Every now and then I feel a pang of remorse. No, really. I mean, I’m sure it’s a huge shock to you, dear readers, to hear that I sometimes experience regret, what with my entire credo being all about living in the moment and thowing caution to the wind and danger be damned and–
Oh. Sorry. I was channeling Angelina Jolie, there, for a minute. I think it might be my new leather boots. Sorry ’bout that.
Anyway. As I was saying. These pangs hit me at the oddest times, on occasion. Today I found myself regretting what was arguably the biggest decision of my adult life.
I can’t believe I felt this–much less that I’m admitting it–but today, I found myself smack-dab in the middle of some serious doubt about having divorced my husband.
It’s okay–you don’t have to hide it. You’re stunned. Understandably. Hell, I was stunned. I mean, a quick review of the last five years, and other than Monkey’s birth, I’d be hard-pressed to offer up any happy memories. I have noted (more than once) how much simpler my life is now. Only select bits and pieces have even been discussed, here, but anyone who’s been reading me for more than a week has surely gleaned that my ex and I were like water and oil, and the end was not pretty.
So, then. Why?
I’ll try to explain as best I can.
Time has passed, you know. Even the most ruffled of feathers tend to smooth out after awhile. We’re in this parenting thing together whether we like it or not, and slowly–oh so slowly–we are learning to collaborate for the Good Of The Children. Often when he brings the kids back home, he hangs around a bit and we chat. Yesterday, I offered an ear as he told me about the sudden death of a coworker, and he was genuinely pleased and supportive upon hearing about my job prospect. It was… pleasant.
This morning, I sent off a brief email to him. Two sentences. Hey, would it be possible to alter the visitation so that I can have this weekend and you’ll have the other one, instead? Let me know.
The response came back about an hour later. Imagine my delight to see that there was no argument; goodwill and accommodation abounded. Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem. Now here’s a proposed schedule to make sure everything works out even around the swapping of the weekend in question. The ex is big into fairness. So therein followed a two-page dissertation on how to split the surrounding weekends and divvy up the remaining time and make sure that his time was covered and I was not deprived of time and the children didn’t miss any important events and It! Was! Fair! And! Equitable! Spreadsheet attached. Yes.
And as I struggled through his treatise and the charting a dull ache entered my head, yes. But also–a pang of regret. A pang for what I’d given up.
Because–if we were still married–I‘d be the normal one.