Dads have a choice to step up or out, include or not, and let know your life is radically changing before it radically doesn’t include the “first pancake kid.”

Having more pancakes much later doesn’t negate the first one you didn’t know what to do with so you chucked it. Acknowledging it, at least to yourself, feels like a good place to start.

A failed marriage doesn’t mean it’s up to a child to pursue relationship or plot activities that actually do happen. All the parental wins scored in terms of “remember this important date;” I gave those wins for free FOR (insert pancake’s name here) SUPPORT until new pancakes entered the stage.

I don’t want the prize won by that human who married someone I divorced. The chef never arrived for us minus the initial delivery.

That is why I left, to be crystal clear. I saw then what was proven later. I don’t care if I’ve been married twice before because I was an infant in a wedding gown at 21.

I became a mom at 22 and THAT is when I immediately woke up & walked into a greater vow than a marital vow. “I promise to protect you & to speak honestly with you so you always knew what words to say and that I was safe.” I made that vow the day I had the ultrasound that showed me my pancake was a girl.

Coming from a childhood sexual abuse history, that vow would always mean more to me. I’d like to say I never loved the batter I married that gave me a beautiful girl; but I did.

Cooking mistakes you can tolerate as a solo diner; you find yourself being more critical of when you’re paying the bill and others are counting on the meal to taste decently. Higher standards only came in when I had someone to be deeply accountable to; MY first, and now only, pancake.

One pancake will always break my kid’s heart because that is her half-sibling she can’t have a relationship with because of the chef’s and sous chef’s choice.

My daughter’s step dad saw me editing hurt onto a photo of a blanket I’d love to give her, but can’t because “Dad” can be a curse word.

“Dad” is short for “Daddy” which is short for “Trusted Parent who won’t quit.”

I can’t give her this blanket because I am not her dad. Who is her dad? Ask my husband and he will tell you that he loves his daughter wholeheartedly & past the age of 18.

He aches through student loans & next phase events; even when no court said he was under any obligation to do so.

“It’s child support payment time so finally I’m on __’s mind now,” became so sadly predictable.

“You must have received child support because I finally got a text asking me how I was doing.” Do you know how often that kid was right? Always.

Fathers aren’t removed from lives often. If they are; it’s like getting fired after repeatedly calling out or being a no-show — you usually know why & it often WAS on you.

Fathers, Moms, and trusted guardians should never stop pursuing the love of a kid that knows what “Daddy means.” Hurt isn’t different because hurt behaves autistic BECAUSE SHE IS AUTISTIC & unable to mask during hell.

It’s stifled and one person only can fix that. “There are no good men, but Timmy. Do you think he tapped out because he expected someone else to tap in?” I have heard many sentences of questions & theories.

Meanwhile, we pray for peace in a heart that may always feel unsettled. If she didn’t have a man who insists on checking her oil before she drives any long distance, her father would be me.

It’s been almost a year since my diagnosis & almost as long since I begged for more involvement from absolutely anyone, in case I died from breast cancer. I didn’t want my kid not to have family.

How is it possible to think disliking me can justify dishonoring her so badly? I expect dislike — I divorced. I left. I quit because of why I quit. Even now, I won’t blab other than my side. I TOTALLY LEFT and have been thanked for over a decade for doing so.

She was always on the table to snag & love & be a part of adoring together or separately. Not only were you invited; you literally only ever considered how YOU felt, Chef.

You played nice Uncle every other weekend until someone was finally old enough to feel slightly different or oppositional or — human. You returned her early for football games on TV.

If she got sick; she had to drive to Delaware because “I don’t know what to do so I’m taking her halfway home so you can take her to a doctor even though I have her insurance card in my wallet” was my experience with you as an EX.

I’m not jealous you now have a house full of kids I desperately wanted to have. I’m not jealous because I know who “the head of the household” is. Being there ensured I didn’t do that longer than necessary.

That failing; it broke her when she ran for support when I got my breast cancer diagnosis. Fixing crushing blows during life crises everyone is FULLY AWARE OF, isn’t always up to the kid.

I arranged with the sous chef to get all the pancakes together. It failed so clearly I must somehow be a slut with no hair and chemo still flooding through me.

Having backup kids doesn’t erase the OG. Not calling doesn’t mean you’re invisible; it means you chose absent over awkward.

If this isn’t true; call me something other than a “slut.” I most definitely left this person & was remarried a few weeks after we divorced. Names don’t work on me.

I’ve been called so much more creative names, Mrs. _. You’re not the sous chef I expected. No one expected you since you got introduced AFTER you shared the same last name as I once had and she still, unfortunately, does.

Texted insults count and were screen shotted for a later date as you sent that to me on my way to oncology. I was a bit preoccupied to let you know then what I know now.

My pancake drove 90 miles home crying because the other NEW pancake was knowingly instigating her upon first meeting — in spite of her meeting a house full of step-strangers & her feeling terrified of strangers.

The “chef” defended the other pancake saying he was an asshole “because he is autistic, too.”🤦‍♀️ Dad chef then shared what she thought was a safe reply to “How do you like _?” to THAT pancake’s maker.

That was the day when she first met all the pancakes, including her half pancake. She hasn’t seen him since and that is an ache the chef, not the batter. When the hell is the parent ever responsible?

She lost her chef and half-pancake & it got blamed on the batter’s fault. “The batter is too familiar.” “You look just like the pancake I used to love.” “You sound just like the pancake you love and I’m informing you that since I didn’t like that part of her; I do not like that part of you, either.”

The batter rises and falls like her mother so that was enough.

I am many things. Some are awful & man do I work on those. A slut of a pancake with cancer & care, though? That’s not a thing.

There are no sluts in parenting. There are, however, toxic humans not worthy of ever flipping my pancake. That choice is not up to me and my influence only ever encouraged her to call. Looks like I was actually helping the cause, Mr & Mrs _.

I do hope my daughter changes her last name to whatever she wants it to be. I’m pushing for “Princess Consuela Banana Hammock.”

Hey Chef, you outright bailed during cancer only you left my kid. She is the one who wanted to be closer to you. I literally didn’t say anything against you until long after adulthood. I kept my internal pact with myself. “I will keep her as close as possible even if I move on; even if I don’t love ___ anymore and don’t trust him with protecting my future.”

My quiet has only benefited lies other people said.

No more quiet.