Sherry’s Mom was bent over him, a cool hand on his forehead, and she shook her head angrily as she removed a thermometer from his mouth.

“He’s got a temperature, the poor duff,” she said quietly,” He should not be here. He is going to make the other kids sick, and he needs his Mommy.”

I looked at Sherry, worriedly. My own little boy had recently started spending days at their day home and I couldn’t fathom ever leaving him in a state of fever and malaise of the boy on the couch.

“Why would his Mom have left him here?” I asked,”Was he not sick this morning?”

“He was,”she said,”She’s a single Mom and she said she had no choice but to go to work.” She shook her head in disgust. And I exhaled slowly, wondering what was Wrong With People.

Though I did not yet know it, I was a mere six months away from becoming a single Mom myself. And yet I stood in judgment, thinking: What a horrible Mom, choosing work over her boy and disregarding the health of the rest of the kids. Who the hell does that? What was she thinking?

In hindsight, I’m ashamed at my lack of empathy, because now I understand well what she might have been thinking:

• If I miss one more day of work, I might lose my job.
• It’s just a little cold, he’ll be OK, all kids get a runny nose.

And then she might have felt a surge of intense guilt as she looked at the puffy eyes of her baby boy in the rearview mirror, on the way to the day home. She probably thought:

• I should call in sick, but I’ve already been out sick with him twice in the last month and I know I’m on thin ice.
• What would I do - what would we do, if I lost my job?

***

I dropped my son off at daycare last week when he was under the weather. He had no fever, true - but he was snotty and lethargic and clingy in that sweet way that kids are needy when they are sick. But I feel as a Single Mom with a career - and an ever-teetering balance - I need to preserve my sick days for when he is really sick. As is, I work when I have a migraine, or when I feel like dying myself because I need all my sick days for him.

In a coupled relationship, Moms and Dads can trade off sick days so that neither career suffers. It’s not possible in a Single parenting existence - or at least not in one where the other parent is not willing or able to trade off.

I dropped Nolan off at daycare on Wednesday with a cold not because I suck, not because I’m a callous Mom. I did it because I love him fiercely and need to do whatever I can to bring in money for us to live, to make sure we have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. I did it to make sure I’ll be able to keep him home on the days he has a fever, on the days he needs his Mama most.

My relationship with my little boy’s Father crumbled two years ago, a few days after New Year’s Eve, after a final-straw breaking, gut-wrenching argument, when he returned to our house in my Jeep and took down Christmas decorations in silence, in the home we shared.

I stayed for a while with my son at my Mom’s apartment, numb while she surrounded me in crackers and mandarin oranges and steaming cups of honeyed tea. And I piled up walls of crumbly Kleenex on her varnished tabletops, and I held on to the warmth of my one year old baby and I wondered what would become of us. And yes, it really felt that dramatic.

I wish that I could have told that shattered woman that most things would get better from there: solo grocery shopping expeditions get much easier with a pre-schooler than with a baby, for example. And, that there is a certain beauty in not having to pick up socks or bathroom-sink hair and to unapologetically eat olives for dinner. In time, I wish I could have explained, most things will be so much better solo than they were when things were bad, together.

But. The one thing that’s not better is the holidays. Last year I had our son on Christmas Day, and his Father had him for a few days afterward. This year, it’s his turn to have him on Christmas, and I am already dreading it. What is Christmas, without the delighted squeal of a small child? What am I going to do with myself on Christmas Day, when everything is closed, when (it seems) the rest of the Universe is with their family? Perhaps, I think, I could volunteer at a soup kitchen downtown for the day. My Mom has already talked about “delaying” our holidays until Nolan gets home and can enjoy them with us. Or rather, we can enjoy watching him thrill to them - because that’s what really makes them so great.

I could go snowboarding, I guess - maybe I could book a last-minute trip somwehere sunny and beachy, but most likely I’ll ruminate and clean, reflect a little and shed a few cleansing tears before the time will be up and my son will be back home with me.

Single parents, what do you do when your kids are with the exes for the holidays?

It’s a situation he was amenable to at first: she was offered a great career opportunity in her old home town; her family was there and he could have the kids on weekends and for stretches of time over the holidays.

“But I miss the kids so much,” he wrote,”I want her to move back here, or at least halfway. And I want to ask for joint custody.” I could almost feel the pause in his missive: a friendship between a single Mom and a single Dad is rife with opportunity for misunderstanding merely on the general perspective of the sexes.

