begrudgingly oblige. A few days later contact is made.

Can I call you?

I am not ready, but I say yes since my heart is still leading. He calls and makes small talk. He asks me to go hat shopping. This request should sound idiotic to me, but I debate saying yes. My friend looks on and I reluctantly say no. He then proceeds in being himself and the light bulb finally turns on.

This is the end of us and it’s for the better. Head is winning and I am starting to like myself again.

And so one day, he calls me. He's panicked and I'm irritable and he doesn't even bother or remember to ask how I'm doing. Not that this would bother me much but at that moment, I was crying--lost. Realization is cruel and I had hoped that if I answered his call just this time I'd get comfort. But who am I kidding? A good lover, but a bad listener, except when it pertained to him or his well-being, he finishes whatever he was saying and I swear I heard all he said, offered support, although tearful, but I can't remember the details anymore. He asks why I'm crying and I say it's been a bad day. He pauses to only proclaim "And when were you going to tell me? to which I blurt out, "When you were done talking?"

He obviously heard a tone that he didn't approve of, but I tried to reassure him that it was not a "tone" but merely the answer to his question. Half-heartedly, I think he did it to just save face, he said "Well what's so bad about today?" And I start to answer, first with a sigh and the words come out slowly because I am truly over-whelmed and beaten down by my present situation, him included, but not primarily. I don't even remember what I did have a chance to say, because he cut me off, no surprise here, to only say "Shit outta luck Jan. Nothing good or right ever happens to you..."

I take a moment, a split moment to summon the courage to end this slow-death of a relationship all the while maintaining whatever ounce of composure I may have and to which I reply "Who am I kidding?"

Then I said "I'll let you go, bye." I know he thought I just meant that phone call. I should have taken a moment more to clarify... What I really meant to say was "I've let you go now. Good-Bye."