Clockwork. Tick, tock, tick tock. Silence.
Husband came like clockwork. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday became the same. The husband would show up and take the kids out to dinner or to the park. He would come back to the house around eight o’clock and help put the kids to bed.
Then we would cry. or fight. or have sex.
It was always one of those three. That was my routine.
My Baby Turns Four And We Are Pretending to Be A Normal Family Again
My first born, my baby boy, turned four in the midst of this affair mayhem. I am not sure if and when I will pull out of this, but I know C.’s birthday was in the middle of it and my depression.
C. is my kind one. He is my responsible one, if that adjective could be used to describe a four-year-old. He is my rock, my smile, and my heart. He gives me kisses when he thinks I am sad, and snuggles up for books.
C. is patient as he can be with his little brother E. He plays cars with him and tells me whenever E. is getting into some kind of mischief, which happens to be every other minute, but C. cares and lets me know.
C. is the man of the house at four. How sad is that? But he handles it well and is proud to help bring me a diaper or throw away junk or pick up toys. He is so kind that one, and so thoughtful.
So for C.’s birthday, we were out and about as a family. We went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, and C. wore a huge sombrero on his head. All he wanted was to go to Chuck-E-Cheese, so that is where our broken family headed.
We pretended we were whole again and everything was fine. We pretended like everything was like it had been a year before. We pretended that there were no scars on my belly from the ectopic pregnancy, no scars on my heart from Rachel, and that we were normal.
We owed that to C.: a normal family again for a night.
One Fight. One Day. Just Like Everyday.
“You are f*ed up. I think you need to go to counseling,” I said flatly.
“What are you talking about? Just because I wanted to be with someone else doesn’t mean that I’m f*ed up in the head,” replied Husband.
“You had everything: a family, a wife, a house, a life. You threw us all away. You were lucky to have us and you didn’t even care.”
“Things weren’t so great. There was the sex. You didn’t want to have sex when I wanted sex. You told me we had to have sex before ten o’clock. You were controlling the sex,” said Husband.
I yelled, “I was the one who cleaned the house, took care of the kids, worked a full-time job as a teacher so your kids could have medical insurance. I did the cooking and I was the one up in the middle of the night feeding our baby who still woke up constantly. So, yes, I asked you to have sex before ten o’clock so I could function the next day.”
“It seemed like you didn’t want me. You didn’t care for me like that anymore. All I was to you was a friend,” Husband yelled.
“What are you talking about? Get Out! Get Out Now! Leave.”
Insert sobbing hysterically here. The door opened and shut, and I was alone in my house.