As close as J-Fed and I had always been, I never imagined that our divorce would be so diluted with hatred. Over the years, we had been so resilient and gotten past so much. I figured our split would be temporary and eventually we might reconcile one day. Why did I think this? Well, because that’s what he told me.
“We need to work on our friendship before we can be anything else,” he rationalized one night. I’m not sure why I bought into the whole thing. I mean, I wanted this too. I guess the whole situation was still to raw to enable me to think straight.
Anyway, that whole friendship thing hasn’t exactly gone down the way we had planned. In fact, our relationship has only become more acrimonious as each week passes.
He believes that I’m only seeing my side of the story. He says I don’t have any accountability for my actions. Apparently, I’m supposed to take a good look in the mirror and do some serious soul searching. He’s dismayed at the person who I’ve become.
“You’re bitter because you lost me,” he said bluntly in the midst of one of last week’s fights. I didn’t know whether to laugh or lunge for this throat.
In fact, I didn’t agree with his statement at all. It’s like making a living picking up piles of crap at a dog park, only to have your boss fire you from the job for not doing it good enough. Of course, you’re angry at first until you realize you have an MBA, a whole of experience and some great qualifications that will probably land you a nice cushy dream job with an employer who really respects you as an employee. So who wanted to shovel sh*t anyway?
No, J-Fed, I’m bitter because I’m overwhelmed with responsibility and you keep reminding me that you’re having just as hard of a time with this all. I, on the other hand, do not believe that to be a statement of truth. To be honest, whenever I see him, I picture a large animal that’s just been let out of captivity. I almost want to yell out “Free Willy!”
And when I look in the mirror, I see a trapped rat that’s just spinning her wheels. So I figured I would lend some thought to J-Fed’s analysis and put my behavior under the microscope. So here are my confessions…
When I reach my breaking point and feel like I can no longer handle things, I call him and tell him to get his ass over to the house to help. I don’t ask politely; I demand. Why? Because I feel like he should be helping more, and I resent the fact that while he’s at his apartment listing stuff on eBay, I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Taking 5-year-old daughter a couple of nights a week is not comparable to taking care of an infant full time. Even if I have someone to help during the day, which I no longer do, I’m still responsible for the kids the of 15 hours a day. If you don’t understand why I’m angry, then maybe you should try it. Even if the baby is too young to stay over your apartment over night, there’s no reason you can’t take her on a Saturday or a Sunday. An hour here and an hour there just doesn’t give J-Fed and real good picture of what I’m facing.
Maybe I could retool my approach, but by the time I get to the point of calling him for help, I’m obviously at the point of no return.
Nasty text messages. When J-Fed gives me a slew of promises which all become empty, I lose my cool. It’s simple things like changing a lightbulb in the ceiling, washing the dogs or taking the kids for a few hours like he offered. I send him nasty text messages thanking him for his consideration and once again letting me down.
This is my issue. I should expect nothing and I’ll never be disappointed. However, I believe when he says he’s going to do something, he should do it. He refutes that I have a timeline and it makes him not want to do it on my schedule. Heads up J-Fed. If you tell someone you’re going to wash the dogs over the weekend that usually means this weekend… not some weekend a month down the line when you finally get a hair up your ass and decide to be “nice” and do it.
Yell, yell and yell some more. Guilty as charged. J-Fed has a way of pushing my buttons. Yes, I let him. Yes, I go to counseling to try and stop. However, it’s an exercise in futility. I’m constantly being told that I’m impatient, that I expect things done too quickly, that I don’t ask nice enough. The list of things that I apparently do wrong runs long. But this is what I’m faced with…
Just last week I needed to get cortisone shots in my head… and a lot of them. Because the nanny was no longer there to take care of the baby during the day and my mom is out of town, I had to take the baby with me. Meanwhile, daughter 1 had to be picked up from school.
After being shot up and needing to get back to work, I called J-Fed and asked him if he could please pick up daughter one from school. Ok, so it was at a moment’s notice. He had been working and he wasn’t happy about being rushed home. J-Fed needed plenty of advanced notice. He had places to go and people to do… After a bit of protest, he agreed to help.
Before picking up daughter, he swung by the house to get my truck as his had a go cart trailer attached to it. When I took a moment to come up for air and relax for a moment, he blasted me saying I obviously wasn’t too busy to dawdle. Here I had rushed him and I was wasting time. Then I explained I had just returned from getting a crapload of shots and I had to hold the baby the entire time. I needed to collect myself for a few minutes. His response?
“I don’t understand. What was the difference in whether you got the shots holding the baby or not holding the baby? Did it make it any harder?” he said condescendingly.
I don’t know J-Fed. Let me hold you down and jab a needle repeatedly in your scalp to inject cortisone. While I’m doing that, you try to hold a 7-month-old baby so that every time you make the smallest move, the needle goes in just a little deeper than planned. Then you answer the question yourself. Did holding the baby really have any effect on the shots in your head?
You see, it’s the continuous lack of sensitivity that drives me to the brink, that makes me teeter that fine line between sanity and insanity.
I never claimed to be the patron saint of ex wives. I never claimed perfection. I’m a work in progress. But damnit, at least I’m holding up my end of the deal. The kids are fed, bathed and cared for every day. There’s nary a day goes by that I actually have any “me” time. I don’t get to go go cart racing a couple of times a week from 2 in the afternoon until 10 at night. I don’t have the luxury of sitting down and watching television for a few hours. I don’t even have the opportunity to sleep through the night… and this is going on seven months. I understand he works, but for the love of God, I have two full-time jobs.
So if I’m a little short and do some things that might seem a little off the wall, it’s because I’m hanging by an itsy, bitsy teeny, weeny little thread. It’s hard to swallow that the man who I thought loved me doesn’t really get why I struggle on a day to day basis. Of course, this is no different than how he saw things when I lived together. So stupid, stupid Kiki for thinking things should be any different now.
I guess when you’re married there’s a reason to play nice and to try and get along. Once that’s gone, there really is no incentive to go out of your way for the other person. So much for that amicable divorce.
In due time, I’m betting we give Alec Baldwin and Kim Bassinger a run for their money.