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  • Should Parents Have To Work At Christmas

    Should Parents Have To Work At Christmas

    I am a lone parent and up until last week was a respected night carer, having worked for 18 months for the same employer.

    Last year I worked Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, fine by me.

    This year I was scheduled to work Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day and New Year’s Eve and day, night shifts.

    Now I understand I have to do my fair share but spoke with my employer and explained as a lone parent to three small children I would be unable to get child care for the Christmas Eve shift, even if I could have, my children’s Christmas would have been ruined, Santa wouldn’t come until I returned home, small children forced to wait several hours for me to get home and a very tired mum.

    My employer in his wisdom decided it was my choice to have children and he would not change the rota.

    Well I’d rather lose my job than my children, there was no one to look after my children that night and would never in a million years leave them home alone, I had no option but to hand in my notice, I debated just going “sick” for the shift but knew my employer would take disciplinary action.

    I spoke with a group of mothers at a playgroup and many thought my employer was being unfair, but one mum said “why would you get a job that requires you to work over Christmas to start with?, those without children deserve Christmas off as well.

    So this began a debate, should parents have to work Christmas?

    Should dads get as much time off as mums, should lone parents get priority?

    Well in an ideal world everyone would get time off, but hospitals, care homes, police and fire services and many other professions have no other choice but to remain open.

    I do feel that people should be given the option to work on which days suit them during the festive period, there are people who enjoy working other Christmas for the over time or simple do not celebrate it.

    If staff cannot come to arrangement to cover shifts then I do feel Christmas Day should be given off to those with small children.

    Let me know your thoughts in the comments, should parents get Christmas off?

     

  • Dad Masturbates His Disabled Son And Explains Why

    Dad Masturbates His Disabled Son And Explains Why

    Perhaps one of the most controversial posts of late has been that of a blog by Fayzal Mahamed.

    In the blog, he explains his actions in physically masturbating his disabled son and why he feels it is the best thing he can do for his therapy.

    Mahamed explains in his blog post why he has chosen to do this and hopes to bring light to the taboo subject of disabilities and sex.

    Fayzal Mahamed. Fayzal Mahamed is making headlines with his controversial blog post regarding his severely disabled son. Mahamed has openly stated he has chosen to masturbate his son as a treatment method.

    Dad Masturbates His Disabled Son And Explains Why
    Dad Masturbates His Disabled Son And Explains Why

    Mahamed’d son, Mustafa suffers from PIMD or Profound Intellectual Multiple Disabilities. He has severe disabilities that have left him unable to communicate or voluntarily move any of his muscles.

    He has an estimated IQ well below 20 and is basically bed-ridden if it were not for his father’s care.

    Mahamed explains that from around the time Mustafa was 17, he noticed his son would get erections during bath time and through regular therapeutic massages.

    What Mahamed found in his research was a lot of hush-hush and brick walls. He explained that there wasn’t a lot of help out there for people in his situation.

    In the beginning, Mahamed was confused and overwhelmed with caring for his son but felt as though there must be something he could do. “As a father who understood sexual behavior, I knew that my son was trying to express his sexual feelings because of the arousal that was happening around his body and that this sexual behavior was no different than most teenagers encounter after puberty in their personal sexual development,” Mahamed wrote.

    Mahamed writes his biggest wall that was encountered came by way of fear in others. He states the issue itself is rarely discussed because it’s feared. “There is a taboo in discussing general sexual matters such as masturbation in society and this attitude gets aggravated in the discussion of sexuality of persons with disability,” he states.

    Mahamed was able to find literature on sexual therapy and sex workers who were trained to help people with disabilities, but says none of which were available to his son. He states from insurance issues, therapy was out, and there were no qualified (or legal) sex workers in the South Africa area where they live.

    After extensive research and discussions with medical personnel, Mahamed decided on a course of action for his son. “I thought the only way forward was to treat my son equally to other disabled persons and apply the professional advice given to other profoundly disabled persons, namely, therapeutic masturbation to relieve and gratify my son’s sexual expression,” he stated.

     It was after this lengthy research that Mahamed came to the realization he would have to provide the therapeutic masturbation himself if he was serious about going that avenue for his son.

     “It was at this stage that I soon came to realize that there was no alternative way to provide the therapeutic masturbation that my son needed other than to apply the therapeutic masturbation on my own,” Mahamed explained in his blog.

