This co-parenting thing ...

Is tough. Especially when the other parent is - intentionally or not - complicating things. A lot. Especially when the other parent decides to back out of a day with his son, and then an hour later decide he wants to have his son after all, and then the next morning act all covert-ops and refuse to text me about his schedule and then just disappear when he's supposed to be picking up Asher.

Especially when the other parent feels like they are all alone, no one is helping them or caring about them and their schedule and their needs, and that they are constantly getting the short end of the stick, Natalie. You have people helping you, Natalie. If I could be xyz all the time, Natalie, that would be great. But I can't.

Well apparently, because of his subsequent failures and disappointments, I am the responsible party; for causing this divorce, for demanding things from him that are just so unreasonable. I'm responsible for his lack of responsibility (!), his lack of maturity, his lack of willingness to work hard and make an effort at life. Because apparently he wasn't this sad and this alienated and this much of a failure when I met him; it's just gotten worse and worse, thanks to my encouragement.

I mean really, we're talking about *his* son here, too. If he wants to see him, he can see him. The schedule is simply there to make our lives as structured and predictable (in at least this one area) as possible so we all know what's happening next and there isn't total chaos. But of course he thrives on total chaos, being the center of attention and then acting like it's everyone else's problem that there is chaos and he's just the innocent victim. So of course he screws up the schedule and then blames me for expecting from him: responsibility, consistency, follow-through. God. Forbid.

I tried not to lull myself into thinking that co-parenting would be a breeze. I knew it wouldn't be. If moving out was this hard on me, I knew co-parenting would present its own set of challenges. I do still have to interact with him and try to make those interactions as friendly and caring and thoughtful and peaceful as possible - FOR ASHER. However, if I'm the only one making those efforts and taking those strides toward an amicable relationship, it will only fail. Which is the obvious end result. If you think about our marriage, it failed for the same reason. You can't have a partnership where one partner is dragging the other partner through the relationhip, forcing them to be responsible, be an adult ... because they are lazy and think everything is A-OK all the while blaming the other partner for making them feel like a failure.

So yeah, I knew that if nothing changed inside him, this relationship would be no different than our marriage. But it's still hard. It's still really difficult to know that I have to deal with this stunted, selfish person who doesn't even know or care how to interact with me in an adult and mutually respectful way, for the next twenty years. He doesn't even see the care and respect I give to him as such. He has always thought my interactions with him are barbed with judgment and rudeness and malice. Good God that is exhausting.

I don't know how this thing is going to go. Some days it seems fine and other days it's a rollercoast ride, a balancing act, a back and forth between reason and completely irrational emotion. Maybe in time things will settle into a more comfortable and predictable routine. For everyone's sake I know that's what needs to happen but I can't force it to happen. If I've learned anything, I know I can't make anything happen with or for him that he doesn't also want to happen. My entire marriage was me trying so hard to get him to be a success, to think better of himself; and I finally realized what a crazy-making, failed-from-the-start endeavor THAT was. Despite what he says he's a glutton for punishment. He refuses to break away from that rut so it's all he knows and all he allows.

At least this time around I can know from the start that I can do nothing to control or manage this situation except to ensure Asher's care and safety and to ensure MY sanity by staying above the fray of drama. Or at least trying.

On Moving Out. On Moving On.



Summer sun in the backyard

This weekend, I moved out. I have spent much of this year in a fog, feeling like I'm not sure what to do, what my next step will be, how to take that step, and what will happen when I do.

January 6th was the day that kind of started it all. Kind of, only because it had actually started long before; but it was the day of reckoning, the day of honesty, the day I made my decision known. It hit me that day that THAT was why I had waited so long to say anything. Telling my spouse I was done was one of the hardest things I've ever experienced.

All year I've waited and talked and taken time to ease into this reality. All year I've tried to be sensitive and understanding and caring as much as I can. To a point, this is good; it's always good to treat other people with care and delicacy and respect for their feelings. But beyond that point it is out of my control and not my problem. Rude? Definitely not. Realistic? For sure.

