Good news, you don't have Herpies!!

So what's a girl to do when she finds out her husband is a slutty cheater man?  Head directly to her gyno for an STD test.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.

I was a worldly independent woman of the 21st century, so this is not my first STD screening.  As I sat on the exam table in my shirt, unhooked bra, and socks many emotions filled me.  Disbelief, anger, the realization that I was wearing two different socks.  I hate sorting socks.  This was one of the many things that my husband threw at me as to why he was unhappy in our marriage.  I mean, the inability to put laundry away HAS to be above financial problems, right?  What horrendous living conditions this man had to endure.  Fucking other peoples wives should help! It all started to make sense sitting there with my paper gown. My husband randomly, or so I thought, freaking out about having HIV.  When I went to get the blood work done while pregnant with our first born, how he asked which things they were screening for.  How he kept asking if I'd gotten the results.  Well, I guess if I trolled walmarts fucking randoms in my truck, I might be concerned that I have HIV too.  Poor guy.  That must have been tough.

The knock, "You ready happinessafterthebomb?  Yep.  We do the drill, "How are the kids, your mom?"  Weeee, he's a family friend.  So the stirrups are put away, I take a deep breath.  "Um, I need to do blood work and get tested for STDs."  I said it.  Outloud.  Up to this point it had just been rattling around in my head.  My Dr, wide eyed, says "Ok..." and I start to sob.  Guttural sobs, in my unhooked bra, paper gown, and mismatched socks.  He puts his hand on my shoulder, and sighs deeply.  Anger fills his face.  "What are you going to do?"  and the most honest response to this type of situation "I have no idea."  He lead me to his phlebotomist, and whispered something to her.  My sobbing had continued.  She is a kind woman.  In four weeks she will draw my blood to confirm my numbers for my third pregnancy.  She gives my kids pink and blue Band-Aids. Anyway, she preps my arm, and looks in my eyes, "Honey, he's an asshole."  Say hi to my new best friend!!

I walk in the door of my house to, "MOMMY!!!"  Hugs from my babies.  And then HE walks down the hall.  Its quite obvious that I have spent some time sobbing.  "How are you."  I glare, "that was one of the most humiliating things I have ever had to do."  Walks over, hugs me and says "I'm so sorry, baby.  But, they see that all the time..." 

And there it is, right there.  Cheaters think it's normal, common.  Most people cheat, he says.  That night as I lay there, not sleeping as I hadn't in 4 days, staring at my asshat husband sleeping like a baby, I wondered if I had missed the signs.  Oh, they say that "She must have known!!  She ignored her gut!"  Only a year earlier did I have any reason to believe my husband could lie to me.  But this?  Cheating.   The entire marriage?  No.  No, I did not miss anything.  I trusted him.  That's no flaw in me.  I've spent some time over the last eleven months wondering many things.  I've come to this conclusion.  This has no reflection on me.  There were many, many good times.  I was not living a lie.  I was in love, was a great friend, lover, partner and wife.  The last 8 years were what I thought they were, me sharing my life with someone.  Creating my family, and my memories will not be tainted.  It was him who was living the lie. But now I'm in on the secret, so I choose to create a different family. And I will chose much wiser in the future. 

I've got this...but can I throw a tantrum too?

So, today it's been 11 months and one amazingly adorable baby since I found myself in a heap in my hallway.  Many fun tales of triumph and woe will be told here of those 11 months, but this post is about today.

Today I woke up to my alarm.  My alarm?! From the other room.  I shot up and hit my head into the bunk bed.  Like a bad night of tequila shots, slowly the night before came back to me.  At least I know where my car is. I was in my kids room having had to console my two year old to sleep.  We are on week two of their father moving across country, and while we had been separated for five of those eleven months, we had been "reconciling" for the past four.  And by reconciling I mean, I believed he was still cheating, he said he wasn't, eventually he let down his guard enough for me to confirm he was still cheating and unknown to him I am going to divorce him.  You know, the classic love story.  I digress.  Anywho, I fell asleep hugging my sweet two year old who thinks her dad now lives in the computer.  Thanks, Skype!  These babies are confused and scared.  And I'm not going to lie...that part sucks.  It just does. 

So as I navigate my way around barbies and matchbox cars, I suddenly realize my nine week old had been asleep since 9 pm.  After double checking he was still breathing, I was elated.  A full 6 hours of sleep.  A festivus miracle!!  Maybe I will only need one venti red eye today, thank you third born.  You are now the favorite.  Shhhh, don't tell the others.

I shower, no need to shave.  It's fall and I'm getting divorced.  We'll save the shaving for a date.  Or I'll play the ole, don't shave so you don't sleep with him and then you do and you say you won't do that next time but you do, game. Man, I miss dating... I slap on some makeup, throw on one of the five work outfits that fits my post partum ass, and begin to wake the kids.

As those of you with children of the wonderous age of four and two know, it starts off sweet.  Gently rub their back, "wake up sweet girl, time to get ready for school.  Four year old in top bunk, wake up buddy!"  Those beautiful blue green eyes open. Birds churp, mice sing songs...and then the wailing starts "Noooooooooo school!!!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I wanna wear dis skirt!!  IT NOT COLD!! I YIKE MY HAIR TANGLED"  I made a promise to myself, that now that I'm a single mom, I will not be the crazy screaming mom.  So I barter...with donuts.  Yep. I'm kind of a health nut.  I make homemade granola, most things from scratch, no processed foods.  And I got to work with 5 minutes to spare.  Thank you, donuts.  A shot out to high fructose corn syrup! 