    As Mahamed describes further in his blog, the experience of therapeutic massage was nothing more than a “natural extension” of the care he was already providing for his son. He states it was no different than caring for his son by bathing him or changing a nappy.

    Mahamed explained his son’s reaction to the first treatment by saying, “I remember how my son expressed a sense of relief, delight and happiness with a smile followed by laughter and other sounds of contentment when I applied the therapeutic masturbation.”

     The masturbation therapy has worked wonders on his son’s demeanor according to Mahamed. He states the therapy has “led to a calmness in my son’s behavior and he continues to show his contentment and happiness all around him.”

     Mahamed says he understands the controversy behind the therapy procedures, but hopes his blog will bring light to a little-discussed topic. “I wish to appeal to parents and caregivers to consider that such care and nurture includes sexual care and this begins by recognizing that all persons with disabilities are sexual human beings”.

    Dad Masturbates His Disabled Son And Explains Why

     

  • The Day I Came Out My Life Nearly Ended

    The day I came out my life nearly ended.

    I’d like to tell you my story, the story of the day I came out and my life nearly ended.

    I have always known I was different, I knew I should like men like all my friends did but I was drawn to woman, I fought and fought my urges, I tried to like boys,but I failed.

    By the time I had hit 15 I knew I could not change, it took me months and months to pluck up the courage to come out to my family.

    It was a cold February evening, I walked down the stairs and told my mum, dad and older brother I needed to speak to them and begged them to please not hate me.
    It took me a while to get the words out, I was so scared, so desperate not to disappoint them.

    When I had finally spat the words out, my family looked at me in silence, my dad was the first to speak “you are disgusting, you need help”.

    These words still haunt me, but seeing my mother in tears and my brothers angry face hurt more.
    I ran to my room in tears, I eventually fell asleep in my tear stained pillow.

    Around 6am I was abruptly woken by being yanked from my bed by my legs.
    My father and my brother began raining down blows to my head and body.

    My mother was stood by my bedroom door staring and me, I begged them to stop, I pleaded with my mother for help.
    I was stripped naked and whipped, kicked, punched, spat on and the final humiliation my father took out his penis and urinated on.
    I was scum, I was a dirty lesbian.

    They finally left, I laid there naked, covered in my own blood and my fathers urine.
    Two or three hours later my mother came in and wrapped me in my bed sheet and dragged me to the car, I thought she was going to kill me, but she drove me to the hospital.
    My mother warned me not to tell them the truth or she would kill me.

    I told the hospital staff and police, I was jumped on when walking back from a friends.
    Roll on to my 16th birthday, I packed a bag and ran, I lived in and out of homeless shelters, on the streets and occasionally others would put me up.

    I was lucky in the end a charity helped me find my feet, I found work and eventually found love.
    I am 37 years old now and have never spoke with my family again.

     The Day I Came Out My Life Nearly Ended but it made me stronger, I found the strength to run, you can not change how you feel.
    Just because they are you family it doesn’t mean they will always have your back.
    Be strong, be brave, be you.

     

  • I Will Spend Less Time Viewing My Children Through An App

    When I was growing up back in the 90’s my mother would only bring the disposable camera out for special occasions such as family holidays, first day at school or ready posed photos.

    Looking through my families collection of photographic memories, they are all pleasant, or sweet, myself and my brother playing in a pool, me in the clothes my nanny had knitted, the whole family standing in Trafalgar Square or us all smiling round or Christmas table wearing paper hats.

    Now today, Facebook reminds me of posts I have put up “on this day” in the years since I first joined the social media site.
    I came to realise that I have hardly printed any of these wonderful memories off, I have no hard copy, will my child have to log into my Facebook to see many of their childhood memories?

    Another realisation, all my childhood photos are nice or pleasant, yet many of the photos I have taken of my children will be embarrassing for them in years to come and here I am plastering it all over social media. 

    How many of these photos have I actually been fully involved in?

    How many of these photos have I thought of the perfect caption whilst taking it?

    How many different filters have i tried?

    When did I stop seeing and feeling the moment?

    Today I have decided to spend less time seeing my children through my camera app and more time face to face, actually living the memories rather than documenting them.
    The embarrassing photos will be printed off and kept and not placed on show for everyone to see.

