Ahoy

At the 3am wake-up call, I crawled into Bug's bed and let him nestle into a big bowl of mommy. The chilly October air made the closeness a particular comfort. Bug promptly crashed. Warmth is apparently fear's kryptonite. I let myself drift, but a cackle from my son startled me to alertness. In his sleep, Bug was snickering. The sound roused him, too, and he pushed closer to me, grinning. "I had a dream, Mommy." He began to tell it just as the words turned to cake batter in his mouth. He was back under. A few minutes later, another dose of his giggles jolted me awake.

I can't know how the anxiety of splitting a life between two homes might be affecting my son. It isn't fair to him, is it? Tee and I know we can't live together, yet I still fantasize about biting the bullet and making a go of it. One bed for Bug? A single set of books, of boots, of parents, of expectations? Why should this little boy carry the bulk of the discomfort? That's a pretty big shot of adaptation to demand of a kid.

Nevertheless, the ship has left port. On the phone prior to the meeting, the lawyer was prepared to take Tee to the mat. "Bring in his 401K records, his pay stubs, your joint tax documents. You may be entitled to child support, and you are entitled to half the marital assets."

I ignored her. The only papers I brought were ones Tee and I created and reviewed together: Separation Agreement, 26-point Parenting Plan, Virginia divorce paperwork. No subterfuge, no secret strategies. She combed through the pages to make sure Bug is protected, Tee and I have a plan for every contingency, and everything is polished up for the judge to stamp it legal.

At the end of the consultation, the lawyer looked up at me and smiled. "You guys really did all this yourselves?" I nodded, trying not to let the wave of relief and pride upend me. "You two have done an excellent job on this. You've covered everything and more." She cut the retainer in half and told me we should be able to move through the remaining steps without a hitch. If Bug never knows how much effort it has taken to keep this vessel steady on relentlessly churning seas, then we can claim victory.

We sail on in this way, the rigging tight in our grasp. Tee and I have been planning Bug's pirate-themed birthday party for over two months. Never once did it occur to me to do this alone, or to leave the organizing to the parent whose weekend is shared with Bug. Half the task list fell to each of us according to our strengths and preferences. A friend is on the payroll, making a treasure chest out of cake. Bug's Grandma and I have assembled the food and helium balloons and favors decorated with skulls. Tee is managing a treasure hunt and limbo, invitations and thank you notes. Occasional check-ins at allow us to make sure details and numbers are in sync. Beyond that, we trust each other to take care of business. We are a professional partnership now.

In four hours, 35 members of Bug’s growing circle will turn the park where Tee and I were married into a Caribbean island peppered with hidden riches. My objective is to have our son never know that his two parents could have behaved in ways that would have made this impossible. Normal = cooperation. Tortuga may be today’s destination, but civility is our true north.

None of us knows how much our children will have to pay for our choices. This question has kept me awake at night for well over a year. All too often, when sleep does come, tsunamis and rising tides have me racing for a shrinking scrap of safe ground. This is why I am grateful when I startle awake and discover the culprit to be Bug’s mirth.