Boundaries

"You're my wife," Liam croons to me tonight. Perched on my lap, his hand on my cheek. Maisie groans, "You can't marry your mother. It's not natural." "I can and I already did," Liam says. "I love her and she's a good kisser." Sometimes when I kiss him he grabs my face and holds it to his lips, and I pull away. "That's enough now."

I don't find this cute. I squirm. I redirect--move his hand. I make light of the wife bit: "We're already family--you only marry people you aren't already related to."

How thin all the internal walls are--all the slots that separate all the feelings and categories: his and my own. Separation, individuation, identification--I get so bogged down in worry that I'm not doing it right. But also I feel angry with him: I feel the urge to push him away with a loud shout: Get OFF me!

And hence: unbearably guilty.
***
Maisie's dad and I had a blowup today; it's been a while--it caught me off-guard. He called later to apologize--though continued to press his agenda into the voicemail. I couldn't pick up the phone; he'd tossed out such hateful things earlier. I'm not consistent, I need time to process my own positions--I wound easily. But I never throw the past at him in the heat of battle: I try to stay in the moment, in the issue at hand. Because he doesn't do that the narrative of our relationship tends to highlight my failures, not his. I don't know how to change that, short of fighting like he does. Which I can't bring myself to do.
***
It has not been a good day with the males in my life. It was such a relief to take Maisie to the pharmacy--just the two of us. To walk down the aisle and feel her reaching for my hand.