Usually when B~'s mother comes to pick B~ up for the weekend, J~ is still at work. Meanwhile, I busy myself upstairs so as to avoid awkward unpleasantries with the woman who jilted my man. Today was only a little bit different. This time she was picking B~ up for an entire week. And while I gathered suddenly urgent laundry from the bedroom floor, J~, home early from work, was downstairs with his heart in his socks, waving out the kitchen window as his ex-wife and ex-wife's husband drove off in his ex-car with his ex-son.
Okay, so it isn't his ex-son, but that's how it felt to him. Especially since recent talk of B~ moving in with his mother for the next school year has progressed to actual wheels-in-motion pre-plan planning. It isn't a done deal: there's a private school to check out yet, and a seemingly more stable mother to scrutinize as well. Even so, it's a painful subject for J~, and no surprise that our honeymoon begins with tears.
Actually, it wasn't until the second time he talked about his feelings that he cried. In between, it was me bawling my eyes out for what may seem like the lamest reason ever. I'll admit it to you because I must, because that's what a blog is for, right? I tell you everything. I consider myself duty-bound. So please don't hate me.
I cried because, in packing for the big trip, it hit home that I've been gaining weight, and I really and truly hate that. I've been eating too much and I've been doing it because there are things I don't want to feel, such as, for instance, these three:
1. My very not politically correct feelings about B~'s potential big move: Relief!
2. My reaction to yet another month of not (yet) pregnant: Sick disappointment. Maybe even anger!
3. The sinking knowledge that I need to make a change with what I do with my time, day in, day out: Fear!
The bottom line truth of it is, I've hit a rough patch. Compound that with the fact that I spend too much time alone, too much time trying not to notice everything I'm struggling with, and too much energy trying to mask it all from a thirteen-year-old boy with enough struggles of his own.
Being with J~ for a week straight, I know-- it's all going to come out. I warned him last night that I might have to cry a little each day of our honeymoon. He assured me he doesn't mind.
ME: Even if I cry the whole time?
HIM: In that case, I may have to rent you out to funerals in need of mourners.
ME: Alright, then, I'll pack something black.
And then later, when his tears had dried:
ME: Looks like we'll both be packing our funeral outfits.
Ah, who knows what this week will bring! We've booked the flights, a rental car, and a room for the first night. What we do after that is any one's guess.
It's not a conventional marriage, why should it be a conventional honeymoon?
It certainly isn't coming a moment too soon.