(I’ll be referring to my ex as “The Mosquito” or “TM” henceforth because mosquitoes are blood sucking pests with no direct benefit to humankind.)
I’ve decided that Sundays are for pancakes and listening to music. This week, Holiday music obviously.
I’m supposed to go to the old house to pick up some things. The Mosquito remains difficult. Now he says he won’t see Little Guy until after Christmas so he can see his relatives. I said that’s fine and I get why he’s isolating (relative is immunocompromised) but not including Little Guy in that plan is unfortunate. The exchanges are always civil. Unreasonable, but civil. So I’ll be thankful for the small things today.
It’s a nice day out so I’m hoping to get back outside again. LG and I took a nice walk and he went to the playground this morning before pancakes. I have to go down to the house and pick up some more things. Some deliveries. A curling iron. My plants. TM’s been very clear about which plants he’ll be taking, but not about his kid. Sure sure.
I’m not sure where Ginger the ginger plant will live, but I’ll find a place for her.
Last night I had a wee bout of loneliness. My typical nightly ritual is watching Impractical Jokers while eating snacks and then watching the Golden Girls before going to sleep. I was annoyed with myself for making chocolate chip cookies at 10:30pm. Onscreen on Impractical Jokers, a bunch of middle aged ladies who looked… well worn… terrified me. Here I was with chips and cookies and single and 43 and what the fuck.
I started to become scared that I’ll just be alone forever. But a weird thing happened. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t care. Companionship would be nice, but I am in no position to take care of another adult baby. Funny how the thought of a companion taking care of me hasn’t even come close to crossing my mind. I’m old enough to know better.
But yeah. I’ve got the Quarantine 15 and some self-pity on top of that as we’re coasting in to the sedentary season of Winter. I do like winter hikes. I guess this is the year I finally do some. Perfect for a single mom with an 8 year old and a dog. (Maybe not the dog… she is extremely lazy.)
Last year I addressed my drinking. Maybe this year I address my self-esteem.
The first night in the new house is behind us. Little guy had a bit of a cry last night because he missed his Dad. I gave lots of extra snuggles and reassurance that he would see/ talk to Dad soon. I began to wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. Thank goodness for the Golden Girls. I watched them until I fell asleep.
Little guy was up at 5am (!!!) and we talked about how weird it is waking up in a new house. He seemed to be in good spirits. I logged him in to the iPad so I could get another few hours of sleep. My body is still so achy.
After our walk around the neighborhood with The Dog, he asked when our cat was coming. I told him I’d pick her up some time this week. (I didn’t want to risk her getting out while the movers were here so I left her with the ex. (I don’t know what to call him. That feels weird but “my husband” feels weirder.) ANYWAY, this morning… little guy said “Daddy said The Cat his going to have a really tough life here.”
(Seething, but brightly) “Oh, no! Why’s that?”
“Because you never feed her and you always let the dog eat her food in the morning.”
(Seething, but brightly) “Well Daddy fed her because he slept downstairs. And Mommy only let The Dog eat the dried up food left in the dish.”
What the FUCK. I mean, I KNEW this was what I would be up against. This is one of the many reasons I am leaving. The finger pointing about NONSENSE. Childlike behavior. I reassured him that The Cat would have a very happy and loving life when she comes here. I still have a feeling Ex will re-neg and want to keep The Cat. Either would be fine with me. As long as she is fed and loved and happy.
I am keeping track.
1. Mommy said she wants to leave. She’s the one doing it.
2. I won’t see you often anymore
3. The cat is going to have a tough life with you.
Keep them coming, idiot.
I will never say a bad word about him to my kid. Kids generally wind up resenting the parent who talks shit about the other. I’m not doing that. Also, they can take it personally since they feel that we are part of THEM. Whatever. I just have to be a soft place for this kid to land and ignore the shit I’ve been trying to get away from for the past 10 years.
I don’t think my body has ever been this exhausted. My back hurts from hauling a giant mattress in a box up the stairs and then setting it up. It hurts from the dozens upon dozens of boxes I have packed, carried, and unpacked MYSELF. When you move during a pandemic, you’re on your own. So here we are. Fucking 2020, man.
Here’s the thing. Separation is fucking hard. I am secure and confident in my decision, but that doesn’t make the logistics, nor the physical toll any easier. The emotional exhaustion is surprising. I think it’s mainly in worrying about my son. I keep checking in with him to gauge his emotions and I worry every step of the way that I am doing some kind of irreversible damage to him. The grief I feel is for things that never came to fruition and for lost time. I am also feeling apprehensive about starting my life over at 43. But that’s the least of my worries. I cannot even begin to imagine inviting anyone else into my life for a good long while. I am not lonely. I don’t want another person to care for.
Sound bitter? Sure. I’m a little sour on myself for what I’ve invested. I knew several times that it wasn’t working and somehow I went back.
- 2010. The shore incident. His father passed away while I was staying with a friend so I came back.
- 2014. I moved out for 2 months. I forget. My lease was up. I came back and told him to leave. He didn’t. He gave me a nice Valentine’s card and I was back. (Ugh)
- 2017ish. I had an attorney. This sort of ebbed back because of logistics with the house and with my son. It was too much and it was unclear. I was drinking REALLY heavily so I don’t remember specifics.
- 2020. Here. Clear headed. Ready.
I have 3 more days in this house. I feel like I am not going to get everything packed. I’ve asked him to clear some stuff off of furniture I’m taking. He’s been complying. We don’t speak. We exchange information. It is always me who has to initiate. It is what it is. I am trying to be understanding that just because I have worked through this, he is at an earlier stage than me. I can’t fathom how my leaving could be any remote surprise, but I digress.
I have so much more to pack up. My body is at it’s limit. My Apple Watch is very proud of me telling me I am breaking records. It’s all very strange.