Another mom tapped on my window at my daughter's school and when I rolled the window down, she became suddenly apprehensive. "What's up?" I asked. She hesitated and then with a guilty grin, she whispered, "I just have to ask...[she paused]. What is it like?" "It....?" I asked. "The freedom." The words rolled off her tongue imploringly.
I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped just a bit, but she continued, "I love my husband but the idea of having the house to myself. Time. Alone. Oh my god! So, what is it like?" I was careful. I was careful for a couple reasons. One, the freedom is equal parts amazing and anti-climactic. Two, if I have learned anything during this time, it's that I don't need to be doling out relationship advice. So I gathered myself as quickly as possible and I told her that the freedom was great but it doesn't come without complications.
I appreciated her question so much. I have appreciated all my fellow working their asses off women sharing how often they have been (or fantasized about being) in my shoes. My mom worried so much that I would be blamed for the separation. I assured her that it was 2016 and we have come a long way. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Friends have distanced themselves. The syrupy waves of judgment have been crashing upon my beaches from multiple directions. An explanation is wanted, perhaps warranted, but alas, I am still working it all out for myself.
So for now, I'm returning to the World Series.
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