This is so hard.

Everything is so literal.

We went to IHOP to do a special outing because we had a half day today– I took the 4 kids, the supermom that I am.  #3 started CRYING because “daddy got him a chocolate milk.”  Which- whatever, I can’t control my soon to be ex husband’s choices.  We have NEVER bought them kids drinks.  We only get them for them if the drinks come with the kids meal.  It’s a stupid waste of money, and we have always been responsible in those “little ways”, because shit adds up.  Yes it does.  But alas, apparently he needed to splurge “just this once”, surely out of guilt and his own sadness, but what he doesn’t get is that HE projects his own sadness outwards onto them when it is not necessary and really only makes things worse in the big picture.  It’s not about the chocolate milk, it’s about being a strong person.  It is just a slap in the face that separate parenting is going to be hard.  Annoying more than hard, perhaps.

And while I continue to build him up to not make him “look too bad” to my friends (and parents), primarily because I believe there is a chance we will be together again some day— I do not know that he is doing the same for or to me, which hurts.

I’m picturing our house with a few substantial pieces taken out of it.  Thinking of what I’ll move where, what I’ll be on the lookout for at Goodwill.  How I want to use that extra space.  I have fun ideas but nothing feels quite right.  It just doesn’t sit right.  I want to do fun things with this house, my own living space.  I want to change things.  But despite wanting to, it feels wrong to change things.  I might paint some walls.  I might do some funky fun cute little things.  Personalize our home to make it “me.”

I “played transformers” with #3 today after 1 & 2 left for school.  It was cathartic.  “Does it matter if they’re an autobot or decepticon?  Because I don’t know, you know.”  “No.  Just make them talk and fight.”  Okay.

Then we fed baby, turned on the music and danced around.  That is one thing I’ll never give up.  Dancing in the kitchen.  NOTHIING brings me more joy than seeing that baby smile and laugh and do his dancing head tilting.

I later sat and rubbed #3’s back.  I felt my nails lightly grazing across his brown little back.  Felt his soft, thick skin and just loved him.  I love him so much and when I FEEL that love and really let it in, it makes my eyes sting with hotness.  I wish for a future of a together family.

Why did my husband do this to us?  Why were we not enough?

On the wall is a 40″ canvas of us in 2007.  We only had two kids.  I belive this might have been the best of the worst time together.  We’d cancelled the divorce about one year prior.  I don’t think he had been seeing prostitutes yet.  Maybe it was the best.  I remember the photo session.  It was fine.  We were pleasant.  I wasn’t broken then, not as bad as I am now.

When I sign in to my computer I see a photo of me and #2 together at a sporting event.  I remember I sent him a picture of us that day, I don’t know if it was the angle or what, but I looked SO good in that particular photo.  Slim, tight, tall boots and tight jeans and perfect fitting deep V neck purple top.  I remember that he never acknowledged that I sent it.  Never said anything about it.

He says he “notices” when I look good but just doesn’t say it.  I do not believe this.  It hurts me to believe that I am eternally unnoticed, good or bad.  He doesn’t notice when I’m coughing up a lung.  He doesn’t notice when I’m wearing next to nothing.  He doesn’t notice if I haven’t showered in 4 days.  He doesn’t notice if I wear his favorite outfit, do my hair the way he says he likes it best.  It’s like I only exist in my own head, not in the real world.  I don’t understand.

I know it is his problem, but it is hard to not intenalize it.  It confuses me and hurts me and breaks me down.

When I was rubbing #3’s back, I felt it.  I felt the pit in my stomach.  The sadness in my soul.  I prayed for strength, to not let it take me all the way down today.  To not lie down and not get up for 3 hours.  To clean up, to blog, to shower, to play more transformers, to work on my business, to rearrange furniture.

Anything.

Sometimes it is too much.  I can’t take the stinging behind my eyes any more and I just lie down and give into the depression.  Which leads to more.

I have so much to look forward to.  I am still drawing on the love of my friends from last night.  I am drawing on the excitement of this weekend.  Drawing on the anticipation of what possible GOOD things might come of him moving into his new apartment today.  Drawing on the love of my children, the laughter of my baby, the way he snuggles into me when I rock him.

I am thankful that my husband is kind.  I am thankful that my mother was surprisingly kind and reasonable.  I keep hearing the words she said though.  About how he promised then he’d make it up to me for the rest of his life.

The good things are also the things that hurt.

And the things that hurt are the things that hurt.

Kind of everything hurts when you’re broken.

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