I keep waiting for time to give me more words, but I don’t know if that will happen. I have been so blessed to be able to stay home with my babies. From the time I was a wee girl, people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grow up, and I would answer, “A teacher, an artist, a dancer, a mommy.” When I was older, “A Shamu whale rider, a mommy.” Older still, “A physician, a mommy,” and then my sister went to medical school and I was all, fuck that, and my answer crystallized into, “A mommy.” I loved kids from the time I was old enough to be older than another child in the room. I began babysitting at the earliest age allowed, and loved every second. I thought I was ripping the parents right off, that they were paying me to hang out with their cute kids and play and take care of them and sing and dance and party every day.
I was never devoid of ambition, there was always a shrill, anxiety-provoking voice in the back of my head proclaiming that Smart Girls had to go on to become Career Women who carried a briefcase and dressed in Career Clothes. I graduated college and did that for a week. I was miserable and cried every day. I quit on Friday, and went back to my job working with underserved youth and their families. I wanted to take them all home every day and night.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. Exhilarated, joyful, terrified, unprepared. I hadn’t quite planned it that way. We’d just moved from our home state to Phoenix for the Caddy’s job, and I had left my family, my friends since childhood, my home, my beloved job and kids, and here I was, knocked up. OMG. Why the face? And then, a baby, a move back to our home state, another baby, ANOTHER baby (yes, we figured out where they come from – and also, I’ve NEVER heard that joke before, EVER!), and I got to roll around with them in the dirt, go on leisurely walks, climb and run and nap and make lunch all I wanted. I could eat them up all day long.
But something changed a while back, and we’ve been living in this turmoil that seems to have begun as a slight disturbance and is now a full-fledged storm. It seems that the Caddy is feeling put upon. Life doesn’t feel fair to him. And it certainly isn’t. He works a tripleleventy hour week, and when he’s home, he always has reports to get out, reviews to do, texts to return, emails to manage, fire drills to which to respond, and life is a lot different than when we were dating and discovered over penne that we both wanted our future and hypothetical children to have a stay-at-home-parent full time until some nebulous time. So, the Caddy wants things to be more equitable, I think. I’m not completely sure, because while control issues and unfairness have been running themes of discord in our almost-nine-year marriage, no matter what changes, he is still unhappy.
A year ago, we almost separated. As in, he had a move-out date of Friday, it was Wednesday, we’d told the kids, and the only reason he didn’t leave the house on Friday is because my/his/our counselor/psychiatrist asked me if I would be willing to change the plans while he (Dr. Wunderbar, that is, not the Caddy), intervened and saw us for counseling once monthly and that we also see a new, highly specialized psychotherapist together, weekly.
Okay.
So we did, and things improved. I’m a good student, I like to please people and do what they say. Not always a good thing. Anyway, I read the books and I did the homework and I threw everything into it, because why not? If I was going to try again, I was going to TRY AGAIN IN THE HARDEST WAY I COULD ALRIGHT? ALRIGHT. We went weekly for like, two weeks. And then work got rully, rully busy and I threw down some ultimatums, and there were other things that happened, and we kinda saw Dr. Wundy monthlyish, and we were doing okay and hanging in there and sometimes enjoying each other and then BAM. Six months ago, here we are again. In the fucking ditch.
So, I went shopping.
And he was pissed. Like, piiiiiiiiiiissed. Finances are a fraught thing in our home, as in many couples’ houses, and oh, was it ever a defining moment. I don’t think he spoke to me for 8 days. Eight days of the cold shoulder routine. He would respond when I initiated a conversation, with the cold, abrupt and terse syllables that accompany the Ice Caddy routine. Brrrrrrr. Then he said that he was done “paying for me”. Finished letting me “walk all over” him. And he was going to “have to do whatever [he] had to do.” When I asked him what the hell that meant, he wouldn’t tell me. I asked him outright if he was going to cancel my debit card, take me off our account. After all this work I’d put into getting access to it. He refused to answer. But he can repeat multiple times daily, “I’m sick of getting run over.”
Two days later, he answered by canceling the one credit card that I had access to, maintaining a few cards of his own, without apology or explanation and resumed texting me about my purchases through the debit card (which is still in my possession, thankfully).
So, I’m looking for a job today. All I have to know is what’s going to happen today. Today, I’m looking for a job, facing the idea of leaving behind the days of snuggling sweet baby skin, walking into dealing with a toddler who is desperate for me when I leave, and who screams almost unendingly when I’m gone unless he’s with a loved one. And a preschooler who won’t repeat himself when he’s not understood, and is okay with people but only lets some people into his most trusted circle, and those people are his for life. Who insists on walking me to the door every time I leave and giving me a very important “special” to take with me “to ‘member me” when I’m gone. And a six-year-old who thinks that everything is his fault and that everything that’s bad that happens will make him die and has intrusive thoughts and anxiety.
Oh my God, I’m so sad.
Same Clothes Since Friday 