God is on His Throne

Emotions are Scary

When our baby was 9 months old Ex yelled at her. “Stop crying!”

She was crawling on the floor, in front of the television console, reaching for me while crying and I had been headed over to pick her up. He had just come home from work.

“No”, Ex commanded, “don’t pick her up, she needs to learn to be strong.”

I went and picked her up, my head buzzing. What on earth was he thinking? He must know that babies cry, right?

I didn’t say anything to him. I couldn’t process what could have possibly come over him. I had been breastfeeding her and sat on the couch and asked her if she wanted boobie.

Just an Object

“Don’t call them boobies, that’s gross”, Ex declared, “they’re breasts. Boobies are mine.”

This was what my life had become. Me and my little one had become ‘things’ to him, property with no personalities or emotions allowed.

We were no different than the coffee table or a magnet on the refrigerator.

I learned to only call my boobs boobies when he wasn’t around. And I learned to make sure at all costs that the baby didn’t cry near him. Over time, she fitfully clung to me whenever he entered the room if the energy emanating from him was negative. Most days it filled up the room to the point we couldn’t breathe, and we had to wait until he was at least 3 beers deep for the air to clear.

Respect My Authority

A routine developed.

When Ex came home from work, I was not allowed to talk to him. His life was incredibly hard due to the “morons” he dealt with at work. He had to come in through the back door, hang his coat on the back of a chair, unpack his lunchbox, look around the house with his super serious scowl, check his phone, grab a can from the Beer Fridge, sit down on his Throne, and scroll through his phone before I could say, “How was your day?”

I would be treated to a lengthy monologue about how he was the victim of “morons” who didn’t appreciate him and then, if he was in the mood, he would hold the baby for a few minutes while I warmed up dinner and then brought it to him on his throne.

Humble Peasants

I’m not even joking about him having a throne.

He had this leather contraption of a chair set against the wall at the far end of the living room with a small table on either side. He would sit there to receive guests as they came in, his arms set on the side rests, beers in the cupholders.

It was a sight to behold.

If we followed the rules, things were a minor version of okay, and we were safe.