October 13th saw me leaving the house for the last time as a resident (my name remains on the mortgage for the time being) and driving away with the last trunk full of clothes, tchotchkes and furniture. I left the rooms in as much order as I could. I rearranged furniture to make sure the rooms didn't look abandoned and messy. Instead, they look neatly arranged and comfortable, floors swept, pillows fluffed, beds made. Again, I didn't have to; but I did. Maybe because I'm pretty damn nice. Or maybe because I'm scared and walking on egg shells and it's one thing I can do to ... appease?

The moving out is done. Now for the moving on.



Cottonwood tree

My ex mother in law thinks I just need to tell him in details why I am done so he can move on. I find that amusingly unrealistic, considering I've talked and detailed til I'm blue in the face. Considering I've busted my butt working for this marriage to no avail. You can't be the only one working on a partnership; that's an oximoron. Eight years later, I finally got that. And no amount of talking and explaining and detailing will get him to see or understand where I'm coming from. I can only hope that time will help him heal, and that HE will help himself heal by being honest - truly, painfully honest - with himself and with his therapist to reach a realistic, healthy place for his own good. He needs that. And I can't get him to that place. I sure tried though.

As I pulled away from my house for the last time as a resident, I felt a wash of relief and renewal. Like I could start being me again. Like I could try to find the new, grown up, independent Natalie, whoever she is. Like I could do what I wanted to do; like I could just ... be.

That's not to say there weren't good times and memories from our marriage; there certainly were. I remember camping out in our den during the holidays a few years ago with a fire in the fireplace for Lord of the Rings Extended Edition marathons. I remember biking and exploring through the woods behind our apartment complex. I remember Colorado vacations. Those were good things. Those things can't be taken away and they shouldn't. But the bad things ... those I want to forget and move past. I want to move on. I want to get over it and move on with my own life. My life and his life are going to be linked because of our incredible son. And that's OK.

 

Summer alley

It might be tough, but I intend to make the most of it for Asher's sake and to be the best mom and I can be for him no matter what is going on around me. That's part of why I left my marriage.

I have to be the best me so I can be the best mom. Asher deserves the very best mom. God picked me as his mama and I have to be strong, honest, happy, balanced, dedicated, hopeful ... I have to be my best so I can be the best for him.

He deserves that. He deserves a mama who is moved on and fully present. And that is what I intend to do.

That nervous pit goes away eventually ... right?

As I have finally stepped back from my life and taken a good look at what's going on, it's been something of a shock. The type of person I have been up to this point is blind and oblivious, no matter how in tune I think I am. I have been an 'all in' kind of person and when I go all in, I don't look back; I don't look anywhere. I just go. And then realize once it's too late that I've made a massive error. For the last eight years or so, I haven't really looked too hard at what I've been doing, right now, in this moment. I think I'm doing the right thing, I think I'm taking the right steps so I just take them and do my thing and do it wholeheartedly, which for me means without thinking. I have always been a forward thinking person - I am a planner - but somehow I have managed to blindly lead myself down a path that has gotten me through eight years of marriage that didn't fulfill but instead drained me, used me, and spat me back out. Now I'm embarking on a totally new life - a fresh start - that I never expected. I should have expected all of this. I just didn't want to; I didn't want to see it because I thought I was working so hard and doing all the right things to avoid this. But here I am.

I've had a pit in my stomach for a long time. When I realized how I had failed at my own life - and how hugely disappointed I was - there was kind of a soul-wrenching realization that settled in heavy and hard and hasn't let go. I don't think it does until I have been painfully and thoroughly honest with myself and decide to face the reasons instead of ignoring them yet again.

This whole year has been an eye-opening experience for me. I still feel like I'm walking through a fog and just leaning toward the dim light that will guide me out eventually. That light being a new direction for my life. I have been so scared to make any real and necessary changes for a long time because I didn't want to see how wrong I was: I made a really big mistake.