“What would you do,”he wrote,”If your ex asked for joint custody of your son?”

I drew in a breath and wrote back right away.

“I’d be all for it,” I said,” My ex isn’t interested in joint custody at the moment – he just wants it to be casual, so he can see Nolan when he wants, but without commitment in case he’s busy.”

The return email landed in my inbox with rapid speed.

“Oh,” he wrote,”I’m sorry. I just assumed that all Dads would take joint custody if they could have it. Sorry if I opened a wound.”

***

My ex and I actually have it written into the legal parenting agreement we signed off on two years ago – if my ex moved to this city, he was entitled to joint custody.

He moved here, just over a month ago – but, it turns out, he’s not interested in joint custody at this time. Entitled, yes, desiring, no. First, he says, his apartment is too small. Second, he plays a sport he loves and it takes up two nights a week and one full weekend day – he does not want to commit to every second weekend – or halftime – because of this.

I am trying not to push, not to nag, not to spew hasty things because of my frustration with this lackadaisical parenting schedule. Previously, though imperfect, our arrangement was that my ex saw our son for one long weekend every month – he would fly here one month and the next, I was responsible for flying our son to his city, to see his Dad. That one weekend every month gave me time to recharge my batteries: finish freelance work, deep-clean the house, have a beer with a friend, go for a day-long, soul-cleansing hike.

Now, though Nolan’s Dad sees him more often – the occasional Monday night drop-by, the sporadic Friday night, and Sunday afternoons – I don’t have a break of more than a few hours at a time to rejuvinate. I don’t have a weekend off to look forward to once a month. I don’t want to be selfish, but man, with two jobs and business trips and daycare drop offs and weekend sports - I feel like I need to have a block of time to re-charge, to be the best Mom I can be to a son who is awesome, and an awful lot of work.
I emailed my ex earlier this week, expressing again my desire — and what I believe is our son’s right and need - for a parenting schedule.

I’m willing to be flexible — I may need to go on a business trip, my ex may need to go see his loved ones back home — but I’d like a basic schedule in writing. I don’t really expect a response to my email - that’s not the way my ex rolls - but I would be interested in hearing what you’ve done in custody matters where one parent wants a “when-it’s-convenient-for-me” style approach.

I do not want to involve lawyers, at any cost, and I certainly do not want my son to ever get the feeling that his time with either one of us is not cherished and wanted.

But I want to establish that my “me time” is just as important as that of my ex. I know that nothing in parenting is fair, but at the moment it makes me want to scream that I am bound to the whims and desires of my ex. He can go away on vacation when he wants, I need to schedule two months ahead of time if I want to get my hair cut. Suck it up? Or is there a solution I’m not seeing here?

Hints, tips, stories? Bring ‘em on.

“Uh, the house is a tad messy,”I said apologetically, taking her coat.

“Tally,”she laughed, referencing my ridiculous height-inspired nickname from years ago,”It’s me. I don’t give a hoot.”

Good things my friends aren’t picky, because housekeeping is number one on the list of Things I Let Slide.

It took me less than a month into single Motherhood to realize that I couldn’t do it all. It’s impossible to keep a spotless house, stressful career, kid, and personal decorum when one is partnered, let alone by oneself. Unless I wanted to give up sleep altogether, I knew there were things I’d have to relinquish to the back burner. Knowing my priorities — and understanding my limits — has helped keep me sane and relatively efficient. Following are the top 5 on my “sacrifice” list:

1) A gleaming house.

My house is generally kind of tidy, but I’ve given up trying to keep it perfect lest someone drop by. Dishes can often be found in the kitchen, the laundry basket in the bathroom is usually overflowing and honestly, there is toothpaste shrapnel in my bathroom sink at this very moment. But a little clutter never killed anyone, and I can usually get to the deep cleaning during my son’s nap on the weekend, or when he’s with his Dad. I don’t lose any sleep over untidiness: earning my living and hanging out with my boy come first, by far.

2) A perfectly groomed exterior

Pre-motherhood, I was a little obsessed with clothes, hair and makeup. At times, admittedly, it bordered on ridiculous: I showed up in the labor and delivery ward in high wedge heels and a body-skimming skirt. The nurse looked at me like I was on Something Illegal, but I thought: I will never become a frumpy houselady. And lo! I munched my words. 6 days out of 7, I wear a hat (to mask two-day unwashed hair), yoga pants, and a hoodie. If I’m meeting people, I’ll always bust out the heels, but most days I choose comfort over fashion. Not blowdrying my hair, not obsessing about makeup application, and doffing the heels for flats saves at least an hour of my day, which I can spend returning email or wandering with my son on a pre-daycare drop off amble through the forest.