    My children will only be young for so long and although I want phones to keep I also want them to remember me and not the back of my phone, I will find a happy medium.

     

  • A Day In The Life Of A Lazy Father

    Dear Diary,
    Last night was difficult – the baby woke up crying for a bottle and briefly woke me up too.
    I woke my partner and then pretended to be asleep, so she’d have to deal with her. I fell back to sleep within seconds, but I’m so knackered. 

    I’m sure she’s fine, she’s used to having no sleep. 

    This morning, I jumped out of bed, made myself some breakfast, I enjoyed a nice, hot coffee before having a relaxing poo, followed by jumping in to a hot shower on my own.

    I didn’t make her anything for breakfast, though – she’s used to doing everything on her own; she doesn’t need my help.

    I put my clean boxers and socks on, my freshly ironed work clothes and it was only 07:40 – I leave at 08:00. 
    So, with all this spare time I had before leaving for work, I sat scrolling through my phone and watched her feed the baby whilst listening to her complain that she misses having a hot drink and something to eat without stopping every five minutes.

    Probably hormones. She’s always moody.

    Well, with 20 minutes spare and nothing to do, I left early for work so I didn’t get stuck in shitty traffic; she had loads of housework to do anyway, better not get in the way of that. 
    I would help do a little bit, but I’d rather listen to the radio and have some quiet time before work.

    Work is so stressful. 

    Five days out of seven, I have to spend time with adults and socialise a bit. I get two fifteen minute tea breaks and an hour’s lunch – completely alone. 
    On the plus side, I get a career and I know I’ll always be financially stable, so that’s a perk I guess.
    My lunch was actually quite enjoyable – she packed my favourite snacks and made me a sandwich with my favourite filling!  
    With an hour spare, I had plenty of time to reflect on my thoughts and actually, plan a night out with the lads.

    I deserve it, I think. I only get two whole days and every evening to myself a week.

    She won’t have plans anyway, she has a baby to look after.
    Actually, I had a message from her on my break to tell me what was for dinner when I got home, that our baby had rolled over for the first time, that she loves me so much and and can’t wait for me to come home and spend the weekend with them as a family. 

    She’s so needy, I only left a few hours ago.

    I don’t think she’ll be happy when I tell her I’m going out with the lads at the weekend, but it’s tough. I earn the wage and put a roof over her head, I’m allowed. 

    She has no friends anyway, they seem to have ditched her since having our baby.

     
    I drove home from work after a tough day typing emails and speaking to clients, I could smell dinner as I pulled up, but was shocked to see her when I walked through the door.
    She was still in the same clothes as she was this morning, she’d had no wash, there was more washing piled up and now she’s asking me to take the baby aswell. 

    I told her that I couldn’t and I wanted to sort myself out after work. 

    God, can I just have a minute to myself, please?

    I took another hot shower and put my clean clothes on, sat down and complained at how hard my day’s been. 

    I’m allowed to complain, right? She doesn’t work, so she doesn’t know how it feels. 

    Out of nowhere, she burst in to tears and asked why I didn’t reply to her message at lunchtime; she asked if I still loved her and why I don’t help her out with our baby. 

    I ignored her, had my dinner and decided to nip out for a drive to get some space, I needed to vent to somebody. 
    Plus, the baby started crying again and needed rocking to sleep – I thought I had better leave her to it. 
    I came back a bit later and the baby was asleep. 

    Peace and quiet, finally.

    She was in a bad mood when I got in, so I just went straight to bed – I have work tomorrow and I need a decent night’s sleep. 
    Having a baby is hard work.
    Goodnight.

     

  • Free Legoland Tickets If You’ve Got One Of These Names

    Fancy free tickets to Legoland this October? You might just be in luck! 

    If you, or your baby has the same name as one of the Lego Ninjango movie’s characters, the Legoland resort in Windsor is giving away free tickets, eeek how exciting .

    The names aren’t too common though , but if your baby is called:

    • Lloyd

    • Kai

    • Jay

    • Nya

    • Zane

    •  Cole

    You are in luck! The free tickets will be available from 13th October, when the film is released, to the 30th October. 

    Finally, don’t forget to take along proof of identity for you or your child if you are going to take advantage of this offer. According to the terms and conditions, the offer only applies to the person with the same name as the character, so you will still need to buy a full price ticket even if your tot gets in for free. 

