Raising another woman’s child isn’t always easy.
My worst fear has been realised. My husband has fallen in love with another girl. Life, as I know it, is over.
Just as I expected, the other lady is younger and cuter than I am. Surprisingly enough, she, like me, has thick thighs and a round booty. However, unlike my ever expansive 40-something lower half, she’s still at an age when thigh chunk and butt dimples are freakin’ adorable.
I am not one of these women. Never good at hiding my emotions — try as I might — I confront the issue head on. In front of “The Other Woman” no less. After catching them together. On a Sunday afternoon. Formerly known as Sexy Sundays, B.C. (Before Child.)
I've just come home from brunch with my sister, one of the few solo outings I've enjoyed in the past month. As I enter the house that Sunday afternoon, savoring the final moments of solitude before being thrust back into the deep end of the parenting pool, I hear giggles from my bedroom. And not just girlie giggles. Grown man giggles I've never heard before.
My heart races. My skin tingles. I've never inspired my husband to laugh like that. WTF?
I realise that I'm holding my breath and I force myself to exhale as I tiptoe through the house. I don't know what the two of them are doing to elicit such pure joy. But whatever it is, I want to catch them in the act.
Finally, I reach the door, nudging it open as I peer into the bedroom and see...
My husband and "The Wee One" on my bed. She's just had a bath and The Hubs is towel drying her while she sits facing him, giggling and looking into his eyes with pure adoration.
It's the look on my husband's face that kills me. I know this look. It's the same look he gave me the first time he told me he loved me. And now he's giving that look to someone new. Someone younger. Someone more adorable. Someone I can't compete with. B*TCH.