Jealousy

Yesterday my cousin Liz came by to see Henry.

She looked fantastic—long, gorgeous hair, perfect yet minimal makeup, a black-and-white mini dress with matching sweater. She looks very New York. Very successful New York.

She just broke up with Paul, her Dutch boyfriend of four years. She has a fabulous Manhattan apartment and great friends. She's applying for a job at Ralph Lauren Home.

From her perspective, everything is uncertain. But I from where I sit, her future is absolutely gleaming.

And me? I am thrilled for her. Just really, really ecstatic. And so jealous I cried on and off all evening.

As free as she is, that’s how trapped I feel in my (not always, but currently) miserable marriage and my teeny-tiny cluttered little house.

Now I cry at least once a week as I do dishes in the temporary sink in our laundry room. I don’t see possibilities anymore. I only see more dishes.

So to celebrate my despondency I had three cookies and a quarter of a tub of fat-free Cool Whip. Then I was despondent and also sick to my stomach.

I adore Henry. Most days I love staying home with him. But, Christ, if I have to spend another two years as nothing more than someone's mommy, someone's wife, and both those someones' housekeeper, I'll lose it for good.