The last straw - the last handful of straws, really - has made me finally see what the hell is going on, what I've been putting up with and what has actually been a bunch of red flags - deal breakers - that I've been ignoring all along. Once I finally acknowledged them, it was a huge, relieving gasp of air. Like I've been sinking slowly and never even opened my eyes to see the surface slowly fading away. Once I 'got it', once I made a change - a last-ditch lurch toward the surface - that gasp of air was my wake up call. It's a weird moment. For me it really wasn't just one moment. It was a slow fade, a gradient experience as I was slowly waking up to my reality. It was like waking in the morning. There is a period where you are awake but don't quite know it ... you still drift in and out of a sleepy dream state and eventually the sensory input from around you comes on stronger than your dreams and you are fully awake. Now I just have to see that through and trust what I'm doing. It has felt right ever since I made my choice. It still feels right. Deep down, I know it's right. It's incredibly, achingly difficult, but it's right. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

I'm starting over. I'm doing what I need. I'm finding myself again. It's painful and nerve-wracking; and that pit still lingers. But one of these days it will be gone and it won't come back.


"I now realize that lives fall apart when they need to be rebuilt. Lives fall apart when the foundation upon which they were built needs to be relaid. Lives fall apart, not because God is punishing us for what we have or have not done. Lives fall apart because they need to. They need to because they weren't built the right way in the first place."

~ Iyanla Vanzant

Asher's Birth Story

To be perfectly honest there isn't much to it as birth stories go. I just feel the desire to record whatever I can remember of it so I don't completely forget. One day I may want to remember it better than I find I am able.


Asher's due date was August 31, 2012. It didn't take me long to realize how insane I was for timing a birth in Dallas in August. Absolutely nuts. As we got closer and closer to his due date, my doctor was monitoring me every week. I can't even remember my stats, but I was effaced something like 30-40% I think, and dilated to about 2 as we closed in on the 31st. I had hoped my Dr could get me scheduled for an induction ON the due date so I could be in the hospital on Labor Day weekend (and get a few extra "free" days tacked onto my post-baby maternity leave).


Ginormous me at 40 weeks (08.31.12)

 But apparently all the other hugely pregnant moms in scorching Dallas had the same idea and by the time my Dr's office called to schedule the induction they didn't have any room for me that weekend. My last prenatal appointment was Wednesday morning, August 29th and I had to wait all weekend to go in for my induction. We scheduled it for Wednesday, September 5th at 8am. That was a long week.

Part of me hoped I'd just go into labor before the induction; the other part was kind of scared to go into labor by myself and wasn't quite sure what to expect if I did. So I was glad (sort of) when that didn't happen. I was absolutely massive and in a lot of pain so I wasn't exactly thrilled to carry on in that state much longer.

My back, legs, neck, and my feet were in pure suffering at all times. Sleep wasn't even a relief at this point. No position was comfortable. Either terrible pressure on my back or awkward twisting and tightness on my sides. Personal maintenance and hygiene were steadily declining on my list of priorities. I can't even remember if my legs were (somewhat) freshly shaved. Showering was a trecherous dance; adding the risk of shaving with a 10 pound baby in my line of sight made it something to shrug off without a second thought. I'm sorry, medical staff, for my dry feet and stubbly legs. But I know you've seen it all.

And the edema. Oh Lord, the edema. The constant, epic ballooning in my legs, feet and sad little sausage toes was the worst part of the pregnancy hands down. I could have been hugely pregnant and not quite so miserable if my skin wasn't being inflated with the pressure of the edema 24/7. I had elephant feet and could fit into ONE pair of shoes (while still going to work). Thank you, Crocs Springi.

I ended up starting my maternity leave just before the Labor Day weekend, on Thursday, August 30, though all that week I was in and out of the office, working from home some and seeing my Dr. It was pretty nice to have a quiet few days to myself and just enjoy my own company, a slightly looser schedule, some last minute tidying up and some major nesting in Asher's room.


Labor Day dinner with my family

 During the long weekend, we spent some time with my family. We had a huge Labor Day spread (the only way my family knows how to 'do' holidays) which included lobster, steaks and root beer floats. On Tuesday evening (September 4th), I made a Last Supper for Kevin and myself: Grilled Pork Chops with German Potato Salad. I used the leftover "It's a Boy!" decor from the surprise baby shower my office ladies threw for me earlier that week (I had four baby showers total over the summer! wow).

The next morning, Wednesday September 5th, I went to the hospital to have my baby. I woke up early because we were supposed to be to the hospital around 7am (I think) for all the paperwork and for them to get me all "hooked up".