    It is probably cheaper to change your name than a ticket to get in lol

     

  • Do Not Steal This Illustration-Wellington Boot Family

    I have seen on so many parenting sites and social media groups across Facebook and Instagram promoting an image of the Wellington Boot families, this is a beautiful picture of a family of wellington boots, mummy boot, daddy boot and the children’s boots, names can be added to the image.

    Many of my personal friends and all across Facebook I have seen this as peoples profile picture or cover photo.

    Members of these groups are asking if anyone would like one done and are happy to create one for members.

    But beware you are breaking copyright law.

    This beautiful illustration belongs to https://www.facebook.com/luciroseillustrations/ 

    copyright wellington boot family

    Luci Rose Illustrations has been in contact with the app creators who have been using her image and is in talks to have the image removed or credit given to her.

    Do not use or alter this image without permission you may be in breach of copyright law.

     

  • I Wish Mummy Didn’t Kill me 

    I wish mummy didn’t kill me!

    This is a story about a young boy with a huge heart. And it’s a story that everyone should read and share.
    The story is about James, but ultimately, it isn’t about him. It is, about millions of other children like James, living the same nightmare across the entire world today.

    This story of James is fictional, its message hit me right in the heart . We must not ignore this issue or message.

    We must not forget James.
    My name is James and I am  6-years-old. I love my mummy and daddy, but I’m also very scared of them. They often hit me and I don’t understand or know why.


    This morning I woke up and went to school. I am good learning and do as I’m told and my teacher likes me.


    I like all my classmates, too, but I have no friends. That’s why I usually stay indoors during breaks. Nobody wants to play with me. I tried to make friends with the other children, but they said No and also said I was disgusting.


    They laugh at me because I wear the same worn-out jeans, t-shirt and torn shoes every day.


    One day after school I went into the coat room and stole a jacket that was hanging there for a long time, nobody seemed to be missing it. Then I went home alone through the snowstorm. I was shivering with cold and it was hard to walk against the strong wind. Suddenly someone pushed me forward, I fell down in the snow and someone pressed my face into it. Then they said:


    “No one likes you. Idiot!”


    They kicked me in my back and in my stomach, then they ran away and left me in the cold snow.

    I cried. Not because I was cold or injured, I cried because I did not have a single friend, even though I liked everyone else.


    As soon as I got home, my mummy ran over and grabbed me by the hair.


    “Where have you been? Why are you so wet and dirty? Bloody kid, no dinner for you, go to your room and stay there.”


    I did as my mummy told me, I went into my room and did not get out until the next day, although I was very hungry and freezing cold.


    My school work got worse and worse, and every time daddy was informed, he hit me hard. Once he hit me so hard that I could not move my index finger, I never got back the movement in my index finger and all the children laughed at me for it.

    Time went by and one day I got a lot of pain in my chest.


    Mummy and daddy did not care I was hurt. In the evening I lay in my bed and I only wanted one thing. I wish I would not hurt more, because I did not want to annoy Mummy and Daddy. I love them so much, I really do.


    The next day at school we were told to paint our biggest dream. The other children painted cars, rockets and nice dolls. I did not.


    Not because I don’t like those things, but because what I wished for most of all was a loving mummy and daddy. So I painted a family. One mummy, one daddy and their son. They played games and everyone was happy. As I painted, I cried silently. I would love to have a mummy and daddy who loved me.


    When it was my turn to show  my painting for the class, everyone laughed at me.

    I stood in front of the class and explained:


    “My biggest dream is a loving family”.


    The laughs got louder. I began to cry and said,

    “Please don’t laugh at me, this is my biggest dream! You can hit me, you can hate me, but I beg you, please don’t laugh at me.

    I want parents like you have, that hug and laugh with me, who pick me up after school and are happy to see me. I know I’m ugly and weak, I know I have a crooked finger, but please don’t laugh at me.”


    The teacher tried to wipe my tears, I think some children understood me, but many continued to laugh.


    One day when I got a test back, I immediately saw that I had a bad result. I knew my mummy would be very upset.


    I was afraid to go home, but I did not know where else I would go. I slowly walked home, but I did not want to arrive. My mummy became furious.


    She grabbed me and threw me on the floor, I hit my leg hard on a chair.


