I want to write something profound and unnerving. Something that will somehow connect battered woman’s syndrome to insanity to romance to “sticking it out”, and weave its way magically back to a place that makes sense and sounds beautiful.
I want to go downstairs, take my baby in my arms, and laugh and smile and make silly faces with him. I want to celebrate his life and his accomplishments. I want to congratulate him for learning how to stand up on his own and sit up on his own and crawl (today—FINALLY!). I want to call my mom and tell her about the two teeth that are coming in in Riley’s mouth. I want to be happy and carefree and have only thoughts about the swimming pool that we purchased today and the adorable Winnie the Pooh swim trunks that I bought Riley and that I’m pretty sure are useless.
I want my face to be perky and happy and smiley instead of snot-stained and tear-stained and reddened and swollen. I want to have proof of the conversation I just had with Rob on Facebook chat. But then again, it’s probably best that it doesn’t let me scroll up and select the conversation from the very beginning. I think evidence of our mismatch would only make me depressed.
I want to know what I want. There are some days when I think it’s to be with him, and some days when I just want to be over him. Every day, I wrack my brain wondering what’s right for Riley.
I have come to some conclusions, and my thoughts are wandering:
- Fuck my pride. The old me would make Rob come here just to prove to everyone that I’m not some pathetic bitch who was dumped by her baby’s daddy. I would have planned things accordingly, so that a new romance would be budding just as he arrived, and there would be a duel for my affection in front of my house for all of the neighbors to see. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t have the will to start a new relationship – sexual or otherwise. I don’t feel the need to prove my superiority. Let him come here and turn me into a sad version of myself, one crying, with snot dripping out of my nose, eyeliner smudged, slobbering drool, screaming, shrieking, and crazed in the street. I’m human. I think I’ve earned the right to act that way.
- The next four years will be all about the 3 R’s: Riley, writing, and recreation.
- Tomorrow starts a new day. One that I’ve already planned, and which includes: spending as much time with Riley as possible, while carving out 6 hours to write, and talking to Rob about the debt (which he says he’s going to pay asap). I will treat Rob like a necessary component of my day: like a class I hate attending, but is mandatory for my diploma.
- I wonder if the love I had for him is really dead, or if I just feel this way in the wake of our Facebook argument?
- “Facebook argument”? My god, we are pathetic!