The Therapist's Wife

Sprite and I were at the playground, having a post-library playdate with a little girl from his kindergarten. By the time Firstborn finished kindergarten, half the mommies in the class were my BFFs. But in typical second-child-neglection fashion, I only know a handful of Sprite's friends' parents, so I found myself making small talk with a stranger during the playdate. She was sweet and charming and spoke joyfully about her family, including her husband, Family Therapist Extraordinaire.

You know how if you see your friend who is a nail technician, you are self-conscious about your nails? And how you brush your teeth extra-well before visiting the dentist? And if you happen to have a friend who is a fashion mogul, you feel the constant need to apologize for your hand-me-down Little-House-on-the-Prairie looking outfit? Well, that's how I felt around the Therapist's Wife.

I figured Mr. Family Therapist probably sees a lot of families through the divorce process. (Heck, my former family and I used a total of four therapists to make it to Divorce Day!) I'm so Type-A that I wanted the Therapist's Wife to give my former family a clean bill of mental health. So, like I inspect my nails before the manicurist, I scanned my family's recent history.

And you know what? I thought we were doing pretty well.

Exhibit A: The Friendship

The Kids' Dad and I are friends. Not just friendly, but actual friends. Just the other day, he texted me a movie recommendation. And I always make him laugh (not in derision, to the best of my knowledge.)

Exhibit B: The Girlfriend

My kids recently went through a major life change when their dad moved in with The Girlfriend. They love her and I appreciate her. She taught my boys to separate light from darks. In her kitchen, mac-n-cheese has been supplanted by chicken-kebobs and edamame. She's not my friend- yet- but we are friendly. And I am happy for the Kids' Dad.

Exhibit C: The Therapist's Blessing

Last spring I wrote an e-mail to Firstborn's shrink to confess to an egregious mother-son interaction. We'd had the kind of morning that I would have sworn would send him to therapy if he weren't there already. And her response was so generous and complimentary that it still brings tears to my eyes:

I think you are a great mom. I have seen you be incredibly patient with Sprite as he passively tries to resist your directives. You speak so respectfully to Firstborn when you come into the session and share the struggles he's had since we last met.

I mentally patted myself on the back. We'd get at least an A- for our divorce, and probably make the Therapist's Wife's Honor Roll. So I cheerfully admitted that we were divorced.

"Oh," she said sweetly to Sprite, "Do you have two houses?"

"Yes," Sprite said with a sad and embarrassed sigh, and buried his face in my lap.

Oops. Maybe we aren't quite ready to go to press with the "A- Divorce" just yet. Maybe there's more loss to mourn and more healing to be done.

And maybe... Sprite is not the only one who's still sad and embarrassed. Maybe he's just more honest with himself than I am.