KD Robichaux- Wish he was you (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 2)

by Unknown

“I have had it with you. I am done! I was willing to live unhappily in order for Josalyn to grow up with both parents, but after what you did today, it would be better for her to have a broken home than a father who would let that happen to her. It’s your job to keep her safe, to take care of her and keep her from getting hurt. You did none of that today. None of it! I couldn’t even run some errands for a few hours without you melting the skin off my baby!” I scream the last few words, and his eyes grow wide.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, and it only stokes the inferno inside me.

  “Not only did you leave our five-month-old in a goddamn high chair for almost four hours, but you let her sit in her shit for that long, and it burned all her skin. She basically sat in acid for God only knows how long, while you were nowhere in sight! Why the fuck didn’t you get her out of there when she was crying. And don’t tell me she wasn’t crying, because I could see the dried tears on her face!”

  “Yeah, she was crying, so I did what you said and gave her the bottle. I had to get ready for work, so while she was quiet, I hopped in the shower,” he says defensively.

  “So let me get this straight. You left her by herself in the high chair on the opposite side of the house, drinking her bottle, while you got into the shower, where you wouldn’t be able to see or hear it if she got choked? Even better! Do you have no fucking common sense? She’s five months old! I never leave her in her high chair longer than about twenty minutes. She barely just learned to hold herself up, and you left her there for four goddamn hours!” I rage.

  “She was strapped in. It’s not like she could fall out,” he tells me.

  “Let me guess. You played your fucking video games the whole time I was gone, while she just sat there. You couldn’t put down the fucking game long enough to play with her a little? To let her out and at least play on the floor in front of you? You didn’t think to check her diaper in four fucking hours? You can’t tell me you didn’t smell it!”

  “It was just about time for you to get home, and I needed to get ready for work, so I figured you could just change her when you came in,” he confesses, having the decency to look a little sheepish.

  “Please, tell me just how long ‘just about time for me to get home’ means? Because she had to have been like that for a while for it to burn her that badly,” I challenge.

  He rubs the back of his neck and tries to flub his answer. “Oh, I don’t know for sure. I was playing my game, and you know my time gets all messed up when I play. It couldn’t have been more than like, thirty minutes.”

  “One, there’s no way that amount of damage to her skin could have happened in just thirty minutes. And two, even if it was only half an hour, what kind of father lets their baby sit in their shit for that long?” I shake my head and look him dead in the eye. “I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore.”

  “What do you mean? What are you saying?” he asks quietly.

  “I’m saying I want a divorce.”

  Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog

  October 1, 2007

  First, I want to thank everyone for their comments of support after I vented the other day about what my soon-to-be ex-husband did to my daughter. Before I read the comments, I worried people would think I was overreacting to a dirty diaper, but y’all made me feel so much better, and like my mommy instincts were right.

  I’d like to mention some of these comments, in case some of you didn’t catch them before the thread got so long.

  Rosie: “Oh, you’ve got me a blubbering mess. He is awful. I hate him!”

  Thank you, Rosie. If I wasn’t so royally pissed off, I would have been blubbering harder for my baby girl as well.

  Carrie: “You should’ve punched him hard in the junk after delivering the divorce line…what a complete asshole. Wow!”

  Lord, did I want to! It’s like one of those things where you think of a really good comeback way after a fight. Totally should have accented that blow with a kick to the balls!

  Kali: OMG! Hate is a very strong word. I always tell my kids, “You don’t hate anybody; you can strongly dislike them, but you don’t hate them.” Screw that. If anyone deserves a ‘hate,’ it’s him. How can you do that? Poor little baby.

  Kali, I thought I’d felt that emotion before, but after that happened, I now know what true hate feels like. You sound like a great mommy!

  Stacia: OMG, what a douche! I can’t even…poor Josalyn! I’m with Carrie. Please tell us you did junk punch him at some point…?

