Yeah, baby... that's me and youuuuuuuu...
Good grief. You know, sometimes it just takes a trip back through the ol' memory lane to have things slap you in the damned face. Hindsight is 20/20, etc.
How did we make it this long?
We just did, I guess. We lived for more than ourselves. We had a child. We didn't yell at each other or scream at each other or beat the shit out of each other, but I cried more than I'd like to admit, and he shut himself off more than I'd like to admit, and I guess after a while, what I determined "comfortable" was just co-existing.
Is it wrong that I don't want to get along? That I don't want to be friends or even civil right now? I'm making myself be civil, because I know it is the responsible, adult thing to do, but it doesn't feel like it's the right thing to do. It feels like I'm giving permission to let him live as selfishly as he wants to. I certainly don't do this for me, but for Quinn, who fortunately, will never know the difference. While his daddy is out tomcatting and galavanting around, his mama is busting her ass trying to make ends meet. He'll never be able to understand to appreciate that, but I do.
I guess I can't be mad at him forever - he gave me my greatest gift, my adorable, infuriating, sweet, frustrating, amazing, difficult, autistic boy. Who loves me unconditionally. Wholeheartedly. Without bias or judgment. Completely. He's truly all I need.
Well, him, and the occasional babysitter. And some good wine. Cheap good wine. To go with my ramen.
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