Why is it that, there a man in this world can move into their lives wherein there’s a kid out there longing for their love.
With my experience, one of the most painful is that when the father of my baby denies that he is the one. I am so angry at that time wherein I want to kill that damn man most especially when I found out that the reason why he is leaving me is one of my friends, how painful right.

But now, I have move in that dilema, my little baby girl and I are so happy with my family. There’s a saying goes, “There’s always a rainbow after the rain”.

I can totally relate to Mia except, fortunately, it wasn't with Ty's genetic donor, even though it was with the guy that was there during most of my pregnancy, as well as in the OR during my cesarean. Thankfully, Ty was only a year old and was too young to know what was going on.

And this guy never had the nerve to actually admit his behaviors. Even after pictures showed up on his (other) girlfriend's MySpace site. He still, to this day, denies it, which made it difficult, the not knowing.

Anyway, my heart goes out to Mia, but we both know that the hard times always work out and pave the way for great and wonderful times. This pain she's feeling right now is actually quite the blessing in disguise. My thoughts and prayers are for her and her little girl.

I found Mia's comments about the slightly nightmarish quality of her ex's previously innocuous objects (computer chair, old sock etc), having perhaps the spooky quality of an abandoned fairground, strangely but inversely resonant with my own experience of after my ex left years ago. A different kind of spooky. To unpack "inversely": Without me really noticing, she had already moved out a lot of little things that I had become accustomed to in the environment. Things that were hers but that had that quality of being shared about them, of being ours. Such was the efficiency (and slyness?) of her move. Sea horse ornaments. A particular nondescript cooking implement. An ashtray. I'd only notice these were gone when I'd go to use them, or something near where they had been. Each new discovery was another loss, a piece of us vaporized. I'd stare immobile at the spot where it had been for a while, sometimes a long while. These things had trickled down the drain of our lives and now were floating out to her vast open sea somewhere, I was stuck back on that islet of memory. Me and those absences that felt like she had stolen them, even if she hadn't.