Okay, this isn't going to apply to those of you whose husbands were caught waltzing off to Fiji with their secretaries. But the rest of you might get it.
You know that time around the end of your marriage, the time when you realize that if you have to share one more conversation with him you'll actually vomit into your Cobb salad? Have you noticed that's always the time when he wants to "spice things up"?
What is it about a failing marriage and the desire for ever-more kinky sex? What is that? He doesn't want to talk to you, he doesn't want to help raise the kidlets, he seems to have forgotten how to fill the gas tank, but now he wants you to dress up like a cheerleader, with the pompoms but without the panties?
Part of me thinks that this is because the men in question aren't attracted to us anymore. The other part of me — usually the bigger and louder part — still has faith in men and thinks they're doing it because they want the relationship to be better. They just don't have a damn clue how.
Can somebody please write a book? Like, How To Get Your Wife To Love You Again... (Hint: It has nothing to do with sex).
I have a theory. I've heard many times that the divorce rate for second marriages is higher than the divorce rates for first marriages. The idea here is that once you've been divorced, you are statistically more and more likely to get divorced from subsequent spouses.
The numbers don't lie, but I don't think they say what the pundits think they say. The increased likelihood of divorce in a second marriage has more to do with knowing when to call it quits than lack of ability to commit.
Think about it — with the exception of parenthood, there's nothing in the world that we commit to for our entire lives but marriage. We split up with our jobs, our homes, even our parents. If we had a job that sucked as much as a lot of marriages, we'd be out in a flash and everyone we knew would be commending us for doing it.
So why not with marriage? Why not laud the ability to realize that this person isn't for you? What about saying, "Right on! Way to be true to yourself!"?
I spent Easter at my new in-laws' house. It's always a little awkward to be there for any length of time, but it seems to have reached fever pitch discomfort levels of late.
My partner's father has recently retired. He had a fairly demanding career and was out of the house a lot. My partner's mother had almost complete control of the house, and he generally stayed out of her way. I used to think that this was a fairly unevolved way to coexist. Now they're together all the time, and I've changed my perspective a bit.
I think they hate each other. They spent the entire long weekend in an upper-middle-class level domestic dispute. Everything was an argument. Should we feed the baby now, or should he eat while we're eating? Was it his idea to go on the Caribbean cruise, or hers? Was the photo taken in Bermuda or Barbados? Should we take the recycling down out now, or in half an hour?
One of my favorite parts of being divorced is not having in-laws anymore. The freedom from all that extra censure and pressure cannot be overstated.
One of my least favorite parts of being part of a couple again is that you get yourself a brand spanking new set of in-laws, and they're often worse than the last.
The thing about in-laws is that they never like you. You're never good enough. You're never a good enough wife, you're never a good enough mother, you're never a good enough housekeeper. Nothing you do will ever meet the expectations placed upon you because they put those expectations in place years before either you or your partner were even born.
Some in-laws are obvious in their dislike of you. While this makes for some confrontational situations, nobody looks at you like you're crazy when you say your in-laws don't like you. Other in-laws — like, say, mine — are not obvious in their dislike. They are passive aggressive and make snarky comments with a big smile on their face, while asking you if you'd like more Merlot.
My ex doesn't really piss me off anymore. I read a lot of posts on First Wives World where newly divorced women wonder if they'll stay as angry or as bitter or as hurt as they are now, and in my experience, the answer is no.
Generally speaking, we don't fight, we don't spat, we barely talk, frankly. But right now, I'm ready to ring his redneck neck.
When I was recently pregnant, there were complications. Blood pressure, bleeding, fainting — it sucked, I was in and out of the hospital, and I wasn't particularly good at returning phone calls or emails. Not to mention I was experiencing a fairly crushing depression but couldn't take my meds because they kept me up at night.
My oldest son was calling a lot from his grandparents', and I either wasn't there to take the call or I wasn't up for calling him back. After a few instances, I called my ex and asked him to get in touch with our son and explain the situation to him so he wouldn't feel completely abandoned. He was incredibly sweet and agreed to handle the whole thing. This was several weeks ago.
When I was married, neither my husband nor I could make any real money at our jobs. We had to have a two-income household because our two crappy incomes were only really the equivalent of one real one.
Eventually, I got my skills to the point where I could run a fairly lucrative business from home. I now make more money from the comfort of my couch than my partner can make working outside the home.
We've decided to make him the stay-at-home parent and me the working one. It works for us — nobody has to leave the house, and somebody is always around for our toddler.
Good, right?
Apparently not. It seems like we are now finding ourselves the objects of reverse sexism. It seems like all of the feminists — the ones who talk about equality and women's rights and, uh, equality — are looking at me like I'm out of my mind.
"But if you both worked you could make more money!"
"But what does he do all day?"
"It must be so hard working from home and taking care of the house work and the baby all by yourself."
Well, I was pregnant and now I'm not. It got me to thinking, as I've been known to do, about my ex.
When I was first married, I got a positive pregnancy test a few days after the wedding. I basically freaked out, but I did it privately. My ex was the type who would freak out enough for the both of us, so I figured it would be a good idea to at least get accustomed to the idea on my own before I dropped the highly unexpected bomb on him.
When I finally realized I couldn't wait any longer to tell him, I did. I took him out to a pub and ordered him a beer. I told him. He took a swig from his beer. He took another swig from his beer. He took a third swig from his beer.
"Can't you take a pill or something?"
"To do what?"
"To... you know."
Oh yes. I knew. But if he was going to be like this about it, I wasn't going to make it any easier for him. Keep in mind, we had a 15-month-old son already, so it wasn't a general fatherhood issue.
