Defining Normal in the World of Co-Parenting

Today I woke up alone. Late morning hues of golden light filtered through the window. Above my purple hibiscus duvet hung an invisible fog of quiet. I stretched across my empty queen-size bed and grabbed my cell phone. One new text message from Justin, my ex-husband. "On my way," it read. Today was his day to pick up our daughter, Sophie, to take her to his house for the week. One week with me, one week with Justin. I set my cell phone down and heard a door creak down the hallway. Sophie was awake, and her tiny feet thump-thump-thumped across the hardwood floor toward my room.

"Mommy," Sophie said. "I had a good sleep."

"Good!" I said patting the bed. "Want to come snuggle?" Sophie nodded and hurried to my side, where she nestled between my arms and put her little hand on my shoulder. She tapped it three times--something I do when I hug her too.

I love mornings where we can wake up on our own time and snuggle before starting our day. But these days, the ones where I had to say goodbye to my daughter and not see her again for one week, were my least favorite days. Her relationship with her daddy and her time with him will always be important to me, but watching her leave will always sting a bit too.

"Guess what?" I said. Sophie looked at me with a question mark on her forehead. "Daddy's on his way here to get you."

"Yay! Daddy!" Sophie shrieked after a deep gasp. Her best buddy is her daddy, and her excitement made up for the sense of sadness that was growing in my core.

Sophie and I got dressed, brushed our hair and teeth, washed our faces, and put on our shoes just in time for Justin to pull into the driveway. He came to the door carrying a coffee cup.

"Daddy!" Sophie screeched as she flung the door open.

"Hey, Muffin!" He said, extending the arm holding the coffee.

"Thank you!" I said, accepting the hot drink. "Hey uh, do you mind helping me figure out how to get my kayak on my car before you leave?"

"I don't mind," he said. He helped me pick out the foam blocks and straps online a few days prior--a much more affordable option compared

to a metal rack. I have never been good at finding more affordable options. Justin was always the budget-conscious one.

I was worried about being able to lift the kayak onto my Kia Soul by myself. With the size and awkward shape, it seemed like a two-person job. But I lived alone. I needed someone to help me hoist it up.

We went down to the driveway and Justin explained the steps of securing the blocks and straps to my car. He showed me how to do it, but he wouldn't help me lift the kayak onto my car. I stared at the hunk of fuchsia plastic that we dragged over to my Kia, then I looked back at Justin.

"How the hell am I gonna lift this thing by myself?" I asked.

"You can do this," Justin said. "Put one hand here and the other here, and tilt it and lift upward." He showed me what he thought would work best, but wouldn't help me do it. Sophie watched from behind me as I lifted the kayak onto the Kia and shuffled each end onto a block by myself. It wasn't nearly as difficult as I had anticipated it to be, but I felt accomplished when I was finished doing it.

Justin was supposed to come over to help me put it up there, but instead he wanted me to figure out how to lift it on my own. He wasn't being a jerk, he was helping me be more independent. This seems almost as important to Justin as it is to me, because he knows who is watching and learning from me. I think he genuinely wants me to live an independent lifestyle, but he also wants me to teach Sophie how to be a strong, independent woman as well.

"Whoa. Thanks!" I said, brushing my hands together. "I seriously didn't think I could do that."

"Mommy, I'm strong too," Sophie said, showing us her muscles. "You know why? Cause I eated my green beans yesterday!"

"I see that!" I laughed. A friend once taught Sophie that if she ate her vegetables, her muscles would grow. Sophie wants to be strong like her idol, Wonder Woman, so now she references her muscles all the time (which I adore). "Alright Sunshine, you be good for Daddy, okay?"

"I will," she said as I scooped her up for a hug.

"We're going out to breakfast if you wanna join us," Justin said. His step-dad owns a nearby coffee shop, and Justin often takes Sophie there to visit with family and eat yummy food. I knew the invitation was genuine. Justin and I could still hang out like best friends. In fact, many times we still relax over coffee or beer and talk about travel, politics, and all things Sophie. But today wouldn't work with my schedule.

"Rain check," I said. "Thanks though. Maybe next week sometime." I meant it.

"That's fine," Justin said. "Well, have fun on your kayaking date." He meant that too. He never acted uncomfortable when either of us talked about dating. When I came out, he was one of the first people I told, and one of the most supportive. None of our conversations about dating ever felt bizarre or unnatural. I felt like I was confiding in my best friend, and he treated me that way too.

"Thank you," I smiled. "Talk to you guys soon. Have fun!"

"I'm probably taking her to the fair tonight. I'll send pictures," Justin said, helping Sophie buckle into her car seat.

