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The house is about as clean as it possibly could be, considering that a swarm of small children live here.
The stb-ex’s things still have not completely finished their migration to his new abode, a fact that simultaneously irks and exhausts me. I’d resolutely swore that if his things hadn’t skulked away by the start of this month, I would pack them up myself and carry them to the garage. I mentally blew hot air about charging him a monthly storage fee for this privilege.
I’ve yet to implement this scheme. Suppose I should get moving on that one, eh?
My bank account ended the month in the black. The egg incubates unmolested. This is a good start but hardly indicative. Things will get harder before long, as some bills have not yet shown up on my radar.
Property taxes, for example. I may need to sell some of my kidneys when it’s time to write that check.
Anyone need some kidneys? Mine are fresh and juicy. Email me, ‘kay?
All things considered, I’m right pleased about how the first month of spouselessness has gone. It’s certainly not been easy; at times my head has felt on the verge of certain collapse from the stresses of working, fielding complaints from little ones and trying to have some degree of a grown-up life, but for the moment it’s all more or less hanging together.
There’s hardly been less work. In fact there’s been far more work without the assistance of a partner, even a partner who often provided such grudging assistance as did mine.
But here’s the thing: I can now go about my tasks without the grim presence of him lurking on the couch or in his bedroom. I can zip around doing seventeen things at once without him asking, “Do you have to do this right now?”
Now I don’t have a huge mental struggle over every task. When he was here, I had to decide if I should ask him for help, which would often bring on a fit of pique from him. Or I could choose to do it myself, which often would bring on a fit of resentment from me. I’d run through that struggle multiple times each day when he lived here. Whichever choice I made, it wasn’t comfortable.
Now I just do what needs to be done. There’s no question about whose job it is. It’s my job. They are all my jobs, and it feels great (but exhausting) to be doing them all myself.
And now on to the second month.
MammaLoves
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