Love is such a wonderfully ecstatic place to be. And as we enter the relationship that will eventually spawn a family we have to have entered a higher plane of love. (This is about conscious parenting, and not accidental pregnancy, though perhaps the accidental parent experiences the next stage of growth.) And before we become new parents we start preparing the nest and ourselves for the upcoming “love hurricane.” And nothing we prepped for and nothing we read about it could have really gotten us spiritually prepared for what would happen next.
And this little trio of wonder and worry is launched and everyone is now headed in a new, and collective, direction. You’re all in, and all in it together.
And you are in the rush of love and chaos that is new parenting. And all of life is miraculously transformed. Some of the changes are hard: sleep is a bit more of a negotiation and a rare gift, every poop becomes an event worthy of study and discussion and of course clean up, and the tired mom requires several added doses of patience as everything about her body has just shifted in a 180-degree u-turn. In my case, and for the sake of this story, I’ll assume, for my now-ex-wife as well, all moments in my life pivoted on that first scream and bloody little package that slipped so easily into my hands in the hospital. There are BP and AP realities. In that hospital, at the birth of your first child, you shed your old before-parent lives. And you emerge, together, as a trio of lovers and spiritual beings, together finally, after all that anticipation and loving worship.
And some of the changes, the ones you might have read about, are magical, mystical, transformations that affirm our belief in God. At least that’s how it felt to me. This little soul has entered and torn up the house and every aspect of the life before him (we had a son first) and each parent is forced to come to terms with his/her spiritual beliefs on the spot. There’s an amazing transformation in your wife’s body and even though sex is off for a bit, the glow of her body and her amazing orbs are all gifts from a higher power. And the body-soul connection of breastfeeding is a fascinating thing to observe. And this little trio of wonder and worry is launched and everyone is now headed in a new, and collective, direction. You’re all in, and all in it together.
We didn’t really start talking about a second child for a while, I mean, we were getting the hang of this parenting thing, and the wonder overwhelmed the stress and struggle of growth required. But there was a distinct moment when we decided if we wanted a second child, and we did, that NOW would be a good time to begin “trying” again. And there’s a lot of fun associated with the trying.
In our world, the second pregnancy was a replay of the first one for about two months. We started the Bradley classes again, just as a way of bonding and preparing for the process again. We loved the time in the car heading to our “birthing” classes. So reverent. And even the little man started calming down a bit as if he somehow sensed some new adventure was on the way. We sailed into our second pregnancy with flying colors. Until the first sonogram.
She had a complication. A medical condition was starving our arriving daughter of oxygen. And we were whisked off to a neonatal surgeon’s office for a more accurate assessment. And the world went topsy-turvy for all of us in one visit with our loving and happy OBGYN as we got the referral and insurance information for this new specialist.
We were in it together, but we weren’t exactly sure if we were all going to make it. And I might have been the weakest link.
He was a wonderful doctor, and his attitude probably carried us along. Our case was mild compared to most of the people in his office. But still, every Monday morning for 5 months we would need to visit his office together and see if our little girl was getting enough oxygenated blood. There were a lot of things the surgeon could do, but they all sounded experimental and risky. And they were. He admitted to only doing one prior in-vitro blood transfusion. ACK. He never showed his anxiety, but he was hoping right along with us, that it wouldn’t come to that.
And along the way, the three of us outside the womb began to show signs of stress. My consulting business crashed around our wounded heads with 9-11, and we suddenly didn’t have a clear financial picture of the future. But we marched along. I started a rabid search for full-time work and we showed up at the doctor’s office every Monday morning for a red blood count of our month’s old daughter.
We were in it together, but we weren’t exactly sure if we were all going to make it. And I might have been the weakest link. Something about the combination, parental responsibilities, a crushing job loss, and a weekly medical drama that played out with ever-more wringing of hands and worry on all sides of the sonogram’s monitor.
I cracked. I’m sad to say it now. I fell to pieces and while I did my best to maintain my support, my attention had to turn inward for a bit while I struggled to get my act together. Yes, I admit it, shamefully, I left my wife mentally, for a short period of time during our greatest challenge. There are still some ideas in my head that point back there to our eventual breakup, but that’s a much later story. We rowed along in our little boat of 3.5 and we did the best we could. But for a short period of time, when she needed a boat captain the most, she was both crew and captain.
In the low-moments, I showed up. In the crisis moments I was able to pull up my suspenders and dig in as Dad, and Husband, and Protector. But I was wobbly.
Our daughter practically jumped out of the womb when it was her time to arrive. And to everyone’s amazement, she was not only not anemic, but she was also just a regular old healthy baby. All the emergency options were not needed once she was out of the inhospitable womb. We were all so glad to see her, and she was so glad to have arrived that we hit another love hurricane. And waves rolled in on all of us. Even our son got into the act with his new sister. He was jumping all over the house, wielding spatulas, and yelling, “Ta tai do!” It was as if he had created his own warning and challenge to any of the darkness that was still threatening us.
We hit another period of bliss and wonder. Now 4 of us in the bed, and 4 of us as happy as four well-tucked space travelers could be. Our journey now turned towards ideas of school and plans for redecorated rooms. We had made it through the trial by fire and we were exhausted but still intact. We enjoyed a few blissful years.
