You’re wondering why I’m saying all this in an email, rather than phoning you. Do you remember, when we negotiated our trial separation, how loudly you shouted at me, and how you threw that vase at me? And then, two months after I’d moved back, and confessed I might have underestimated how much alone time I needed, you came at me with my favourite paring knife, and if my attorney hadn’t stepped between us, I might be dead now. Can you blame me for not wanting to go through anything like that ever again, Judi?
You keep asking if I…saw anyone during that second trial separation. Of course I did, Judi, for the same reason I’d seen Susanella, Gail, Bobbi, Jakki, and Dyan during the first one. Oh, and Candice. How was I supposed to determine how much you meant to me in a vacuum? It was only by getting intimate with others that I was able to corroborate that it’s you with whom I want to spend my life. My discovering that I still wasn’t completely sure is why I hooked up with all of them except Gail again. (She was on vacation.) I wanted to be nothing less than 100 percent sure. Excuse me for assuming that’s what you wanted too!
I’m not going to lie to you, Judi. Sex with Bobbi, Dyan, and Susanella was better than it’s ever been between you and me, but what I realised is that sex isn’t everything. Bobbi doesn’t get my jokes as you do, and I’ll let you in on something. A man wants to feel funny almost as much as he wants to feel a superman in the sack. Dyan’s put on some weight, and turned out to resent my having offered to pay for her to see a personal trainer. Susanella’s needy, and begged me not to leave her almost as piteously as you did, the difference being that you and I are married, whereas she and I were just two ships that passed in the night, so to speak. Which, at the end of the day, is to say I’m yours, Jude, pending your acceptance of certain conditions.
Do you remember how happy we were two and three and four years ago, when we were footloose and fancy-free, and before you got the stretch marks I’ve tried my best to ignore, but just can’t? If we wanted to hop in my car and drive up to Santa Barbara or down to La Jolla for lunch, that’s exactly what we did. I love spontaneity, and it was my understanding that you do too. If we wanted to lie in, we lay in to our heart’s content. If we wanted to spend the night somewhere, we did, without a care in the world. What fun we had, Jude, and how we loved each other!
When you told me you were pregnant, I was the happiest guy in the world. I think you know very well I’m not just saying that. Do you remember how I would talk to The Bun [in the oven], whose sex we didn’t want to know, during your pregnancy? Do you remember how I’d say to your tummy, “This is your daddy speaking, little son or daughter, and I already love you, but if you’re considering having some sort of weird defects, I’m going to kick you ass, OK?” Don’t you remember how you laughed at that, Jude?
So finally our little man was born, and I let you name him after your late dad, whom I didn’t particularly like, but I knew it was important to you, and our whole world got turned upside down. While you were going through your post-partum depression, and seemed to forget all about the fact that a man has certain needs, I held my tongue. I manned up, Jude! God knows I did. Didn’t I change Jerzy’s diapers that time? Or have you conveniently forgotten that?
Spontaneity went out the window. I was no longer No. 1 in your life. Jerzy was. Do you suppose that didn’t hurt? Do you suppose I didn’t resent his being the only one who got to enjoy the remarkable fullness of your boobs, or being woken up three times a night by his crying for more of them, not that I claim to be able to speak baby. Do you have any idea how the sound of his eager…is it called suckling?…made me feel?
I have an idea how we can save our marriage, Jude. I can anticipate your being uncomfortable with it at first, but it seems to me the only viable way forward. Our son is white, and not defective, though it may be too early to know if he’s going to be autistic, or to suffer from ADHD or one of the other fashionable acronyms. Let’s put Jerzy up for adoption. I am advised that there are any number of good Christian families in the area who would love to have a little cutie like him as their new son. Most such families will probably want to change his name to something less ethnic, if you will, but that’s a small price to pay to save our marriage, isn’t it?
Shall I get one of my attorneys to make some enquiries?
Your loving husband,
Jack xxx
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