The first time Robin and I met, Aaron had decided to bring her along when he was picking up the kids. I will shamefully admit I was incredibly nervous. Not because this woman had been sleeping with my ex; that did not concern me. It was the fact that she has been spending an ample amount of time with my children, the children I birthed, one of whom without an epidural.
Prior to her arrival, I lit candles; I fixed my hair, and changed into my Sunday best. I took a breath, opened the door and standing in front of me was my nemesis, the woman I had been hearing about for weeks. Robin and I couldn't be more different. There was my ex-husband in female form. Clothes thrown together, two different color socks, and plump. I put out my sweaty palm, "Hi, nice to meet you." I glance down as our hands meet and wouldn't you know, she's shaking. Huh, she's nervous. I collect myself. Why wouldn't she be? I stand up taller, shoulders back--I'm their mother. She's the stranger here; she's the one taking my kids from my house. Oh my gosh, I felt nauseous; she is taking my children from my house.
Shortly after she moved in with Aaron, she called one afternoon and as usual I let it go straight to voicemail. She suggested I call her when dealing with anything relating to the boys, Aaron included. She obviously was privy to the fact that the marriage counselor Aaron and I had seen while together had refused to see us anymore since she couldn't hear herself speak over our yelling. Aaron would not answer my calls so in turn I was forced to deal with the large breasted woman who now seems to be calling all the shots.
Instead of seeing Aaron for pick-ups and drop offs I encounter Robin. Similar to food poisoning, my stomach would tighten every time she opened the door. Without fail she would invite me in and offer me something to drink and if I want to stay for dinner. She's got something up her sleeve, hiding behind that huge bust of hers. I can feel it. What does she want from me? I try giving in a little at a time but alongside labor and childbirth, it might be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. She says things like, "Robert's very comfortable sharing things with me. He knows I understand him." That's about the time the dream started. We're on that rollercoaster ride, the one where you stand, leaning straight up against the side. I'm chasing her in circles, ripping her hair out.
When Robert was seven he said to me, "When daddy and Robin get married I'll have 2 moms."
Without the maturity to refrain I retorted with, "No Robert, she did not give birth to you, she is not your mother." Once the words came out I regretted opening my mouth.
A week later Robert says, "Mom, I told Robin what you said, she said the reason you got so upset is because you are insecure." Has she been snooping through my self-help library? How does she know that? Hell yes I am insecure, I do not like sharing. Didn't like it as a little girl and I don't like it as a big girl.
Every day I am reminded of the changes Robin is making in their lives and although I am a somewhat Christian woman I cannot help but cringe every time my children speak of her.
You know those bracelets--WWJD, what would Jesus do? I have considered making a WWRD bracelet, 'What Would Robin Do'? I find myself wondering how Robin would handle the situation. I wonder if I should tell Jesus that Robin is an Atheist.
A friend once said to me, "It could be worse. You could have someone who really doesn't like your kids." Duly noted. I do genuinely respect her, I think I do. Yes, I do. Without her things would be very difficult. We have true 50/50 custody and on their days she picks up the kids, she takes them to appointments; she does their homework with them. But it's more than that.
We have made progress. We now exchange gifts on Mother's day. She gave me an hour massage, and although I really want to buy her an underwire bra, I buy her flowers instead. For Valentines she took the boys shopping and the 3 of them presented me with a beautiful heart locket. I have come to truly believe people are brought into your life when you need them most. Robin came into their lives with no history, with no guilt. At times I have felt she has stepped over boundaries. Our last big fight, I looked like a professional psycho while she tried to calm me down, speaking to me in her masseuse-like Zen voice. "Don't touch me." I screamed. She stepped back. With tears in her eyes, "I love these kids like they're my own." "They're not your kids!" My voice was shaking with this mother bear protector and that whinny, demanding voice. She broke me down, open and weak. I don't want to be that, especially not with her, but I am. She cradled my crying shaking body, vulnerable and insecure, talking barely in a whisper, about how to work as a family. For them.
You seem a little fixated on her boobs, though -- what's up with that?