  The most violent thing my little body has ever done is throw a remote control as hard as I could at his big-ass head. Unfortunately, my non-athleticism showed and I missed. We’ll see how the divorce goes though. I’ll keep you updated. wink

  Rhonda: You had every right to get that mad over what he did! Anyone who doesn’t think it’s justified obviously don’t have kids and have never dealt with any kind of severe diaper rash. I felt awful when my boys would have a tummy bug and their diapers would be just liquid! They would get all red and raw, and that would be from sitting in it for just minutes—until they fussed, I heard it, or smelled it. To know she sat in a dirty diaper for over an hour would be so painful for her little body. Side note: I need to know if this motherfucker ever got junk punched, bitch slapped, or at least an atomic wedgie. Have you told Anni? I’m sure she’d have no problem doing it!

  Rhonda, thank you so much for your comment. You have no idea how much better your experience with your kids makes me feel. It was absolutely heartbreaking seeing her skin like that. And she’s such a sweet-natured baby; it broke my heart even more that this would happen to her. Atomic wedgie? OMG, I just died! No, I haven’t told Anni. I don’t want my bestie to end up in jail.

  Melody: What an asshole! Actually, that is a nice name for him! How could anyone be so selfish to leave their 5-month-old baby strapped in a high chair? And to leave her sitting in her waste on top of that, because he’s too lazy and too obsessed with video games? UGH! Kayla, I’m surprised you didn’t punch him the hell out.

  I’m starting to notice a running theme here. My blog followers are a bunch of violent mama bears, and I freaking LOVE it! Note to self: when all else fails, punch a motherfucker!

  Morgan: I’m so glad I kicked my sperm donor to the curb while I was still pregnant. I just know that would have been something he did. Poor baby girl.

  Morgan, good for you! I wish I would’ve had the sense sooner. That’s what I get for being an idiot and marrying a guy after only knowing him a few months.

  Kolleen: Poor sweet baby Josalyn sad face.

  Jennifer: I only have dogs, but I’d still kick a motherfucker’s ass.

  Thank you, Kolleen and Jennifer! And it’s especially nice to hear from a mom of only furbabies that I didn’t overreact.

  Vanessa: I would have kicked his ass. MUTHAFUKA leaving that poor baby like that… It made me so mad when I read what happened to your princess in your post. I’m glad you’re divorcing that prick. Sorry for being so NY Puerto Rican ghetto. But I hate when shit like that happens to innocent children who have no way of speaking up. Kids always come first.

  Vanessa, first, no apologies needed. If I’m ever in a fight, I’m calling you! Second, I have a blog follower all the way up in NY? How cool is that?! Thank you for your comment.

  So, I decided since we just moved into this house and it has a six-month lease, we’re both going to stay, but only because we have separate rooms. I rarely see him anyway, thanks to his work schedule, and then he hides out playing his video games and poker tournaments when he’s off. I just know better than to leave Josalyn alone with him now. It’ll be a roommate situation, but this time without the benefits, if you could even call them that in the first place. snort

  Enough about that. Want to hear a funny story?

  The other day, Mom and I wanted to go see a movie at the dollar theatre, so we left Josalyn with Granny. We had about thirty minutes to kill, so we decided to peruse the sex shop across the street fr
om the theatre. Some of you might think that’s weird, to go to the sex shop with your mom, but if you knew her, you’d know I get my craziness from her. I snuck off with her romance novels when I was little, remember?

  Anyway, we get in there, and are walking around the perimeter, where all the stripper outfits are, and then we get to the men’s section. There were these black, pin-stripe, spandex booty shorts that felt really slick, and running her hand over it, my mom said, “Ohhhh, I bet these would feel good on a man’s ass!” Being who I am, my immediate response was to glance around the store, and that’s when I spotted what I was looking for—a group of unsuspecting soldiers in the porn section.

  I grabbed the undies off the hook and started making my way over to them, my mom whisper-hissing, “KD, don’t you dare!” as I skipped ahead. I walked up to the five relatively good-looking guys and asked their group, “Hey, boys. My mom over there”—I pointed at her and waved, at which point she turned red all the way up through her blonde scalp—“would like to know what this would feel like on a man’s ass. Any one of you willing to try them on for her?”