"Oh good, she'll love that," I said. They backed out of the driveway as I ascended the porch steps back to my living room. The house was quiet before, but now the energy had changed even more. No giggles or tiny feet pattering down the hallway. No made-up songs, or questions about every detail of every little thing that ever existed. No wondering blue eyes staring up at me. It was just me and the cup of coffee Justin had left me. The silence felt thick. Heavy.

This wasn't the life I had planned for myself. I never thought I would be a twenty-nine-year-old divorcee. I have known Justin since I was seventeen, and on some level or another, I've always loved him. When we got married, I was certain about my decision. When we bought a house and planned a family together, I was certain about those decisions too. I was also certain about our decision the day we both settled on a divorce. It was never part of the plan, but we both knew it was necessary.

"Is this definitely what we want?" I asked that day, staring out the windshield toward the empty parking lot in front of us. It was a rhetorical question. Nobody ever wants to get a divorce, but we both agree that the best decision we have made for this family was to separate when we did. I am not embarrassed or ashamed by this. We decided to stay in Sophie's life equally, so she could have a strong relationship with each of us. We will both do whatever it takes to make Sophie's life as good as we can make it. Sometimes that looks different than what we initially envisioned.

As I stood in my living room this morning sipping my coffee, I thought about my plans for the next seven days without my daughter. I wanted to fill those days with as many distractions as possible, because the quiet between these walls was deafening. I imagined how much fun she would have with her daddy though. That's the part that balanced it all out. I could miss her and be happy for her all at once.

Before leaving for the lake I chatted on the phone with an old friend, telling her about my morning. "You guys are so weird," my friend said, referring to my relationship with Justin. In our small town, it is sometimes difficult for others to understand the way our family works. Yes, we get along (most of the time). Yes, we hang out, and make family decisions together, and have random meals together, and go on adventures together now and then. Some use the word "weird" and some use "awkward" to describe what they're seeing. But it doesn't feel that way to us, and it certainly doesn't seem that way to Sophie.

"There isn't anything weird about it," I said, letting myself get a bit angry. "It would be weird if we were making it difficult for Sophie to go back and forth between her parents. It might be weird if we never talked, or fought all the time, or used tactics to pin our daughter against one another. It isn't weird that we're making it work and being friends through the process."

"Yeah, I know. It just seems, like, out of the ordinary," my friend said, seemingly unsure of how to respond.

"Well, it shouldn't." I wasn't trying to be rude, but I also needed to make it clear that our relationship was healthy, and co-parenting is not a bad thing, or even a weird thing.

Justin is much more than just an "ex" to me. He wasn't some guy I dated for a little while. We had an entire life together. We made the decision to start a family together, to bring a human into the world. We named her, painted her bedroom, bought her clothes, told her bedtime stories, made plans for her future. We were, are, and will always be a family. That doesn't just go away because we no longer love each other romantically, and it doesn't negatively impact our daughter at all. Sophie Bedford is a four-year-old bucket of sunlight. Trust me, she's a happy, healthy kid who loves both of her parents and both of her homes. She needs and deserves to be in a positive environment. This isn't weird to her, it's just her life.

I respect the man my daughter calls daddy. Every decision he makes, and every struggle he experiences impacts our daughter, and vice

versa. This isn't me vs. him. We're in this together. By calling our situation "weird" because we spend time together and get along so well is also normalizing unhealthy relationships and toxic family scenarios. I understand that not all parents get along, and co-parenting isn't an option for everyone. But it's also important that we don't shame those who can make it work.

When I returned home late this afternoon from a day on the lake, I successfully pulled my kayak from my car's rooftop and stored it in my garage. On my way up my porch steps I checked my phone. One new text message from Justin. I unlocked my door as I tapped the message. A picture of Sophie smiled back at me, with tired eyes and glittery, blue face paint. Pure joy and excitement was spread across her face. This was a truly happy kid.

I flopped onto my living-room couch and stared at the picture on my screen as the familiar silence crept around me. I knew I could do many things to distract myself from it--finish the book I was reading, watch a movie, write or edit, go for a walk. It wouldn't be as good as spending that time with my little miss sunshine. But Sophie was having a blast with her daddy. She never had to fill the silence. She never had to find distractions. She was always just happy. That's what mattered most. I replied to Justin's message with a red heart emoji. Then I set down my phone and grabbed my weathered copy of The Handmaid's Tale that I already read several times. As the late evening hues of golden light filtered through the window once again, I felt content. It may not have been the life I had planned, but Sophie's smile in that picture reminded me that it was still pretty damn great. There was nothing weird about that.