I got to the hospital late, at almost 8am and then couldn't find L&D. I felt kind of silly since I had come in just a week or two earlier to take a tour of the wing, where to go, where to park, what to tell your family, etc. Pregnancy brain, perhaps. ;) I found a nice lady who worked at the hospital and she pointed me in the right directly. I had forgotten about a pair of doors that led to L&D and instead of walking through them, I just walked past them. Once I was in the right place, I got checked in and signed in ready to get started.


Contracting

 They took my vitals which included the saddest of all weight checks in my whole life. Not a proud moment. But I reminded myself of my sacred calling as a Mother and Maker of a Whole Human and decided not to give myself a hard time over it. Next, I got to my delivery room where I changed into a gown and got comfortable.

Then they inserted the IV for Pitocin (still have the scar on my hand) and then attached the monitors (one for me and a fetal monitor for Asher) around my abdomen. I liked being able to look over at the screen and see how he was doing.

It didn't take long before they started the Pitocin drip to induce my contractions. I wasn't on any meds for the pain; at this point the sensation and pain associated with the contractions was minimal. I spent several hours just coasting through moderate contractions as they slowly increased the meds and the pain steadily increased along with it. After 6 hours of labor, around 2pm, the pain was to the point where I decided to get my epidural (sitting here today I cannot even remember this pain). The anesthesiologist came in and made quick work of it. I felt next to nothing and then as the numbing kicked in, I actually felt nothing. Hah! Having an epidural is an odd sensation. You feel nothing but you still feel what you're supposed to feel, if that makes sense. As labor progressed and I started pushing, I felt the contractions still and I felt the pressure. There was a very strange, heavy feeling, too from the numbness.

After the epidural was placed I felt the contractions speed up over the next few hours as things started getting a little more intense. Around 6pm my Dr came in to check on my progress. He said I was fully dilated and ready to push. They aren't kidding when they say this is hard work. Your entire body is engaged and working overtime toward the goal of birth, but it feels like your entire body is engaged and working overtime AGAINST your efforts at giving birth. It didn't take long to feel completely exhausted and completely overwhelmed and maybe a little bit scared. Can I even do this?!

After 2 hours of non-stop pushing, Asher hadn't moved. Not even an inch. I felt like I'd been giving everything I had to get him moving and still he hadn't budged. Once he was born and I saw his broad shoulders, it was pretty obvious why; but in the process it was just a roadblock that felt so discouraging. My Dr said if we couldn't get him out soon, we'd have to look at a C section. I understood the risk of infection if the baby is in the birth canal without progress for too long. But I really didn't want a C section. It wasn't that I had an emotional attachment to the natural birth process, but mostly I didn't want to be cut open if I could help it.

My Dr and an entire troup of Drs and nurses seemed to spring into this rush of time-sensitive action as we went into Forcep Assist Mode. There was my Dr, another Ob and what seemed like 6 nurses along with my Push Coach (Unfortunately there was a staff change in the middle of my active labor - of course - so my amazing coach was replaced around 7pm. But her replacement was great and just as encouraging. It was just hard having to shift in the middle of labor). The room was packed and I was determined not to get a C section. So ... in went the forceps. It was all kind of a blur. And when you see those forceps you think "WTF?!" ;) ... And then in just one last push, he was out. We were finally done. And I felt my body give a great sigh of relief. I felt like I was in a fog but I remember lying there amazed at what I had just done, at what had just happened, and waiting to hear that first cry. It came and he sounded so sweet and strong. I couldn't wait to see him.


Asher's first photo

  When I finally saw Asher for the first time, his little face became the face that I'd seen the day I found out I was pregnant, and when I put his fresh bedding on his new crib, when I bought his stroller, when I looked at his car seat, when I laid out his hospital clothes ... that little baby I had imagined and hoped for and couldn't wait to meet was finally here, and I was holding him. I had never seen his face. It was just a blur before, but now it was Asher. That little boy was my little Asher Drake and he was finally here.

Once I met my son, there was some clean up to be done (to say the least). I had lost a lot of blood and there was some tearing. The other Ob who helped with the delivery sewed me up. I don't know the degree of my tearing and I don't know how many stitches they had to place, but it felt like forever before they were done. I was so tired and uncomfortable. Once I was sewn up and the room was put back together, the Drs cleared out and everything calmed down, I was able to get some rest. Asher had his first nursing session and he did really well. I think at some point they took him to the nursery. I wish I could remember. But I wasn't even there ... I felt so weak and delirious.


