Here’s how it happened.

Friday night him and the bigs were away for a cub scout thing.

Saturday morning: he came home and verbally attacked me.  Trying intentionally to be an asshole because he “thought that’s what I wanted” as I showed him things on alpha personality traits and acting confident and assertive.  Besides the big fight and yelling and crying in the family room, after my shower he came up and I was very depressed- I just felt so disappointed in my body, my growing muffin top, my breasts. He tried to be sweet and sexual with me but I was so much in my head that I couldn’t accept it.  I was still mad about the fight in the morning.  He tried to push through for sex but when my breasts came out I couldn’t take it- I sobbed harder and pushed him out.  I told him it was his first time being rejected.  He gave me some time and some love and tried again and my tears turned to smiles and I loved it.  Other good things happened, he came & “rescued” me for an animal sound in my car, very loving.

Sunday: groping me in the kitchen (great), when I move his hand underneath my bra and he is playing with my bare breasts, he tells me that the next day is going to be just as warm, up to 80.  Yes, talks about the weather when I initiate him advancing the groping.  I get upset, he apologizes, we move on, enjoying family time.  Things improve.  We get over that eventually.  At the end of the day, I take time on the brown couch to tell him I am considering calling off the divorce.  His reaction was ideal for me.  He did not act overjoyed, he acted quietly hopeful.  He did not melt into a puddle of thankfulness, his thankfulness was subtle.  I love not having lots of pressure form him, it felt really good.  We’d planned on having sex after getting the baby to sleep, so hours later, I come downstairs after getting the baby to sleep and face him.  I wanted him to TAKE me.  It was the time to take me.  Instead, without touching me, he looks at my face and says “should we go upstairs?”  I AM EXASPERATED.  It shows.  I say DON’T ASK ME!  He says, No, I know we’re going to do it but were you thinking couch or…??  I again state DO NOT ASK ME THAT?  Where do YOU want to?????  Jesus- just do it.  I start to break down a tiny bit and he grabs my hand and leads me upstairs.  Recovered.  Sex happens.  Child almost walks in on us.

Monday: I cry all day.  I want nothing more than to feel validated, appreciated, seen for my patience, my dedication and commitment.  I can’t find validation in myself this day.  I just feel empty.  Despite all the good, something is missing in my soul.  I wish I could ignore it and “not care” but I can’t.  I tell him this.  He comes on Monday, I cry and cry.  He isn’t saying the right things.  He dilutes his statements to make things sound not as bad as they were/are.  This hurts and actually, offends me.  Sometimes it is so hard to love him.  So hard to choose him.

Tuesday: I wake up feeling okay.  With a refreshed, willing-to-keep-on-keeping-on attitude, I tell him I’m thinking of writing down some specific statements for him to say to me when I am feeling like everything is too hard.  He talks to a friend about it and agrees.  It would not be too demanding/controlling, and would be helpful for him to help me heal.  He isn’t a mind reader.

Wednesday, the day things fall apart for the hundredth time: I write out a bunch of things.  Statements like “I’m so lucky that you’re still here.”  “I can’t believe how strong you are.” “You are amazing.”  “You are doing such a great job getting through this.”  I want someone to acknowledge MY strength, my compassion and love and persistence.  He reads it and is prepared to apply it.  I’m feeling good about “us.”  He comes over.

Prior to this day, I told him I was meeting a friend for dinner at 6:30.   I said that because of my dinner date, we may not have sex.  Nothing was discussed about it.  I said it casually, almost in a teasing way.

He said he would be building marshmallow shooters with the kids and washing bikes/motorcycle.  Fun.  Great.

He tells me before I leave that tomorrow is his polygraph.  He tells me he had severe anxiety about telling me.  He knows my concerns (both the results themselves and I am also concerned that immediately after passing it, he will use porn/masturbate/cheat on me.)  In this conversation, he can not bring himself to say the word masturbate.  This troubles me.  I encourage him to say it and he does.  But why can’t he say that fucking word?  Man up and speak the word you need to say- wow.  Serious lack of attraction to him when he can’t say the word masturbate.  Always trying to gloss over shit and make it sound less “bad.”  I’m so frustrated at this point.

So.  We only see each other with opportunity for sex twice a week.  Wednesdays & Sundays.  Occasionally if we spend weekends together, we have Saturdays too, but not the norm.  He knows this, I know this.  Ever since he moved out, we have had sex every single Wed. & every single Sunday.  There’s no reason not to.  I have initiated sex a handful of times.  Twice over MB vacation, and then I initiate sexy “talk” over text, but here in normal life, he has been great at initiating.  Granted, we are on a “schedule” because of our limited time together but I still appreciate his initiations, even if they are expected, they are still GREAT, strong, sexy initiations.  They make me very attracted to him, which is very important.