3) Secondary projects

For as long as I’ve been sole supporter of my son, I’ve worked more than one job. There is my full time career, which always takes priority — but then I also juggle a number of freelance jobs: some writing, some consulting, some marketing. I prioritize these by order of payment. The highest paid work gets completed first, and I work my way down the line according to net worth of each project. It’s an imperfect practice: sometimes deadlines get bumped and start dates get pushed back, but in general: the lower the pay, the lesser the priority.

4) Personal networking

My brother’s girlfriend sat next to me one night as I logged into my Facebook account.

“You have 54 unread messages?” she asked,”Why?”

Well, I suck at Facebook. And at returning personal email. And that’s just because I don’t have time. My friends all understand my situation, and know it’s not personal. I’ll get around to answering eventually. Probably.

5) Home-cooked dinners every night of the week

In uncertain economic times, restaurant meals should be among the first non-necessities to go the way of the Dodo bird. I know this, but cooking takes time and energy and pots and pans and then the cleanup and some days, it’s much more affordable for my psyche to just get some to-go portobello sushi rolls or an inexpensive flatbread from the pizza place down the street. Nolan and I don’t eat a ton, and often there’s enough leftovers to fill his lunch box the next day, and justify the weekly splurge.

Single Mamas (and Dads) what short cuts do you take in order to keep your sanity?

“Where are you headed?” he asked when I lifted my laptop bag to make room for him next to me, the only empty stool in the room.

“Going home,”I said, stretching my arms and feeling my shoulder prick with the aftermath of terrifying GPS-led navigation on LA’s infamous freeways,”Just here for the day for meetings.”

We got to talking, as often happens when two strangers sit in proximity in crowded airports. He’s married with a new baby at home, but travels frequently as a sales man: he hates being away from his little one, missing so many milestones and brand new smiles. I smile and nod as he talks.

He is friendly but a little guarded, I am suddenly self-conscious that he has mistaken my friendliness for flirtation and so when he asks if I have kids, I say,”Yes, one, a three year old little boy” and don’t offer more information. I’m wondering if I should resume with my proposal organization when he asks:

“Does your husband stay at home with him when you have to travel then?”

“Uh, no husband.” I blush, and hate myself for it,”I’m a single Mom. My Mom helps out a lot.”

“Ah.” Instead of moving to the opposite corner of the restaurant, he smiles.” I was raised by a single Mom,”he says, and a look of kindness moves across his face,” I respect the hell out of her for all she did for me. I’m a Mama’s boy till the day I die.”

I have a few male friends who were raised by Single Moms, and many of them share the same sentiment: adult knowledge of how hard their Mothers worked to make their lives better. None of them seem too screwed up by often semi-absent and irresponsible Fathers, but they do often seem to have some resentment.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the impact of my solo Motherhood on my son. Specifically, I wonder if it will shape his ideals in negative or positive ways, if there are lessons I can help instill in him based on the perspective of my own situation. Can I better teach him to respect women? Can I help him to understand that, when he has children of his own, it’s his responsibility to foster, nurture and support them just as much as their Mother’s?

A comment on my last post, by a Single Mom named Gwen, has stuck with me all weekend:

“I hate the assumption of ex’s that just because they get divorced the kids have their Mom and don’t need their Dad unless he feels like being around.”

I know there are thousands of Separated Dads who do not fit this bill, who ache and work to be in the lives of their children as much as possible. But for many Single Moms, dealing with exes who only want to see their kids when convenient, who renege on child support, who expect Mom to bear the brunt of 90% of the raising of their children — this “it’s the Mom’s responsibility” attitude is one of the most painful realities of solo Mama life.

If there is a benefit to my son that can come out of the ugliness of the separation of his parents: it’s this. I have the opportunity to teach him that he can be a partner on every level to the woman who eventually bears his children. I can teach him that he can be sweet and soft as easily as he can be strong, and that it is his duty as a Father to be there as much as it’s often the instinct of a Mother to be a Mom.