Me and Asher with my OB.

 As they tried to move me from the bed so I could be wheeled into my recovery room, I fainted. I didn't even realize it but as I came to, I was lying perpendicular on the bed and woke up staring at the ceiling and lights. The nurse was asking me if I was ok. I asked her what happened and she told me I had blacked out when I stood up to sit in the wheelchair. We waited a few minutes for me to 'come to' and tried a second time, but I just collapsed again. This was not going to work. They checked my blood volume and realized just how much blood I had lost. They said I would need a transfusion.

So I stayed in the delivery room for a couple more hours - I can't even remember when I finally got to my room! Probably around midnight - getting 2 bags of blood transfused. I wasn't pleased about that and it felt very ominous signing the consent forms. I was sure I'd get some terrible blood disease. Once I was finally feeling better, they wheeled me - on my bed! They didn't even try a wheelchair again just to be safe - into my new room. Thank God. It was dark and cozy in there. Somewhere along the way Asher ate again. A nurse sat with me during the entire transfusion and brought him in at one point to sit with me. She was impressed that he held his pacifier in all by himself. Asher was safe and sound in the nursery as I was being wheeled into my new room and during the night they brought him in every couple hours to eat. In the night, I had hallucinations which felt really strange. I was on meds for the pain and that certainly didn't help the physical and emotional fog I was already in. I felt like I was hearing voices and I sensed people in my room even when they weren't there and I was sure I was just sleeping through them coming into my room and I imagined myself apologizing for sleeping but ... no one was there. 


My nurse Denise and Asher, hating his bath

 The two nights I spent at the hospital were much the same: a blur of visits (Kevin's dad, and then brother, sister in law and nieces and nephew came to meet Asher), nurses coming in to administer meds or bring Asher in to nurse and broken, fitful sleep. The next day (Thursday), Asher had his first bath. I was really too weak still for them to OK any walking or standing (I still had my cath in place - one of several they had to keep placing and then removing. Ugh) so my sweet nurse Denise did his bath in my room with me and talked with me the whole time.

She was an expert, a comfort, an encouragement and such a kind person to have around during that time. I gave her a big hug when I left on Friday and was sad I couldn't take her home with me.

My family came and visited me and met their first grandson and first nephew. They were very excited and very supportive of me. Both my mom and Kevin said after the fact they felt terrible I was alone in the hospital, not only for the transfusion but then both nights of my stay. The first night there, Kevin had to get back to the house because the person we had come over to feed the cats (so we wouldn't HAVE to go back to the house until I was released) had left one of the doors slightly ajar which set off the house alarm. The alarm company called (on the timeline, this happened even before they tried moving me to my recovery room), but the housesitter wasn't answering their phone so we couldn't get them to go back to the house for us to turn off the alarm. For all we knew something bad had happened. So he went back to the house; it was late so I just told him to stay there so he could get some sleep. I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in the room snoring anyway.

Here, Asher meets his proud, first-time Lolli, Pop and Uncle:

Knowing what I know now, my mom will definitely be a bigger part of my next delivery, whenever that happens. I know she really wanted to be there when Asher was born. God willing I will have more babies one of these days and she can be right there with me.


Asher and Kevin

 Labor and delivery was definitely a hard time for me. I know it is for most moms. I don't hear a lot of birth stories that last an hour and don't involve pain or some kind of complication, however minor. Giving birth is hard work; it's the hardest work I've done. And when I think objectively about the other struggles I had on my mind and heart at this time, and during my pregnancy, and even to this day, I wish so hard I could have a do over ... or something. I wish I didn't have all this happening all at once. It sucks telling your spouse you want a divorce when you're 4 month old naps in the other room. It sucks even more realizing you've done everything you can to keep that divorce from happening but you've failed.

