God Bless the Child
- 4 years ago
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Problem Child free porn video
More than any one other thing, I blame my husband Donald.
We got married at 18. I was pregnant with our first by 19. We were young, but we had each other and had known each other since middle school. Donald was reasonably smart and more importantly he was steady. He studied early and late, he got straight A's, and he went for a financial career after high school and graduated a year early. Our parents supported us until he graduated, and Donald went to work for the local grocery mega-chain. It was a reasonable plan, and fortune favored us. It worked. We were light years ahead of all our friends - stable, young, attractive, by all accounts the perfect couple.
While Donald took care of building the foundation of our future, I stayed home and took care of things on my end. I worked a little at entry level jobs until I was late term, then stayed home. My pregnancy didn't have any complications, and afterwards my body benefited fully from the resilience and metabolism of youth, bouncing back from the rigors of childbearing remarkably well.
Shortly after our child started taking their first steps the problems started. At least, I considered them problems. Donald didn't. Tantrums, crying fits, holding breath. I knew better than to give in. Any parent with a lick of common sense knows that. Donald didn't. He berated me, called me cruel, said I was hurting our child's development. He subtly, and on some late tear-filled nights not-so-subtly, indicated that I was an unfit mother.
Whatever the latest tantrum was, as soon as daddy came home a little finger would accuse me of this transgression or that, and two pairs of eyes would glower at me - my child's and my husband's with practically the same infuriating expression. Just like that, Daddy would take care of it, and whatever the struggle was would be over - with me being the loser.
That might have been okay. Difficult, but okay. More than one child has been mismanaged in their early years and grown to be a fine adult. Many children don't really need a lot of discipline, especially with a stable home like ours they figure all the social stuff they need to know on their own - through interactions on the playground and at school. Maybe a little slower without, what I consider, proper parenting - but they figure it out.
It was clear to me that my child was not so lucky. It was also clear to their school. And when Donald insisted it was the school's fault and pulled them out, the same issues were clear to the next school. Defiance, tantrums, peer conflicts... I don't know where they learned some of the things they said in kindergarten up, but it was disturbing. It made me frightened for the future.
Donald wasn't frightened. He blamed the other kids. He blamed the school. He blamed me. When he came home all the problems other people talked about and told him about disappeared - because all the punishments went away, whatever was desired was given. Instead of sticking to a punishment, we all went out for ice cream, or bought a new toy or electronic, rewarding whatever behavior was causing trouble. Every. Single. Time.
Bad behavior was rewarded. Good behavior... well we didn't see a ton of that, but what little there was wasn't rewarded nearly so nicely. Maybe that was in part my fault, but I was exhausted, constantly waiting for the next ball to drop, constantly nervous.
The school talked about getting our child into some kind of behavioral special education program. I was all for it - maybe there they could get some real consequences or... something. Something that they weren't getting at home, where I was ganged up on. Donald wouldn't hear a word of it.
I tried physical discipline, before Donald could get home and ruin everything. He threatened to call child services. On me. His wife.
Our marriage, needless to say, suffered. But still Donald pretended everything was okay. He came home, gave me a kiss, and expected dinner and normalcy.
I had planned to get a little job, something to get me out of the house, maybe work at a local florist as a cashier for 10 or 20 hours a week. The phone calls home, the suspensions, and the 'sick days' when my child outright refused to go to school ensured that I couldn't work any job that expected regular attendance, no matter how minor it was. So I stayed home, I exercised often, and I took phone calls and apologized for my child's behavior and promised repercussions that I knew wouldn't be followed through on.
As they got older, the problem behaviors changed. Some disappeared, or appeared to, but really nothing got better - the problems just morphed into new issues. Later elementary, middle school, high school, time passed quickly. We all settled into a routine... my routine was being the enemy. The bitch. No matter what I did to convince my family that I was the one keeping it all together.
I had hoped that after graduation, all our lives could move on again. Maybe that Donald and I could even reconnect. Nothing moved on, including the behaviors that I had to deal with every day.
"JEANA!"
Using my first name was a new one, though. I didn't respond.
"Dammit... MOM!"
I sighed, put down my dinner preparations, and went where I was summoned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Themes of incest will definitely be present this story, and threads may also contain non-consent and all kinds of abuse, reader be warned.
This story, like any stories I write, are purely works of fantasy; and do not reflect my real personality, desires, or experiences.
Josephina
- 02.10.2021
- 8
- 0
- Category:
- Incest