After I dropped my spawns at daycare, and I was alone for the 5 minute commute to work, I marveled in my new life.  I've been a true, real deal, no help single mom to a four, two, and nine week old for two weeks.  My husband has no idea that I am aware he is still in the company of at least two side dish fucks.  He has no idea that I am done.  But I know. Yes, it's scary.  Yes, I'm really fucking tired by the end of the day.  Yes, I tear up when my babies cry for their dad, and I know that very soon he will know I'm done.  Split holidays, no family pumpkin patch pictures.  No one can ever convince me that a marriage can truly recover from the horror that is infidelity.  The suspicion, the self loathing, the imagining stabbing your spouse in their sleep.  But I understand why people stay.  I truly do.  I'm just grateful that it only took me four months to see, it was not for me.  I not only deserve more, I will demand it! I'm excited!

I get to sleep with someone new.  Have a first kiss.  Have many.  Be alone.  Eat cereal for dinner.  Watch Real Housewives without someone bitching. Be content. 

I can breathe!  I am free!  But, I do have kids so, I'll never pee alone...

The Big Fat...WTF?!

It's weird the things you remember from the day your whole world changed.  How my first kiss was a bit too liberal with his tongue. I remember my first dance and how nervous I was when I pinned his corsage. The feeling of the purple passion warming my stomach the first time I got drunk. The blue mini van with the wood paneling that I drove to get my license.  I know I was sad when my parents left my dorm room, and I was alone. The crisp air and the July breeze blowing in from the Missouri River when he asked. I cried. I said yes.  My dad looking at me in my dress, taking my hand.  The tears. "There's no crying in baseball." The Levity.  That look on his face when the church doors opened.  It said "you look amazing, and I'm so damn lucky!".  The day we got the keys to our first house it was cold and dreary.  When I took the test, my sister called right as I looked at that glorious plus sign. POSITIVE!!  Holy shit, you can't tell him I told you first!! High Five, babe! Our fucking made a baby!  I recall the look on my first born's face when my Dr handed him to me, it said "seriously, what the shit is this!?" I instantly knew I loved him. Looking into my daughters eyes, I swore I would make sure she would know her worth. When I realized I was pregnant...the dread...oh, motherfuck.  We'll get to that shit storm of a day later...

I was wearing the periwinkle blue jeans that I just bought.  Size six.  Triumph!! After two babies, I was looking pretty fucking fabulous.  I was changing my daughter's diaper when he said it.  I remember seeing her tunnel away from me.  I remember thinking. Wait, am I having a flashback?  This must be from all the drugs I did in my teens...did he say that?  No, wait? "What did you just say?" And again, she flew away.  I found her floating around in the air.  I grabbed a wipe, cleaned her up, put a new diaper on.  A green one.  I cloth diaper, and I remember it was green.  I remember hearing him speaking, but it was all Charlie Brown, wah, wah, wa wa wah.  I pulled her pants up, handed my precious two year old to him, and walked from her room directly into the hall and crumbled into a heap on the floor.  I remember thinking, "Seriously?!  You are going to be this cliché?  Your asshat of a spouse just told you he was cheating on you.  Not only that, but that he has been cheating on you for your whole fucking 8 years of marriage with countless whores (this may not have been his exact terminology, but this is my version, so fuck off) and you crumble to the ground?  In a HEAP no less?!  Have some dignity!  GET UP!!!  But alas, I could not.  I was gob smacked.  Yes, so completely, unbelievably shocked that I was on the floor and using a word like gob smacked to describe my gob smackery.  Not sobbing.  Not screaming.  Just in my heapiness, staring at the ground.  I remember he stood there, holding our child, staring at me.  All I could do was think "shit, I need to vacuum more.  This floor is really dirty. " He put said child somewhere.  I still have no recollection of where our three year old was, which is odd, because if you have met said three year old he is not one to make his presence unknown...but I teleported to our bathroom and he walks in. He actually says "So, are you ok?"  Why yes, I'm fucking fabulous.  Thought I'd come take a bath. Maybe shave my legs. Um, really?  REALLY?!  Ok is not even in the same orbit as me right now. Sweet, I actually said that outloud.  Score one for me!! Add some quotes to that shit right there. If you have ever been in this situation, which I sincerely hope you have not, you begin to ask a shit ton of questions you really don't want the answers to. Oh and by the way, you are asking questions from A FUCKING LIAR, so take the initial answers with a grain of salt.  That salt being bullshit. That grain of bullshit being "I needed to tell you and be honest, blah blah," but 4 months later you learn he only told you because this current side dish fuck's husband was going to tell you. And you also learn there are more current side dish fucks.  Like 4 more current side dish fucks. Some of them are your friends. One gem who talked with you while you were pregnant and had just kicked out your cheating cheater, then hugs you and exclaims how happy she is that you two got back together because YOU GUYS ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER! Hahaha, yep.  And hey there sweetie, you don't know it yet, but you are currently pregnant.  Which you find out after your gyno's office calls with the results of you STD test.  Hurrah, no herpies...but you're pregnant!  Weee!

Let's put this shit in the Christmas card bio, because this is your life!