It's a terrible place to be as a wife and especially as a new mom. But that's where I found myself. Before I even admitted to myself what it was that had been weighing so heavily on me, I thought I had PPD and started taking an anti-depressant that just made it worse. I never quite lifted out of that fog until I stopped taking the anti-depressant and was blatantly honest with myself about my marriage. Only then did I have a light bulb moment. Only then did I feel such a relief, even though I was still at the very beginning of this hard journey. I really didn't want to admit that: Our marriage has failed. But sometimes it happens.

I decided to stop feeling shame for that and instead embrace it because it meant hope and change for all of us. Maybe not now - well, definitely not now - but one day soon things will be better. Motherhood defines me now. I will always be dedicated to Asher and his well-being. No matter what. Over the last year I have seen Kevin become a more involved and caring dad. I hope that he can always be dedicated to Asher. I know he doesn't like the divorce, but I hope he can always keep Asher first, no matter what.



Me and my Asher Bear

 Asher's life has brought a new dimension to my life that has made it more purposeful and more bright. It's interesting watching yourself change as a new parent. Everyone says exactly what will happen but you can't truly understand it until you are experiencing it yourself. It's a powerful new reality of life and the world and humanity that opens itself up to you as you take this sweet little life into your arms and pledge your own life to nurturing and guiding and loving this new little human.

I had that moment with Asher. And I felt like a new person. While it's so overwhelming and, for me, I had a minute to minute change as I sat with Asher feeling the weight of my new responsibility set in, it can also creep in on you slowly, as each day passes.

Each nap with your child on your shoulder, each splash of summer light on the bedsheets as you pull a fresh onesie over that downie head, the fresh air turning from summer to fall as you spend your time nuturing this little baby, each look into those gray-blue eyes as you get to know this new person ... each little memory passes and you are steadily entrenched in this mom thing. Suddenly it becomes you.

No matter how hard, no matter how many more tears you cry now that you are a mom, no matter how deeply painful things are now that you think of them as a mother, and no matter how much everything else around you might hurt, you are a Mother. And you just can't imagine it any other way.

Asher's First Birthday! (photo heavy)

For a few months before Asher turned one, I wasn't quite sure how we'd celebrate his birthday. I knew I wanted to do something great to celebrate his sweet life. I had imagined a themed birthday bonanza with decor, a photobooth, games for all the kids, a well-planned menu, etc. But considering the circumstances, I knew things would be different and non-traditional and not quite as epic as I imagined. But I also knew - no matter what - Asher needed to be celebrated whole-heartedly. No matter what, that would always hold true. We didn't have any grand plans but what we ultimately did was with Asher in mind. In the end I know he enjoyed his many celebrations and I hope he felt the love and happiness around him.

PARTY #1: On Wednesday September 4th (one of Kevin's days off), he hosted a small party for Asher at our house. Kevin invited some of his family (his dad, mom and his brother and his family) as well as a few friends. Asher got some new toys including a little piano, John Deere tractor push toy (he loves anything with wheels and flubbers his mouth as he pushes around his trucks and cars), some Boon bath toys and several things I got him at IKEA including a tunnel which is a hit - he loves it. Kevin's mom arrived and left early due to her work schedule but she helped set up the decor and played with Asher before the party started. They had a simple menu and Kevin ordered a cupcake cake for Asher that was made of chocolate and yellow cupcakes. Asher dug into the cupcakes like it was just another meal! He ended up getting sick the next day - his birthday! - and had to go home early from Mother's Day Out.



Asher picking up his birthday cake from Tom Thumb




The dining room all decorated for Asher's party



Asher (left) and Sammy, one of his friends, swimming in the yard after they had cake

 



PARTY #2: Asher's birthday, Thursday September 5th, he went to MDO in the morning, then went home with my dad (who is one of his caregivers during the week) and had a nice quiet afternoon with a long nap; by the end of the day he was feeling much better after his cake overload. That evening we didn't do much but Kevin and I did make sure to take a couple photos with Asher. He had his bath and was in his new birthday 'rock star' pajamas all ready for bed, but we still got the photos. I ended up rocking Asher to sleep that night and got to hold him in my arms the minute he was born a year ago, 8:24pm. After I laid Asher in bed I told Kevin that Asher was now "officially born" and he went in to talk to him in his crib as he slept.


