Me, the boy and J are all living under one roof.

I would say to describe this past week, other than the poo poos of self pity in having to move boxes and unpack, as one of my most favorite weeks.

It was so seamless and I do not expect it to go smooth all the time but for adjustment purposes we rocked it.

I feel at peace. I feel rested. I am home. I am comfortable and I am exploding with happiness and with hope.

A few blips. A few hiccups and a few moments that seemed tense. But none of them were between J and I. My ex new I working toward this. I gave him weekly updates that I was delayed. The last I told him was I was delayed another week in moving due to a snow storm. He went on about how if I would agree to his new proposed parenting plan that I would be able move. And I very intentionally ignored it. I was happy to. The night I settled in for the first overnight before a work day, I was rushing to pick up the boy, get groceries, make dinner and give him a bath since his father hadn’t in the past two days (it was very obvious). To add to that the little guy was excited about the new living arrangement so I couldn’t get him to bed until almost 10 PM. Which is late for him. The next morning I had his sleepy head up at 6:30 AM to eat breakfast, brush his teeth and change his clothes, head out the door by 7:15 AM. Poor little guy was sleepy all day. I get a text at 6:30 PM from my ex, a long drawn out explanation of how tired the little guy is and how pissed he was that I was so “selfish” and “unfair” to both my ex and my son to make him this tired. Imagine the burst of flames when you throw a match on something soaked in gasoline.


That was me.

In the middle of Marshalls holding new bed sheets in my hands. I set them on an end cap and took screen shots of the text to send to my mom to bitch. I was so angry I didn’t think straight and I sent him the screenshots or his text.



I didn’t acknowledge the screens I sent him and just decided to let the rage flow from my fingertips with an immature:

Well what the fuck do you want me to say without flipping out on you at this point?

So I probably should have not let it all get the best of me. But I was riding this super happy high and he came in and took a dump on my happiness. I was like possessed by the ex husband hating demon and I was spitting flame while my head spun.

Now. I promise this whole thing full circle with me apologizing, as I always fucking do. And him understanding why what he said really set off. But he also made about 1,400 excuses as to why I fucked up. Ah. My old marriage. How I DON’T fucking miss you.

I told J. He was so upset for me. He saw how I was hurting not just by what my ex had started but I was hurting with how I handled it. He consoled me. He calmed me. His presence alone was just so soothing.

We had a great first week, even despite that little meltdown on day one. It’s like it’s always been this way, it feels like that pair of jeans you slip into on a Saturday morning, worn in and cozy and you see some wear and tear buy you love them anyways.

Cheers to being an adult. Cheers to being a divorced adult with a full time job, a son and a boyfriend and clumsily trucking through co parenting, life and whatever this cracked out universe has in store.



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