Meanwhile, I still had dinner to cook, laundry to fold, and two young children to bathe and put to bed. Our children, Lila, who was four, and Micah, who had just turned two, were the best parts of my life. They were loud, curious, stubborn, affectionate, and endlessly demanding in the way only small children can be.
I adored them. But being their primary caregiver on top of a full-time nursing job left me perpetually exhausted. Gregory called himself a “hands-on dad,” but his involvement usually ended at bedtime stories only on nights when he wasn’t “too tired” and the occasional weekend outing that conveniently coincided with photo opportunities.
Still, I kept telling myself it was temporary. That things would balance out. That if I just held on a little longer, we’d find our rhythm again.
The breaking point came the day before our vacation. We had planned the trip for six months—a family beach getaway we both desperately needed, or so I thought. I had taken time off work, coordinated childcare schedules, packed carefully, and handled every detail.
Continue reading…
