I loved being married, and I think I was a good wife. I have written before about missing my husband and the space he left in our lives. Because of this I have believed that I would, at some point in the future, be keen to start up a new relationship and one day become a wife again. Not yet, but one day.
This belief is starting to wane. Dramatically.
I don’t want someone cluttering up my house. I love my house, it’s my space, it’s my things, and it’s my rules. I do not want a man lurking around and taking up space. I don’t want to wash his things and watch his TV shows. I don’t want a man here all the time taking up my evenings with looking after him when I could be doing the things I want to do. I don’t want a man having a say in how I raise Rose, or disagreeing in choices I make.
Just because I don’t want a man doing all those things doesn’t mean I don’t want a man to do you know… other things…
Recently, after years apart, my friend and her children’s father rekindled their relationship. She spoke about how having him back in the family home was hard for her, how she found the change difficult because of how much she was letting go to allow him in. I didn’t understand, to me, it was simply the thing you do. You live together, you share the space, you share the opinions.
Now I understand. Now I see why it would be hard, I can see why the transition would be challenging, and I can see how much she gave up. And I think the idea of doing that myself is utterly dreadful.
I’ll need to take a lover. Someone to come and go. Literally.
I want someone who wants nothing from me, except the pleasure of my company and some serious naked time. I don’t want someone who wants me to make them breakfast, or wash their clothes. I don’t want to have to worry about them.
My focus is Rose and myself, our lives and our ways. But there would be advantages to having someone come and sort a few things out for me every so often.