Well, *that* was fun

So, tonight Husband (I *really* need to think of something else to call him, don't I?) and I had The Talk with the girls. The one about how no, Daddy isn't coming to live with us in our new mapartment*. No, not ever. And surprisingly enough, the talk went great. Hell, the whole day was good.

He was late. He's always late. If he for once in his life showed up on time to something, I might very well soil myself. So, whatever. He was late. I'm used to it. If that's the worst that happens...

We had lunch. He looked at my electrical problems. We sorted out our needs re: child support and custody, etc. He played with the girls. We debated having sex. I made a fucking pot roast, for pity's sake. We had the talk, the kids were cool. It was great.

And then? Departure time. The Bear was literally in hysterics for an hour. I had to beg her not to shriek all the way upstairs to our apartment so that the neighbors wouldn't start gossiping. They're nosy like that. So we sat on the couch and cried. And cried. She cried. I cried because she was crying. She sobbed. She hyperventilated. She wailed. She howled. She practically tried to hurl herself out the window.

It was the most gut-wrenching experience. I felt so powerless. She was hurt and confused and sad, and there was nothing that I could to do fix it**. I hated myself in that moment for doing this to her, to our whole family.

Then, later, as I sat on the floor of my kitchen, in the dark, drinking warm beer***, talking to a fellow divorced friend, I found myself saying that I think Tank really has it easier here. She's two. She cried because The Bear cried, and stopped after about 5 minutes. She is so young, she'll never remember a time when we all four lived together. And then I realized: she'll never remember a time when we all four lived together. How fucking unbelievably shitty. There are no words for how wretched that makes me feel.

So, yeah. I guess this is how it is from here on out. I hope to hell this gets easier. Otherwise I'm going to have to start keeping the beer in the freezer.


*A Tank-ism. Everything starts with M. The apartment is a Mapartment, the remote is a Memote, etc... Very cute if you actually see it. Sounds pretty stupid otherwise.

**We settled on a late-night showing of Aladdin, a big bowl of popcorn, and a tall glass of lemonade. And an extended bedtime. Cause I'm a sap.

***My refrigerator is on the fritz. It steadfastly clings to the 50 degree mark, spoiling any and all perishable foods in days, and reducing my perfectly good beer to... well, you know what they say about warm beer.