I want him to respect the hell out of me one day, yes. But more importantly, I want him to respect the Mom of his children in twenty some years, so that she’s not fated to repeat the same rocky path of us Single Moms.

***

I chat a little more with the bright-eyed new Dad at the bar, and pass him a business card as I reluctantly leave to catch my plane.

“You’re a good egg,” I say,”Your Mom did a great job.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that,”he said,”And tomorrow morning I’m going to get up with the baby and let my wife sleep in.”

In a day filled with great meetings and opened opportunities, that was the most important sentence I heard.

My three-year-old kicked leaves and I shuffled beside him, somewhat embarrassed that my kid’s skinny little legs were exposed in a pair of wildly autumn-inappropriate blue shorts. But he insisted and I’ve learned a hard fought lesson: choose battles with small humans wisely. At least he’s wearing a thick coat.

We’ve been to a few of Nolan’s father’s rugby games now, and at first I felt frozen to the bleachers among the cheering wives, Moms of adult, lumbering sons, and grizzled British ex-pats muttering salty words of frustration . Were there any other ex-fiancees here with the sons of any other of the rugby players? Didn’t think so. But we rolled with it, because we’re good at that, inspecting floating red Maple leaves and holding hands and sneaking off to buy root beer at the snack bar.

There’s an older man always present at these weekend games, in his late fifties, standing with a large camera and a keen eye on the sidelines under a canopy of trees. He’s watched my son and I at each of the four games we’ve attended, smiling, making us feel welcome, each time. This day he speaks to us for the first time: “So who do you two belong to?”

I look up and smile and stammer mentally, concocting what to say and Nolan points to the field, to a burly man in a white hat, pummeling another burly man into the sodden ground.

“That’s my Daddy!” he says joyfully.

Camera observer man turns to me, waiting.

“That’s my ex,”I say slowly.

“Oh,” he says, looking a little flustered: and then, “Silly man.”

It’s a little uncomfortable for a minute as I weigh the assumption: that this man believes the Father of my son left us somehow, gave us up. It’s an assumption I’ve heard before: no one wants to be a single Mom. Single Moms have been forced into the situation without their consent or compliance, right? This well-intentioned man doesn’t realize that perhaps, I was the one to leave.

I encounter assumptions about my single Mom status on a near daily basis; the following are the stereotypes that make me cringe the most.

1) Single Moms are desperate for a new man.

I’ve dipped my toe in the dating pool, grudgingly, over the last few months and the first thing that always comes up is the assumption that I want to get married and have more babies, stat. Why? Because I’m a single woman of child-bearing age? Because a woman is not complete without a man? I don’t know, but it’s annoying assumption, without merit, and I don’t like it.

2) Single Moms are money grubbing.

I can’t count how many times I’ve been asked how much alimony and child support I receive. The answer: none. The reaction: shock. Many acquaintances, friends, customers and strangers have assumed I am somehow benefiting financially from my separation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Not that it’s your right to ask anyway - in my opinion.

3) Single Moms should be pitied.

“I don’t know how you do it!” It’s the single most repeated refrain of my single Mama existence. It’s meant to be tender and empathetic, I know, and I don’t mean to dismiss the good intentions behind the phrase. But I do it because I have to, like every single Mom has to. It’s not worthy of praise, I’m no more strong than you, I just deal with what I encounter, like anyone else. Save the pity, is my view: save it for the baby seals and impoverished countries and Republicans. (Just kidding! Kind of.)

4) He must have left you

As above. Strangers have said: “He’s an idiot, why would he leave a team like you two, how could anyone leave you” and more. Strangers (and acquaintances) need not make these assumptions. Maybe he didn’t leave. Maybe us single Mamas did what we had to, made the decision ourselves.

What Single Parent assumption makes you crazy?

But for me, and for many of the single Moms I know, the most challenging stress factor is money: how to survive on just one salary.

I am incredibly fortunate to have a career I truly love, in digital ad sales, and I’m grateful every day that my work covers my mortgage and food and every basic necessity for both my son and I. But things are still often tight, and I lie awake some nights trying not to worry about the economy and stability and the fact that I am the sole breadwinner for such an innocent, dependent little human.

There are some things I’ve learned along the way that have helped ease the pain, a bit, and following are the best of them.