    Then she hit me in my head twice. I just lay there, I could not get up. It really hurt. But mummy just left me there on the floor.


    When she came back she told me to clean up the mess, otherwise when Daddy came home he would really beat me.


    I begged Mummy not to say anything to him, but when I looked up, I saw that he was already in the doorway.


    When Mummy told him about the test, he pulled me up from the floor, he shook me and hit my face.

    I don’t remember anything after this. I woke up in the hospital. I looked at my hand, I could not touch any of my five fingers. I looked out the window and cried.


    Outside, I saw parents playing with their children, throwing balls together and hugging.


    Do you know why I cried?

    I don’t know how a hug from my mom feels like. My parents just beat me, but I love them anyway. I’ve always done my best, I’ve been good at school, but they do not like me still.


    One day I spilled some of my water, then they hit me again.


    Suddenly I got pain in my chest again. I told my mummy – but she did not care. After a while, I had to go to the hospital again, no one came and saw me.


    The doctor said that mum and dad would probably come the next day, but they did not. I waited and waited, but nobody came. I love my parents anyway.

    Two days later, James died of his injuries. In his hand the doctors found a letter that he had not written clearly.

    “Dear mummy and daddy, I’m terrified because I’m ugly, disgusting and stupid. I’m sorry because you can not love me.


    I never wanted to annoy you. All I wanted was to get a hug and hug from mummy, and hear that you loved me once. Daddy I just wanted you to play with me, hold my hand for a walk or sing for me.


    I know I’m a shame for you. I will never be those things.“


    Then James’s little heart stopped.


    This story was originally written in Russian. I’m not sure if it’s been true, but I think that matters little. It’s incredibly important anyway!


    All children are entitled to be loved. Still child abuse happens every second, every minute, every hour and every day. In all countries, all cities and all schools.


    A child’s home should be free from violence and a safe place. Children need love, tenderness and closeness, and a hug can sometimes be worth a lot more than you could ever imagine.


    Please share this story with all your friends on Facebook to remind everyone that no child should ever feel hurt or unloved.

    If you suspect a child is being abuse don’t hesitate in reporting it: https://www.gov.uk/report-child-abuse

  • You’re A Bad Parent If You’ve Shamed A Bottle Feeding Mum

    You’re a bad parent if you’ve shamed a bottle feeding mum.

    If you think pushing a baby out of your vagina or being cut in two was all the insulting you’d endure whilst bringing your baby in to the world… you’ve got a shock coming.

    It gets worse.

    As a bottle feeding and bottle fed mum, I think I can speak for all bottle feeding parents out there when I say that pushy, breastfeeding mums are like the antichrist of all motherhood.

    We hate them. Loathe them. We avoid them like the plague. 

    They can’t sit with us. 
    We don’t hate breastfeeders, not a single bit (you rock) – we just hate the breastfeeders that dislike bottle feeders because they think they’re a cut above the rest.

     
    I’ll let you in on a little secret; if you’re already bashing another parent this early on in to motherhood, you’re already failing faster than the bottle feeder you’re already bashing. 
    I’m all for the “a fed baby is best” – because that’s the truth.

    As an adult, honestly, can you really tell who was bottle fed or breastfed as a child?
    Absolutely not.
    Don’t be daft.

    I was bottle fed from day one; I have no major health issues, I don’t lack intelligence, I rarely ever get poorly and I have an immune system built of iron.

     
    We get really sick of hearing about it and your sodding boobs and how wonderful they are.
    Bashy breastfeeders, this is what a bottle feeding mum thinks to every shitty thing you say to her;

    “If you bottle feed, your child is likely to be prone to more allergies.”
    So is a breastfed baby.
    “You’ll bond better.”
    Please, don’t go there.
    “Maybe you should have just tried for a bit longer.”
    Maybe you should f*** off.
    “I can give you some advice.”
    No thanks, f*** off. 
    “It gets easier.”
    Ever had a baby with colic? Clearly not. F*** off. 
    Come on. Weigh it up, guys. 

    Anybody would think we were actually poisoning our children with formula (that’s what the breastfeeders say anyway.)
    It’s actually perfectly safe and gives our babies all they need, without worrying if we can do that ourselves – because some of us actually can’t.
    Do you know how difficult it is to bottle feed?
    If we could just pop a boob out as and when we felt like it, produced a load of milk or “liquid gold” like you guys, got to get our babies back off to sleep just by resting them on our boob in the middle of the night, then we would, wouldn’t we?!

