By this time tomorrow, I will have put a deposit down on “a little two bedroom place” and begun the baby-steps towards moving out — separation. I’m extremely fortunate to be in a financial position that allows for such an option. I literally would not know what to do were that not the case.
About a month ago, one of my few remaining single friends lent me a key to his place (he’s got a spare bed and bathroom in the basement). At the time, my plan was to crash there while hunting down something more permanent, but I haven’t used it in awhile. For one, the fastest way to burn a friendship is to stay a houseguest too long. I didn’t know what kind of timeline I’d be on, and it didn’t seem polite to leave things so open-ended. Then there’s the boy. Having a job means (on weekdays) I’m limited to the breakfast hour and the few hours around dinner and bedtime. My wife and I have agreed to joint custody, so he’ll stay with me half the time once I have my own place (and furniture). Until then, I’m either stuck where I am, or doing a ridiculous amount of driving.
Let me reiterate how lucky I know I am. It’s actually possible for me to juggle all this, probably with several scheduling options. The vast majority of people don’t have such luxuries.
So, I’ve been biting my tongue and sleeping on the couch. Last night, I told my son I was going to get my own house and he’d have his own room there to sleep in sometimes — like how he stays in “his” bed at grandma’s house when he has a sleepover. He’s been taking all of it so well, I’m not very confident he understands. If not, he’ll figure it out soon enough. I’m not sure I’m capable of explaining it in a way he can understand, and I’d rather use the emotional energy on bedtime stories.