I spent a lot of time after everyone had gone to sleep, standing in my kids’ room and watching them sleep. It was a quiet little church.
And, in fact, those blissful feelings have never changed when looking at my kids. Our marriage had a few more surprises ahead, but the kids were the focus and the purpose of our journey. We were dedicated to the task. I rejoined the corporate workforce and traveled far from home to provide the job-free time for my wife. We were aligned in our goals and dreams. And as I packed off to my daily commute I was smiling the entire way, even pulling out of the driveway I had a sense of working for something bigger and more important than myself. It was a hard journey, but a good one.
And each night as I got home after dark, often bearing dinner or groceries for the awaiting family, I rejoiced even as I began to show signs of the stressful job. I gained a lot of weight, though I tried to make it to the on-site gym. I walked with my wife, pushing the dual stroller up and down the hills of our neighborhood. And we did yoga together in the morning to support each other’s health and well-being.
And I spent a lot of time after everyone had gone to sleep, standing in my kids’ room and watching them sleep. It was a quiet little church. With soft lights, warm smells and sounds, and this little magical being who had chosen to come live with us. I was convinced this was the meaning of life, for a while. To serve and love these little creatures into bigger and better creatures. And that is so. But it’s only part of the story. And here our journey departed from the mapped trajectory and the capsule opened up and I stepped out for a spacewalk alone.
There has never been a second since my kids were born that I did not recognize the gift and suffering my beautiful wife took on to bring these little travelers into the world to join us. And even as they often travel in the same space ship without me, I am still orbiting and loving with all my heart.
And the saddest moment of parenting after divorce is the moment when your kids are suddenly gone from your life for days at a time. It’s the one thing I can’t quite fathom. Those nights when I want to return to the church of children and listen to their tiny snores and sighs… And they are not there.
I used to have nightmares about something happening to them. Perhaps even before my departure was written into the flight plan. And I still suffer minor sadness, that seems to come upon me at random times, with random triggers. Like their cereal bowls the morning after I have dropped them off at school and know I won’t see them for almost a week. (SAD.)
I can only guess that my ex has the same pangs of missing them. And in my early drafts of our strategy at becoming parents, I never imagined this was a possibility, this five-day absence, that comes every other week. And we travel on in our separate ships and our passengers move through the air-lock of elementary and middle school as they transfer to mom’s ship or dad’s ship.
I am still in love with my kids and even the woman who brought them. It’s evolved into something very different than I planned.
I am still in love with my kids and even the woman who brought them. It’s evolved into something very different than I planned. And even as I hope for a co-pilot again, there will never be an astronaut who turned herself so completely inside and out to be a family together. I bless her for them constantly. And I travel along alone for a good percentage of my days. But I’m no Major Tom. I’m more of a Tom Hanks. I’m going to solve the issue and get through this crisis too.This is no 3D IMAX movie. This is not Gravity. This is real life after divorce. And the joy I feel at seeing my kids has even gotten stronger. Perhaps the longing, when they are not within touching or hearing distance, causes me to appreciate them even more. I’m not sure how that could be possible, but I do know that my hours with them are focused and joyous even when we are doing the most mundane things. And when they are asleep in my house, I am complete again, even as a solo pilot. And I can check in on their pulses in a different way, touch base with their school work and their frustrations, and hear what’s going on.
Always Love, and always love your ex for what she gave,
Note: A friend keeps asking when I write these kinds of posts if I wanted to get back together with my ex-wife. And loving her is very different from wanting to be with her again. We’re well beyond that. Sure, the kids might secretly hope for their parents to get back together, forever. But that’s not going to happen.
- Dear Single Mom: Listen, I Was Your Son, I Get It
- Super Judo Warrior Dad in Divorce
- The Money After Divorce Manifesto; A Neverending Story
- Prayer for Single Parents, and My Ex
Here are a few of my books on Amazon:
- Single Dad Seeks: Dating Again After Divorce: Advice and Strategies on Learning How to be Loved Again
- Fall of the House of Dad: My journey through divorce, from loss to joy, again and again
- A Good Dad’s Guide to Divorce: One father’s quest to stay connected with his children
- The Sex Index: Getting Our Love Languages Right in the Bedroom
- Here Comes the Darkness: Surviving and Thriving After a Mental Illness Diagnosis
- The Third Glass: When Drinking Becomes an Issue
- The Storm Before the Divorce: When One Parent Wants Out, That’s the End
- Dating 2.0: Aiming for the Love of Your Life
image: tom hanks press photo for Apollo 13, creative commons usage
This Post Has 2 Comments
That’s a beautiful ode to your family and one to show your kids, when they can appreciate it. It’s great to remind yourself of all the sacrifice and pain and struggle to get the family you have. And yes, it’s devastating to live separate lives. To see your children only “sometimes” and not “always”. You cherish the time you have with them. You miss them so much when they aren’t with you. Does that new “normal” ever feel “normal”? I wish you peace, and a happy future.
Thank you Brenda. I was so happy when I finished it. The Tom Hanks and Apollo 13 thing just worked for me. We’re all okay and doing the best we can. Thank you for your encouragement.