As I set off to collect my son I noticed butterflies in my stomach. Was I nervous? No. Excited? Not really. I think it was upset about being separated from my son. I don't live with him and that hurts. BUT it doesn't hurt to a degree where I give itnanymore than a brief thought. But part of me subconsciously seems to struggle with it and something kicks in when I have to face it. I knew the feeling was not apprehension at having to talk to my ex as that is remarkably not a problem.
As soon as I picked him up it all went away. He is the sun at the centre of my galaxy. We played with toys for a few hours and then I read him stories in bed. He seemed restless and not ready for bed. So I made a story up verbally about a boy like him. This backfired as it just sparked his imagination and he was more awake. He gave me strong cuddles in a play not to go to bed. We went downstairs and I made it clear his play time with me was up. He asked to go to bed finally. It means the world to me that he is upstairs here now as I write. I see him on five days of the week and so it makes me feel so lucky that I am not a once a week dad.
He asked me who my dad was tonight. It took me by surprise. I wanted to say I didn't know but that sounded worse. So I just told him his name. He went to sleep. I think I am a good father. Even the split of my marriage was for him ultimately. I can't go into it, just trust me.
I hope he has none of my angst or anti social ways. Life before him and life before him are so incredibly different that it's like two different people. He fixed me, that's the truth of it.