Buy, don’t rent, if at all possible

I realize I may be in a bit of a unique situation in my ability to buy a home on my own: I invested in real estate very early, at 23, when I bought my first tiny bachelor apartment. After my separation, I knew I didn’t want to rent but buying on my own was daunting. It’s not for everyone, logistically or emotionally, but by buying a modest home with my little brother (who put down a smaller down payment and has been renovating a basement suite downstairs), I’m able to make monthly payments because of his contributions. And both of us are investing for the future rather than putting money in a landlord’s pocket.

Pick up a Night Job

My social life has tanked considerably since having a baby, and even more since becoming a single Mom. I don’t go out that much, because babysitters are expensive and so are late nights out. So - instead of watching TV or relaxing, I work a little at night. There are a lot of part-time freelance positions out there: everything from writing to selling on etsy to consulting in your expertise of choice. I think if you look hard enough, you can find a small second job that might pay for a chunk of monthly daycare, or make you feel less guilty when you need a new coat.

Look for “damaged” goods

Every single piece of furniture in my house has something “gently” wrong with it. My living room couches are floor models, my ottoman has a small rip on the right hand side. My armoire is a little scratched, another floor model — but you’d never know. Choosing slightly used and damaged goods has enabled me to save a lot of money as I rebuild my life and my home.

There are a few more things: accepting hand-me-downs from friends who are done having babies (my son has endless clothes from my cousin and several friends with older boys — little boys clothes don’t go “out of fashion), grocery shopping nightly instead of weekly for only what you need for the next 24 hours (sometimes easier said than done) and indulging in premium coffee beans instead of a morning Starbuck’s latte.

I’d love to know: what’s the best tip you have for living on just your own salary?

Kim is one of the most polished and efficient sales people on the team at the large media company I’m working at. I admire her intelligence and hope I have half her poise when I’m her age: which is only in four or five years. But I can’t help resenting her a little. I understand she has to pick up her kids from daycare, but shouldn’t she be putting in her dues at the office, too? I’m working till at least 7:30 every night to make sure I’m on the right rungs on the slipper corporate ladder - and, I know it sounds petty — but I resent her late mornings and early exits.  Just because she chose to have children doesn’t mean she should get away with fewer hours on the clock, right? I think parents need to put in the same hours as non parents.  Firmly.

That was me five years ago, of course — now I am Kim and feel guilty for the complete lack of understanding I had for the struggle to juggle by working Moms. I’m not working less hours now, necessarily, but I often dip out at 4:30 to pick Nolan up at daycare. I make up for that early exit at night, of course, and sometimes on weekends — but if I were in a corporate office environment, I’m sure eyes would be rolling. And I’m pretty convinced that the most vehement sighing would be that of Other Women: particularly Other Women who don’t have children.

My friend Martha, who had two children under five, works for a boss who happens to be a 39-year-old single woman: never been married, never had kids.

“She’s nice,” Martha confided in me, as we discussed our work-life balance over coffee on my couch,”But working at 1:00 on a Sunday afternoon or 8 PM on a Wednesday is the norm for her. And so she expects it of me. The kids aren’t an acceptable excuse. I’d kill for a Dad boss, or even another Mom with kids who knows my pain, you know?”

But then, how can children be understood, by a woman who’s never had them?  Five years ago, if you’d tried to tell the single, career-focused me that children were every bit as important as a successful career (more so, even!), I would have politely nodded and secretly, vehemently disagreed.

For those of you with kids (especially single moms, who arguably juggle even more), what kinds of bosses have been most understanding with your kid situation?  Is it a mix of men and women?  Do women tend to be harder on each other?

I remember listening to Like a Virgin with a mixture of thrill and awe, not quite sure what this Virgin business was all about, but understanding that the message was naughtily scintillating and awfully good background for dancing rhythm-lessly with my little friends in the carport of our suburban home.

I flipped through glossy magazines in my tween years: lusting after the lace gloves, hairspray and giant crosses that characterized Madonna’s mid-80’s style. I wanted to be that confident, large-eyed, get-anything-she-wants woman. I didn’t want to be a singer, necessarily, but even then I knew that it wasn’t Madonna’s voice that created her success. It was her determination. It oozed out of every pore. With that assured tenacity, she couldn’t fail.

So it made me sad to see the headlines confirm last week that Guy Ritchie and Madonna were ending their 7.5 year marriage: a definite failure, albeit a personal one. And I was totally unsurprised to see various media outlets conclude that it was Madonna’s workaholism and self-centred nature that contributed to the decline of the Union. She’s a focused, unapologetic, and sometimes chilly business woman: of course she will be slaughtered in the media.