We are sitting on the couch, he is rubbing my head, I need some love, my love tank is far from full.  He tells me some of the things I have been yearning to hear.  He says them with emotion and love.  My heart is smiling.  We are then standing at the counter.  He tells me that he is going to get going when I get home.  This pleases me because 1. he is taking charge and not going to allow a surprise-leaving like on wrestlemania day.  2. I assume he is trying to “surprise” me with an unexpected seduction the minute I walk in the door and 3. I wonder if perhaps I will get some quick bathroom sex, which would please me immensely.  * Surely, though, he is planning on having sex with me.  How could he not.  In my head, I’m thrilled that he is trying to get me to not expect it before giving it to me.  I love the surprise he is planning.

He asks when I will be home.  I say between 8 and 9, probably close to 9.

He is in the bedroom when I change from shorts to a skirt.  He looks and smiles but does not come to me and touch me.  I stand in cute underwear in front of him and he remains half a room away without touching me.  I feel disappointment.  I take my hair down.  He says nothing.  I go.

Later, I get home.  I walk in the door a hair after 8:30.

I go to him as he is doing the dishes.  I see that he has folded laundry.  He is wearing his work shirt again.

He turns and greets me and my heart drops.  He is in task mode, he is not present in his body, he does not see me one bit.

He does not see that I’m in front of him, available to him, looking beautiful, freshly showered and shaved.  He does not smell my perfume and allow it to arouse him.  He does not look at my long hair, down, my short skirt- he sees nothing.  I am so hurt.  I imagined walking in and being taken.  The kids are all in bed/occupied.  WHY WOULDN’T HE WANT ME?

I tell him I have anxiety.  Which had JUST in that moment, hit me.  He ignores that statement for several minutes.  He knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t want to deal with it.  I know this because it is his typical MO.  He transforms in this moment to a fucking schmuck and I hate him.  He is 1.0, 100%.  Neglecting me.  Knowing what I want but not giving it to me.  He talks about something else for a minute and then knows it has to be done.  “What do you have anxiety about?”

Me: I really hope you are planning on having sex with me.

Him: I wasn’t, I thought you weren’t getting home till 11, I need to get to sleep tonight.

Me: 11?  I said between 8 and 9.

Him: Well, whenever you go out with a friend it’s always later than you say, never earlier than 11.

Me: Oh really, so here I am, it’s 8:35.

Him: Okay.  I wasn’t planning on this.  Okay.

Me: Well.  Whatever.  Forget it.  (shaking head in frustration.)

Him: Hey.  Stop it.  I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.

Me: I TOLD YOU I’d be back now.  I’m back exactly as I said.

Him: You said between 9:30 or 10, I wanted to get to bed.  You always tell me I should do what I want.

Me: What the fuck- you just gave me a different reason, and I did NOT say 9:30 or 10.  Which is it, 9:30/10 or you thought 11?  Pick your excuse.  Well I guess, I just wish what you’d WANT would be to have sex with me.  So what if it was 10.  Give me a quickie in the bathroom.  It takes fucking 7-10 minutes, that’s not worth it?  So what if it WAS 10?  You’d already be here, can you not sacrifice an additional seven minutes of your life, give up a few minutes of your sleep time to fuck me in the bathroom?

Him: It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you- I just didn’t think I’d be able to tonight because I wanted to get to sleep.

Me: Whatever.

Him: Don’t whatever me.  Let’s go.

Me: NO THANKS.  Not interested at all.  Just go.

Him: Look- it’s not that sleep is more important than you, we just can’t have sex seven days a week, I have to sleep too.

Me: WE DON’T EVEN SEE EACH OTHER SEVEN DAYS A WEEK.  What are you talking about?

Him: Never mind.  I just…. let’s go do it.

Me: No.

He takes me to bedroom.  He pushes through.  Because I love sex and am a sexual creature, he gets me off.  We end up having sex.  I am still very mad and totally not happy.  I would have much preferred he just leave.

There’s a lot of conversation.

We lie there.  All I want is for him to go, since he’s made it abundantly clear that he *doesn’t want to be there.*  He of course got hard once he started playing with me, but he didn’t WANT to be there.  He asks me what’s wrong.  I’m thinking about the 9:30/10 vs. 11 lie.  He tells me he never said 11, what am I talking about.  He says I am the one that said 9:30 or 10.  I tell him he’s full of it and he says, well, I guess we remember it differently.  My lying-cover-up-his-tracks-at-any-cost husband is back.  Welcome, 1.0.  Get defensive, lie, do anything to not look guilty.  Try to confuse me.  Rewrite history.  Call it us “remembering things differently.”  Fucking BULL.SHIT.  Keep on lying.  Lie to your next wife, hope she buys your bullshit.

What a fucking asshole.  So many things could have been different.  If he really didn’t want to have sex, just fucking say it.  Yes, I’d be a little hurt/annoyed/frustrated but it’s better than LYING like a motherfucker.  It’s better than giving in to what I want and lying your way through it.  I’m just exhausted.

Is all this because I told him I was considering calling off the divorce?  I think so.  I think he is again, feeling close, loved, good, and then he *just can’t handle it* (eyeroll) and starts pushing me away like a fucking asshole.  I don’t need that.  I’m not upset.  I’m just… over it.  At least for today.