Ugh, Thanksgiving during a divorce. Only to be topped by Christmas during a divorce. I soothed myself by remembering that D was with his not-entirely-approving-of-his-life-choices family and not with his bellydancer; that I was NOT with D; and that I would only ever have one "during-divorce Thanksgiving" to contend with.
Fortunately, Little One was thriving. Deprived only of her parents' unhappiness and fighting, she was able to have each of us to her very own self for hours at a time. This was a new phenomenon, as D had spent nearly no, one-on-one alone time with her at this point in her life. And I hadn't pushed it, simply because I didn't trust him to be a) sober and b) an actual parent.
Sidebar. There was this one time, when Little One was about 4 months old, and I was driving our SUV. D was in the back seat with Little One, and we decided to stop at a grocery store on our way home. It was about 75 degrees and the sun was shining. I left the keys in the car, notated this, and went inside. Approximately 6 minutes later, I returned to the car to find Little One screaming, and D livid. Apoplectic. What had happened, I asked? "She got hot!" he yelled back, freaking out. So I asked the obvious question: "Why didn't you open the car door?" I was told to shut up and "just fucking drive."
It was times like this that made me pessimistic about D's ability to parent independently.
Back to Thanksgiving. So I had conjured up as much gratitude as I could, and I was still feeling like I was carrying a very large weight. I hadn't seen D in about 6 days, other than a couple of iChat episodes which were comical, particularly with his brothers and extended family waving to me uncomfortably in the background. "Hi, Penelope!" they'd say. What I heard: "We're really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
I waved back emphatically.
For the actual Thanksgiving dinner, I'd gone to D's cousin's house, the cousin whose substantial presence in the house during the Talking Points talk had made me feel like I was relatively safe from D hurting me. I felt safe with this cousin, and his amazing wife and kids. They wanted what was best for Little One, and they understood that taking care of me was a big part of taking care of her. They also knew all the details of D's infidelities, and didn't seem the least surprised when I first told them we were divorcing.
Huh.
In any case, this Thanksgiving, I was most grateful for having them to help me weather this tremendous storm. Whatever I needed, they were there. It was one of the two things in all this miserableness that I completely cherished, the other one being Little One.
They also understood that D was, emotionally speaking, a few cards short of a full deck, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and all those other wonderful ways of saying "not 100% there."
To wit: During the last of those iChat conversations, he made sure to point out, in front of his family, that he had parked at the airport, so I wouldn't have to come pick him up or anything.
Yes, really. I know, I know.
I politely said, not wanting to embarrass him, "Good."
"Bye, Penelope!" D's family waved in the background. What I heard: "We're really, really, really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
Didn't know about the car thing. I mean, I knew he was dumb, but how stupid can you be when your own child is suffering?! In addition to being short a few cards in his deck, I would like to add that he's dumber than a sack of doorknobs, but with less charm.
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