Tonight little man and I watched Lilo and Stich for the
first time. I was surprised to learn, that in my grand tradition of Disney
movies, I could still bawl like a baby over a cartoon. Lilo and her sister have
a small broken family. And so do I. But unlike Lilo, I am responsible for my
little broken family.
Several people have told me that I disclose too much on my
blog (and in person as well). Speaks to my lack of self-control I guess.
Anyway, the point is that I identified with the movie because hubby and I no longer live
together. We are on our way to having new lives, forever connected through our
wonderful, sweet son but now apart. Tonight was “my night.”
We are still working on working together and I think we’re
both rather proud so far of being able to hold it relatively together. But I am frustrated
about my baby’s lack of schedule because it was a nice form of continuity (for
both of us) and seemed to ease us both in this rocky life. But tonight after
having spent time at dad’s for the past few nights, my kiddo had no interest in
climbing easily into his little race car bed. He refused the things that
normally soothe him like his blankie, his binkie and his bottle. (Yes, he still
has those things despite pushing age 3. Dis me if you will, but the “experts”
say not to try to take familiar items away during a transition, i.e. a divorce.) Finally
at my wits end, I sat him in bed, shut off the light and closed the door. As my
son screamed and cried, “I want my daddy, I don’t want you, mommy!” I collapsed
on my bed and sobbed. This is becoming a more commonplace occurrence than I had hoped it would be.
Through my tears, as I often do, I chastised myself for
wallowing in self-pity. This situation is my doing; I’ve chosen to sacrifice
the happiness of my son for my own selfish chance at a better future. This
guilt and shame is mine to bear and I don’t deserve to feel bad for anyone but
the people I’ve damaged by deciding to pursue a different path from the one
that kept my son and his father and I under the same roof.
I work with so many very amazing people, and one very
perceptive friend, an older gentleman, recently told me a personal story. He
said that his wife had left him years before. In their specific case she had met someone
whom she fell in love with. He tried to do all the things that he should have
done throughout their marriage, but it turned out that it was too little too
late. He was bitter and upset. He was angry of course with her, for "taking" his
family away, but he was also very angry with himself for not putting much effort
into his marriage and into the woman he loved. I wondered why he decided to
share this with me. He then said, “Don’t ever feel like you don’t deserve to be
happy. You do.” He realized that his wife had a right to pursue something for
herself—happiness. At first I found the story encouraging. It might be okay
that I tried to find something more than what I had. This was before nights
like this.
I pulled myself slightly together, made a warm bottle and
went into my baby’s room. I tried again to calm him and asked if he would like
to come lay with me a while. He said he was scared of the dark and that his
room was foggy (?) and so we went and got into my bed where he accepted the
bottle. He didn’t seem tired at all, perhaps due to his crazy schedule and
constantly being shifted back and forth. I could only think of Lilo and my
broken little family and continued to cry as silently as I could. At one point
I got a little sobby again and my angel rolled over and put his tiny hand on my
wet cheek gently and said, “Mom, I’m okay. I stopped crying.”
We lay there a bit longer and I finally picked him up and put
him back in his bed once he had decided it was no longer “foggy.” But I couldn’t
help but wonder if he was really okay. I guess only time would tell. One thing
was for sure though, I knew I would have a chance at happiness that I didn’t
have before but I sure the hell don’t feel like I deserve it. The pity party is
gonna be a long one.
