The Backstory

I have been married 16 years. The first two or three were ... somewhat happy. The last baker's dozen ... have not been. Things started to go downhill when we veered onto the path to impregnation. Apparently, it is a steep path.

I got pregnant almost right away. And I miscarried just as quickly. T, I think, did not really believe I had ever been pregnant. I say "I think" because he never once said a word about it. Which is ... typical.

I got repregnant quickly, too. Since T's main source of power/pleasure/motivation has always been money, I thought I'd share The News with him accordingly. I put the positive home pregancy test in an envelope with an IRS return address. Inside was a note congratulating him on his new tax deduction. He was not amused. He yelled, "Is there PEE on this?" and threw it across the room.

Perhaps you can hear the alarm bells from there.

I have since learned that I was meant to be a mother. Not so much a wife.

Blame partially accepted, let's move on. T is now having an affair. Has been for at least 2 years, probably more. He decided to have an affair -- no shit -- while we were sitting in the marriage counselor's office. Apparently he figured that was A Major Sign that things had gone bad.
His adulterous mistress (which is how I always refer to "her," so T is reminded that he is, indeed, commiting a mortal sin) is his employee. Not his secretary, which would be so perfectly typical that it would be cool. But he is her boss.

Since their affair began (I learned about it via the cellphone bill, which was 8 times its usual thickness thanks to the 20,938 text messages between them), she has since divorced her husband and moved within 15 minutes of our house. This is especially handy when she wants to rendezvous after the rest of us have gone to bed, since she can simply pull into our driveway at will and honk for her bloated paramour.

The central dilemma of this entire blog -- the "discovery" of the title -- is to discover why I cannot leave him and/or boot out his cheating ass (and weiner). I almost did once, just over a year ago. I got to the lawyer's office -- twice -- and thought I had all my divorce ducks in a row, but when push came to shove, I could not shove.

I know I am not happy. I know we are osmosis-ing unhappiness onto our kid.

But ...
1) I have this thing about commitments. I tend to keep them. I have a very, very hard time breaking my promise, my vow, my word.

2) I have a son. The way I see it, the second I gave birth, I promised to put him above everything else. Does that make me a martyr? Yeah, fuck. Probably.

3) No one can assure me it's the right thing to do. Unlike my friends who have divorced (some more than once), I do not have a backup dude. I do not have a safety net. I do not have A Plan.

So I have a cheating husband. And a son who loves him. And a brainload o' indecision. And now, finally -- yay! -- I have a therapist. And on this voyage of Discovery, I could use a little personal GPS.