Our little birthday boy



Asher at bedtime on his birthday


PARTY #3: On Friday, September 6th, Asher was with my dad in the afternoon since Kevin was headed back to work that night and had to sleep. Our routine is that I leave work to pick up Asher and we get a quick dinner before I head back to the house for Asher's bedtime. We usually go to our local Mi Cocina since all the staff know us and dote on Asher everytime we eat there. They decided to bring out a candlelit flan for him and sing "Happy Birthday". He wasn't sure what to think of it! He was quiet and just watched them the whole time. Considering his sugar intake from the earlier in the week, I didn't let him eat more than a couple tastes of flan; we helped him with the rest. ;)


Asher and his birthday flan at MiCo



PARTY #4: On Saturday, September 7th, I had a party with my family, Asher's final birthday week celebration. It was very small, just our family at my parents' house. We got a cake from Nothing Bundt Cake (I picked carrot hoping it wouldn't be TOO sweet; it was perfect!). We had a simple burger lunch then did smash cake (we got a tiny bundt cake just for Asher to smash). Then he opened even more presents. I got him a couple items from IKEA that I had set aside so he could unwrap some things from me, then he got some goodies from his Lolli and Pop - new clothes and a bunch of trains and accessories - and some things from his Uncle Nick and Amanda - his first cowboy boots (A must for our little Texan!) and his first Dallas Cowboys and Texas Rangers t-shirts. He opened some presents from his Tulsa family, too (my friend and her family) which included a RC car which Asher immediately took to, a cute new outfit for fall and a beautiful book called "The Little Island".



Asher's bundt cake

Blowing out the candles for him



Smash!

 

Asher's new rocking moose from IKEA

 

Racing through his new tunnel



The precious birthday boy


It may not have been a "traditional" birthday celebration but it was a happy one for Asher and one surrounded by people who care about him. I know he was loved and cheered on and embraced all week.

His birth and life are the best things in MY life to celebrate and I'm glad he was feted all week long. It's hard to believe he is already one. He is already a toddler. He is saying new words weekly and changing and growing daily. I love being able to interact with him more and more as a little boy who is learning about his world. I'm so excited to see how my boy continues to grow and develop and be able to enjoy the blessing of his sweet character and happy demeanor in my life every day.

"Of Asher he said,
More blessed than sons is Asher;
May he be favored by his brothers,
And may he dip his foot in oil.

Your locks will be iron and bronze,
And according to your days, so will your leisurely walk be."

Deut. 33:24-25

Emotional Bank Bailout

Sometimes I have a wash of heat and stress come over my whole body and then I let out a deep, quavering sigh as I watch my money disappear. I tell myself for the hundredth time that it’s just money. But then at the same time, it’s MONEY. It’s kind of a big deal. Especially if you are living month to month. Especially if you have been trying and failing to figure out where you are going wrong, over and over again, and why you can’t seem to keep any of it where you want it. Especially when you started out strong and brave and so sure, and ended up … here. Losing it. Failing and grasping for something to keep your head from lilting in self loathing yet again. Especially when, at the end of the month you are hot and shaky, with little butterflies rising up in your belly, and willing so hard for that next payday to somehow magically come a day or two earlier than you know it will.

I’ve been married 8 years. I have a 1 year old. And I’m in the early stages of a divorce.

There are so many reasons why it must happen, and so many guilts and wonders and questions and fears that go along with that fact. While at the same time, I have such a sense of relief. It's a strange balancing act.

 

A divorce from a husband who is just now getting personality and/or mental disorders ascertained and treated makes it doubly hard. For many years of our marriage, he didn’t have a job. Being the person I am, I made light of this and made sure he didn’t feel bad for not working. I tried to make sure he felt he could take as much time as he needed to go to school, or just not do anything at all, so he could manage his stress and depression. Many many months would often pass where he wasn’t doing anything but some errands and work around the apartment. Many of those days were actually spent playing video games, sleeping in … while every Monday through Friday I was up getting ready for work. Unless I was sick or on a rare and too-short vacation, I was at work. For the entire 8 years of our marriage. And I told myself time and time again that I was OK with being the sole breadwinner. I was OK supporting my husband in this way so that he could … something. I don’t even know what that something is at this point. So he could … find himself? So he could have time to write the book he’s been threatening to write for a decade? So he could go to school in order to get a (better) job? I honestly don’t even know. I feel that I was so generous with my grace and my time and my energy with him. But I see now that I was lying to both of us.