I can’t know anything about Madonna’s personality or what really happened in the marriage. Nobody can. And just because you’re famous doesn’t mean that the failure of a marriage — specifically one that involves three children — doesn’t slice the soul worse than anything else in the world. I could barely get up in the morning when my relationship failed. Madonna is getting up and dancing and singing, performing through the pain - amazing, really.

I remember seeing pictures of Madonna after she and Guy Ritchie had married: she very pointedly worse a jacket that said “Mrs. Ritchie” - a nod to her acceptance of the role of his wife: a woman, a partner, not just a superstar.

I think of her staying power over the last twenty five years and the inherent charisma and tenacity that developed and perfected it, and I cringe when I see reports that Madonna may lose half her fortune to a husband who reportedly told her she “looked like a granny” on stage. After less than a decade together, why does he deserve it? And as a proud man with his own profession and fairly deep pockets of his own merit: why would he even want it?

Alimony was put into place, arguably, to protect the women. When the law was put in place, married couples usually consisted of a working partner and a domestic partner — the working partner provided financially, while the domestic partner kept the home up, cared for children, and emotionally supported the working partner. If a marriage disintegrated, the domestic partner (almost always the woman) was awarded alimony in recognition of the very real contributions made to the relationship.

Since these kinds of “traditional” marriages aren’t the norm anymore — and many moms, like Madonna, work outside the home — why is alimony still being applied? In my opinion: Madonna shouldn’t owe Ritchie a cent, pre-nup or not.

In the end though, it’s not really about money. It’s about the lives of three kids and their super-famous parents, about a woman who started with very little and rocketed to the top all on her own. Like her or hate her, Madonna is the ultimate business woman. Her innovative imagination and furious drive to work will inevitably help her through this, and hopefully trickle down to her children too.

I’m going to see Madonna in concert this Thursday night. I’ll be one of the teeming masses that have no idea what really happened in her personal life, but who respect her immensely as a Mother, a Woman, a Pop Culture Icon, and a kick ass business woman, too.

“Do you resent your Mom?” I asked, stomach sinking,”For moving away from your Dad, I mean.”

“No,” she said quickly and I settled back to listen: she and her Father had a tentative relationship during Shelly’s childhood, but are now very close.

“I’m glad my parents separated while we were so young,”she continued,”My Mom and Dad are wholly incompatible human beings and it never would have worked. I’m glad we were spared the gory details, and we had opportunity to get to know our Father as a person separately, on our own terms. He was a much better man when my Mom wasn’t around.”

I listened carefully to everything she had to say, knowing full well that her sometimes rocky relationships with men now — her admitted trust issues — might have something to do with her Dad, with the way she grew up.

Next, I enlisted the experience and wisdom of Amy, a cherished high school friend with a markedly different experience. Unlike Shelly, she is now married with children herself and has parents who are still married after 35 years.

“I wish,” she said,”That my parents had divorced thirty years ago. They hate each other. They’re toxic.”

Amy’s Father is an alcoholic, a brutally dedicated one, and she has watched her parents fight wretchedly for decades. Now, she fears her Mom is too dependent financially to ever leave. Amy wishes her Mother had had the courage to leave years ago.

“She might have had a chance at happiness, then,” she said wistfully. And, she added, she wishes she and her sister had had the opportunity of a house free of screaming.

I pondered their cases carefully. Though my own relationship was pretty horrible at the end, I knew that a happy home with two parents was the best scenario for my child.  But a breakup, despite moderation and desperate clawing, seemed inevitable. I didn’t know whether it would be better to do it now or stick it out. I wanted to do what was best for my son, for me, for all of us. But I didn’t know how.

I have several friends now who are experiencing divorces by their baby boomer parents: people who have been married for half their lives. Arguably, they are even worse off than they would have been had their parents separated in their childhoods.

One good friend recently confessed to me that he felt like his life was a lie. His parents divorced when he was in his mid-thirties and he realized they’d been living unhappily for decades for “the sake of the children”. His devastation makes me wonder whether, if divorce is inevitable, it is better to do it sooner rather than later.

My own son won’t remember a time when his home was intact, and that makes me incredibly sad. But I do hope he remembers that the times he spent with his Father and Mother were joyful separately, and that, above all, we love him more than anything in the world.

*Names changed.