  They all looked at each other, smiling and chuckling, until one snatched it out of my hand, saying, “Shit, why not?” His buddies laughed harder and patted him on the back, and then he made his way to the dressing room. I followed him over, while my mom tried her best to hide behind the boas and nipple pasties.

  After a few minutes, I heard the soldier call out, “Okay! I have them on. They’re a little…tight!”

  “Even better!” I yelled to him, and he opened the curtain.

  My head tilted at the sight of his ripped, tattooed body, his junk barely contained within the tiny piece of stretchy fabric. “Very nice,” is all I managed to get out before I hollered across the store, “Mom, get your ass over here! He put them on for you!”

  Bright red and giggling like a schoolgirl, my adorably embarrassed mom scurried over to where I stood with the brave man.

  “Okay, will you model them for her?” I prompted.

  The dude turned around and literally shook his booty in my mom’s direction, making us and all of his friends, who had now gathered around for the show, laugh hysterically. Then, the most epic thing happened.

  My sweet, tiny, blonde, innocent looking, sixty-year-old mother asked him, “Can I feel them?”

  My jaw almost hit the floor, and at the same time, the soldier nodded, jutted his hip out, sticking out a cheek for her to rub. I watched in pure astonished pride as my mom groped the very well-developed hiney of the shameless soldier.

  God Bless Our Troops.

  October 20, 2007

  I’m just going to start calling Jenna my personal employment service. Wanting to distance myself as much as I possibly can, and also wanting to be able to stand on my own two feet, I decided I need to get a job. Yes, I’d be super busy trying to keep up with both work and school while raising a baby by myself, but at least I knew I had my mom and granny when I truly needed them.

  Jenna had quit her job at GNC a long time ago, and was now the office manager of a family-owned heating and air conditioning company. When she saw I had asked on MySpace if any of my friends knew of any office jobs available, she immediately messaged me saying she was looking for an appointment dispatcher. The only setback I could see was that it’s a full-time job. I’d work from seven to five every day, which was a lot more than I planned on working when I have a baby to raise and school.

  I talked to my mom about it, and she said she was more than willing to watch Josalyn while I was at work. Jenna is the one who hired me, so the only ‘interview’ I had was just a meeting with the owner’s son to fill out all the employment paperwork. There was a lot of downtime with this job, so I’d be able to do schoolwork while I was there.

  I feel like a brand new person, waking up early, taking my daughter to my mom’s house, stopping for coffee on my way to my full-time job, in which I get to sit across a desk from my good friend all day. While she handles all the billing and accounts, I set and keep track of all heating and a/c appointments. I communicate with our technicians on a walkie-talkie, giving them the address to their next repair or maintenance appointment. So between dispatching, I have about an hour to get school assignments done before I have to call them with their next address.

  It’s also the most money I’ve ever made in my life. I make ten dollars an hour! And all of it is getting socked away in my new personal bank account. As soon as my divorce is final, I know I won’t have any problem making it on my own. Who needs a fucking man?

  Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog

  November 13, 2007

  That fucking motherfucker. That fucking shitheaded fuckstick. I can’t even come up with a name hateful enough to describe the asshole also known as my soon-to-be ex-husband.

  HE. ORDERED. A. PATERNITY. TEST.

  Yeah. You read that correctly. That fucking dicklicker had the audacity to send me a court-ordered paternity test for our daughter, who, mind you, came out of me looking EXACTLY like his dumb ass. My poor girl. Please, dear Lord, let her grow out of that. That baby looks like you sawed off his stupid face and sewed it on her, Face/Off style, and he has the gall to send me a paternity test?

  He tried to claim his lawyer told him he had to, but it’s funny how it all came about when we were discussing child support. Everything else is completely amicable. No fighting over anything. I’ll take Josalyn and our shit, and he can keep the rest. I don’t want anything else from him. But when I showed him the amount the online calculator came up with for the child support he’d owe me monthly, he went quiet. A few days later, I get a letter stating I have to have a paternity test before child support will be confirmed.