I lied to myself because I wanted to keep the peace.

I lied to him because I wanted to keep the peace.

I wanted to show him I was supportive, caring, loyal. But hindsight is painfully clear; I was living my life in a lie. I was walking on egg shells every day because I was afraid. I didn’t want to admit I was afraid, so I bucked up and I was the strong (but losing my grip), dedicated (but faltering), confident (but secretly suppressing my conscience) wife who couldn’t say or do anything off kilter, who couldn’t be selfish with the big stuff, who couldn’t say the real, hard truths that must be said in a marriage of longevity and worth.

Because I was afraid. I was so afraid of his temper, his sensitivity to my “demands”. I don’t even know what else had me so hamstrung, but I sat by for so many years afraid to take action, to even be able to enjoy my own life. Because of him. I know there is no malice from him; I know he doesn’t like this truth any more than I do. But I also know that he carries much of the responsibility for it.

He ignored my kindly crafted statements about needing more money to support our life and our future, needing to know he was “with me” on whatever the issue - moral, ethical, financial, etc. He ignored all my concerns year after year. He thought sitting by and just existing together, going to movies on the weekends, finding new restaurants and watching new TV shows together was enough. He simply didn’t try. Not even in the beginning. And in my euphoria and my rush of teenage confidence stupidity, I ignored that reality. I ignored it so successfully for 8 years that I didn’t even see it coming when the massive wave of pent up hurts, anger, frustration and fear rose up and nearly drowned me. One day it just all came back and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I think it was God’s way of crafting a comeback into my life. Something epic and dramatic and mind jolting to get me to see the extend of my drift away from Him.

I had drifted for so many years away from a faith in which I previously had total confidence. I had drifted away from God, from my family, from my friends, from the core beliefs I knew were true for me, so that I could have a relationship with my husband. It’s a long story and one I tire of even thinking about, let along typing. But here I sit at the end of this journey … or the beginning of a new one … or both. It’s all so very overwhelming. I wonder how every other person who is divorced with a child has managed to get through the crushing pain and guilt; the late night talks with your soon to be ex; the bitterness and the realization that you are just now beginning to communicate with your spouse because you no longer have anything to lose. And the little whiff of doubt that sometimes creeps in: Should I stay? Should I try yet again to salvage this?

My marriage has been a practice in trying. I look back and realize, as I lambast myself for not being better at this whole marriage thing, that I DID try, I DID talk and ask for and request and tell him when I needed him to be or do something for me – for our marriage. So we wouldn't get here. I DID do those things. And they fell on deaf ears. On ears unwilling to hear and a heart unwilling to change.

You can only invest so much, and watch it go to waste, trickle away over the years with no return, no increase, until you just can’t anymore. It has to stop. You have to take your energy, time, love, effort, loyalty … and place it somewhere else. Another bank, another account, maybe even a jar buried in your backyard. Anything would be better than the current wasteland.

And so here I sit, aching with uncertainty and struggling with all the questions:

How do I proceed? What is the next step? How do I move on from here? What will my life look like in a year, or 2 or 5? Will I have more children? Will I have another relationship? Will I ever get married again? Will my ex be a gracious co-parent to our beautiful son? Will my ex find peace? Will he stop blaming me for his depression and his lack of purpose? Please God, will he stop blaming me? Will he have a renewed mind with peace and positivity or will the rest of my life be shadowed by his negative outlook? Will my son be OK?

Will my son be OK?

I think of what I will tell him if (when) he asks why I’m not with his dad. I try to make it sound logical. I know it is logical but there is that constant questioning and self doubt. I can’t quite jump that hurdle yet; not at this stage. I think I’ll tell him that I tried so long to make it work. We had good times, we had love and happiness. But ultimately some relationships aren’t destined to work. That this one wasn’t working. And that happiness, my walk with God, and my financial and emotional stability won out. I hope he sees me model happiness as a person, as a mother. And that one day he will understand why it meant the end of my marriage.

And so here I sit with my emotional and financial banks depleted. Wondering when they will see stability again.

Maybe in a couple years this all won’t seem so bad.