    Imagine washing, sterilizing, prepping, remembering to prep and all the other hassle that goes with it… I wouldn’t really say that was an easy way out at all, would you? (Let’s not forget those mad dashes for the kitchen in the middle of the night, because you forgot to take a bottle up to bed with you – they’re the worst.)

    Breastfeeding your baby doesn’t make you a bad parent, bottle feeding your baby doesn’t make you a bad parent – judging mothers on their decisions if different to yours makes you a bad parent. 
    We’re all trying to do what’s right for our children and your opinion or approval isn’t needed, but thank you.
    Keep your thoughts and judgmental views to yourself and we’ll do the same.

     https://theunicorninblack.com/

     

  • I Wish My Son Was Never Born

    Call Reddit user Dislikemythird a “horrible person” — and she’ll agree with you.

    According to a recent post on the social media site, Dislikemythird loves her two daughters but does not like her 3-and-a-half-year-old son “at all.”

    She explained:

    It all starts with the fact that my daughters were very much planned and wanted pregnancies. My son was not. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until 16 weeks when I first felt the baby move.

     

    She continued:

    I sobbed my eyes out when I realized I was pregnant because I didn’t want to be pregnant again, hence the birth control, and it was too late for an abortion anywhere in my country. I probably would have had one, to be honest. Both my husband and I were pretty adamant we didn’t want more babies. I hated the baby/toddler stage with my daughters and with them being 3 and 4.5 at the time, it was like having a prison sentence extended right before freedom.

     

    The Reddit user admitted that she was finally starting to really enjoy her two oldest children and finally got on the right path in her career. So when she learned that she was pregnant with her son, it threw everything off track again.

    And to make matters worse, her son never slept through the night. He suffered from reflux and colic, and she said it nearly ruined her marriage:

    I can honestly say it nearly broke my husband and I’s marriage apart. At one point, we didn’t sleep in the same bed with one another for months, because we had to take shifts sleeping at a friend or sibling’s home with the girls because he screamed that badly they couldn’t sleep. We tried numerous doctors, and nothing helped, we just had to wait for him to grow out of it.

     

    She and her husband resented their son for so much, and she admitted they even wished horrible things on his health and considered adoption at one point. But how could she explain keeping two and giving away one?

    She wrote:

    I don’t want to be insensitive to anyone who has suffered a loss in this way, but I have to be honest, my husband and I both had a period where if he had of died in his sleep, we would have felt relief. At one point, I googled if we could still put him in the “baby hatches” our country has. He was too old. But again, how would we explain to everyone, including the girls, why we had a baby and then suddenly didn’t. I sobbed. I wished more than anything I realised I was pregnant earlier and could have had the abortion I wanted. I feel like my ability to bond with him was shot to hell by the fact he was just such a difficult baby. I honestly hated him for the first 18 months of his life.

     

    Dislikemythird acknowledged on Reddit just how awful it sounded to say that she “hated” her own son and that while she loves spending time with her daughters and doing things with them, she only does things for her son because she has to:

    Now he is three-and-a-half years old and even though he has now outgrown all that, and is pretty chill, I still just don’t like him. I am struggling to bond with him or even like him because I’m having trouble separating him from the memories of my marriage almost falling apart and my career being absolutely destroyed by having him and just the feelings that he was “forced” onto me by a birth control failure. My husband isn’t struggling to the same extent as I am, but has confessed he wishes our son “didn’t happen” because things were “better” before. Things have also been a lot more financially strained, and there he fact that we now have three kids to provide for and not two. Thankfully, we managed to save our marriage, but we both agree that we’d undo our son in a heartbeat if we could.

     

    The Reddit user continued by saying she has visited two therapists since her son’s birth, and all of them simply told her to “fake it till she made it,” but that hasn’t worked in her.

    Again, I am well aware I am going “mess him up” and he’ll grow up feeling like the least favorite child and all of that. I feel guilty about it and don’t want to feel this way, which is why I’m here.

     

    Dislikemythird is hoping that by being honest about her feelings toward her son, she can get advice from someone who will make her feel differently about her son. She hates feeling this way and understands that he deserves better from her.