Let's get this out of the way, my children have different fathers. I did not plan this. Not the pregnancies and definitely not the other set of chromosomes. Nonetheless I would not trade having these gorgeous, brilliant, painfully stubborn creatures in my life for anything in the world. The children...NOT the fathers. I'd trade those guys out in a hot second. My eldest son Lucas is 5 and I got pregnant with him at the ripe old age of 20. His father Paul, my high school sweetheart, had broken up with me years before but had not quite gotten around to breaking up with my feminine wiles. I'm not playing the victim here people, I am always a willing participant for an afternoon delight, but what I am saying is that he was not exactly THRILLED to find out about his prospective spawn. He eventually (and I mean literally the day our son was born) got around to telling his friends and family that he was a new dad, and in the years since he has been present in Lucas' daily life. His personality, communication skills, and pretty much everything about the guy leave much to be desired and are often a hard pill for me to swallow. He posseses all of the characteristics of an ex you'd remember fondly but would be perfectly content never seeing again; I however have to see him multiple times a week AND have to collaborate with the guy on the raising of a child. I have to CARE about what he has to say regarding one of the most important facets of my life. It's a tall order for this control freak (me) to handle.
My youngest son James has a father who provides an entirely different can of beans. We met 3 years ago, we moved too fast, we were in love, out of love, in love, out of love, blah blah blah at least a million times in our first year. We talked about marriage, looked at rings (and by looked I mean I picked out an insanely huge doorknob of a ring he'd never be able to afford), got pregnant, and he proposed in my kitchen with the feet sweeping line, "Well I guess now we have to do this. Want to?" BE STILL MY HEART!! I said yes and it was downhill from there, he moved out when I was 6 months pregnant. It's been a goddamn 3 ring circus since. He too is involved in James' life, and he's a great dad, and we do genuinely care for one another, but we just can't live under the same roof. At least not now...possibly not ever.
So...the moral of the story. There are 2 of them, kids and dads. They (the dads) are good to their kids. They could be worse to me.