The court has already established a child support payment system that deposits funds into an account for the boys. Even though he isn't working right now, Atlas saved enough from working with Trace that the boys have everything they need.
Emmett says, with his therapist's approval, Atlas will return to work when he's home. He wants the distraction, and returning to routine will be good for him—as long as he continues attending every appointment on time.
At the same time that I ache for Atlas, there's a sense of relief and a feeling of lightness that I experience, growing day by day.
I feel as though I'm experiencing a whole new version of myself.
Looking back, I realize that I went from being a teenager and living at home while dating Atlas, to being a pregnant teenager living with Atlas in his parents' house, to living in an apartment with Atlas and Liam, to living in this house with my whole family.
I never really had time to be alone.
On days when I don't have work, and the boys are in school, I come back from school drop-off, finish my normal morning chores, and then... I have all of this time for myself. I'm not doing laundry or cooking or cleaning up after four people anymore, only three.
I've always taken over all of the house labor, ever since the boys were babies. I only gave the boys smaller chores ofcarrying their hampers to the laundry room, or taking their scattered shoes and toys back up to their rooms.
There was this belief lodged in my chest: Atlas makes the money, I manage the home, I clean our house, and raise our boys.
I can't ask anyone else to help me, because what if they come back and ask me why I can't do it?
I don't do anything; I don't make any money. Why am I asking other people to do my job for me?
But now... Idomake money. Mabel even boosted my hourly rate once I started doing the books in the back for her.
Now I feel a sense of providing financially. It makes me feel important and worthy.
And I’ve realized that I also need to teach my boys responsibility: that it's not just up to the women to do the housework.
They live in this house too, and they need to help maintain it.
Together, we created a chore chart, equitable to what they're capable of. Both share the responsibility for organizing the living room and their shared bathroom.
Liam takes care of the garbage and folds his own laundry. Noah is in charge of keeping his bedroom in order, making his bed every morning, and cleaning up his art supplies.
The boys now share the dishes and load the dishwasher, since I'm the one who cooks the meals. They share sweeping and vacuuming, alternating days, and we've reached an efficient system quickly.
I've stressed to them that weallput forth what we can and work together to keep our home in order.
While they moaned and groaned at first, the responsibility has been good for them. It gives them a sense of pride when Noah comes running to me to come look at his neat bedroom, or even when Liam tells me he folded and put away his laundry.
With this extra time while they're at school I find out whoWendy is again.
Wendy, who used to love crocheting in high school. I bought brand-new hooks with my own money, butter-yellow yarn, and made Noah a lumpy, crooked scarf.
It's uneven and imperfect from being out of practice, but he loves it anyway.
Wendy, who forgot that she loved dancing. Taylor and I had a sleepover for the first time since we were teenagers, while the boys stayed at their grandparents'. We wore sheet masks, drank too much wine, painted our toes, and watched Jersey Shore.
We blasted music we hadn't heard since high school, and danced through the house like girls again.
Wendy, who loved watching trashy reality television. After having kids, I never had the time to just sit and watch. When I did have time, either the boys wanted to watch their shows, Atlas was watching a game, or I told myself I should do something more productive. There was always something to cook, or clean, or fold.
Now, the chores are split with the boys, and I have time to just sit and watch and enjoy without guilt.
I like this version of me I'm creating. I like that I feel lighter each day, that I can smile easier, that I laugh louder, that I don't hesitate—that much—before making plans with Taylor.
And yet, every night, when I lie down in my bed, I reach toward Atlas' side.
Not having the heart to change his pillowcase just yet, I bury my face in it, hoping to smell his shampoo.