  So yesterday, I took my sweet, precious little baby girl up to the lab, meeting Aiden there, since I got off from work early for the appointment. When the technician took one look at Josalyn, and then over at Aiden, he scoffed, saying, “Why would you spend hundreds of dollars on this test when you can just glance at that baby and see she’s definitely yours?” He was an older gentleman, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness.

  “You win the award for my favorite person of the day,” I told the man cheerfully, and then glared over at Aiden, who looked embarrassed. Good. I hoped he felt like the complete ass he was being. Just the implication that Josalyn could be someone else’s, not just because she looks so much like Aiden, but the simple fact that while he and I were trying to get pregnant, he had me locked up in our apartment like fucking Rapunzel, pissed me the hell off. I’m glad I had someone else, especially a total stranger, on my side.

  In the end, he swabbed her cheek, and then Aiden’s, and told us the results would be in in a couple of weeks. I left with Josalyn without saying anything to Aiden, while he sat writing a hefty check to the lab. If he wanted to spend all that money on a pointless test as opposed to his stupid video games, he could go right ahead. It wouldn’t affect me anymore in the slightest.

  I never thought you’d pick up the phone

  It’s Friday night you should be out on the town

  Didn’t think you’d be sitting at home all alone like me

  November 22, 2007

  Today is Thanksgiving, and all I want to do after spending the entire day with my family, having a blast watching the Cowboys game with my big brother after stuffing ourselves with Mom and Granny’s cooking, is lie down and take a nap.

  Josalyn fell asleep on my chest while I watched Girls Next Door on the TV in the living room of the house I still share with Aiden. We’ve perfected the art of never seeing each other. In fact, I won’t see him for the rest of the week, because he went to spend the holiday with his family. My house is blissfully quiet, except for the infectious laughs of Holly, Bridget, and Kendra on my screen.

  I’ve been off from work all week. The family who owns the company closed it down so they could go out of state for Thanksgiving. I’ve enjoyed the time off, focusing all my attention on my baby girl and my family.


  But without the hustle and bustle of my normal daily routine keeping me busy every second of the day, as I lay back down on my couch after putting Josalyn in her crib, an old, familiar feeling fills me. Loneliness.

  Not a day goes by I don’t think about Jason, but it’s always in passing. I haven’t let myself dwell on him for a very long time. It’s been almost a year since I spoke to him. God only knows where life has led him these past eleven months. I doubt he even thinks about me anymore.

  With a heavy sigh, I stand and make my way over to my fridge, opening it to find my bottle of wine. After I pour myself a glass, I plop back down and try to focus on one of my favorite shows. Hugh Hefner’s three girlfriends never fail to brighten my day with their crazy antics. I’ve never been able to decide who my favorite is, either Holly or Bridget. Holly is so beautiful and classy, and Bridget is so full of life, and I love how festive she always is.

  I huff into my glass, the lonely feeling growing inside me. I make loud kissing sounds to the ceiling, and on cue, I hear Riley’s nails tap along the floor until he reaches the couch and stands up on his hind legs. He’s too tiny to jump up on the couch himself, so I reach down and cuddle him to me. If he’s not attached to me, he’s curled up in the blankets on my bed, where I have steps leading up to the mattress for him.

  Suddenly, my cell phone sitting on the coffee table in front of me catches my eye. God, how I long to call him, even if it’s just to tell him happy Thanksgiving. But wouldn’t that be weird, to not talk to someone after a year just to wish them happy holidays? How sad would that look?

  I pick it up off the glass top and flip it open, fingering the silver buttons. I could text him. His parents took text messaging off his phone because he’d blown up the phone bill to a catastrophic amount. I’d be able to contact him in my own way, without him actually getting the text. Maybe it’d give me a sense of peace to pretend like I was talking to him, when really he wouldn’t know.