It feels good to be home, not so good to come home to a messy house, but it is what it is. Little man cried and cried this morning, saying his stomach hurt. The initial look-through with the scopes didn’t show anything but a couple of red places that they took biopsies from. I had to make him go to school. These are the times–and lightening is gonna strike me dead for saying this-but these are the times I wish I wasn’t divorced.
There, I said it. It’s the times I feel helpless. It’s the times I feel like I’ve done everything I can and I still can’t solve the problems that I wish the ex were still here, offering opinions, taking on some of the stress. I wish someone else was here to make him go to school, or call the doctor again, because I’m sure by this point the doctor and his nurses think I’m a hysterical nutcase who’s raising her son to be a hypochondriac. I wish I had someone to lean on. Not that he would have done any of these things anyway, but I can dream.
Someone told me once it’s not the actual loss of my marriage I mourn, but the loss of what my “ideal marriage” was. And that’s true. I miss the things he didn’t do but should have. Like helping with the kids, calling the doctor. But instead he shows up like SuperMan, sits in the waiting room during the procedure, then goes home and I’m left to force an obviously hurting and upset 10 year old to go to school the next day. I mourn the husband I always wanted. The husband of my dreams that I thought he was going to be-I miss that guy a lot. Especially when things are so hard right now.