So tonight I find myself trying to move forward in a way that will help my kids.

Today they went to ex-beloved’s apartment for the first time.  Where he is living with his girlfriend.  She was not there.  And they have yet to meet her.

My son, who I was worried about the most because he is a worrier and very anxious, actually enjoyed going to the apartment.  I know he initially did not want to.  In the end, I think he did it to please his father.  He liked the apartment and commented on how nice it was.  He said it was like a hotel.  While I appreciate that it means it is not a “home” in my definition, he obviously thought it was exciting.  And of course it is exciting.  It is new.  It is flashy.

My lack of enthusiasm worried my son.  But let’s admit it.  To you, not to my son.  Hearing about ex-beloved’s new apartment and new life, is not really worthy of enthusiasm from me.  It was hard to hear how rich the girlfriend is (interpreted from the kind of car she drives).  It was hard to hear about what the apartment looks like (ex-beloved finally has the apartment he has always dreamed of…he just had to ditch his wife and kids to get it).  It was hard to hear that he is excited to go there.

It’s moments like these where I find it all a bit too much for one person to bear.  It’s moments like these where I find myself wishing that my kids did not talk so much to me.  That they did not share so much.  It’s moments like these that are sometimes just too hard.

It’s moments like these where I have to take a deep breath.  Where I have to remind myself that I am their mother and will always be their mother.  And while I was replaced as a wife, as a partner, I cannot be replaced as their mother.

It’s moments like these where I wish that I had a bit more time.  A bit more space to myself to start living my own life.  To be worried less about their lives.  Where I wish I did not always have to be the parachute for everyone else.

Who is my parachute?


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