But what about the kids?

3 weeks and 3 days ago, during the last conversation I would have with the non-political parent before he walked out of my life for good; the conversation where he told me he wasn't happy and his solution to this unhappiness was to leave me; amongst many other things I said- "but what about the kids?"

I don't remember his answer.

One of the first articles I read (for I have become a massive consumer of self-help of late) stated "and whilst you are grieving, don't forget your children- they have had this tragedy forced upon them"

I hadn't forgotten about them at all- they were the reason I didn't eat the contents of the medicine cupboard washed down with the 'Christmas cake brandy' (though I did drink the brandy at some point during that first week) they were the reason I didn't succumb to a very inviting nervous breakdown, they were the reason I got washed, dressed and dragged my shattered, hungover body out of bed and into Morrisons and the nursery. I didn't clean and I didn't cook and now I reflect I'm not sure what they ate- probably all the food friends brought (mainly chocolates and Haribo) with the odd bag of chips thrown in- the lack of cleanliness is something they're quite used to.

No, I never forgot about my children for a minute- that is a luxury afforded only to the non-political parent.

I realised today that when he said he was leaving there was no question about where the children would live and who would care for them. When he decided he didn't want to live with me anymore he also decided he didn't want to live with them.

The non-political parent left and he took with him the majority of the family income. I am still waiting for HMRC to decide what my income and therefore my lifestyle and that of my children will be. So far I've filled in all the forms, called them 5 times and had 5 different versions of events. In little over a week a new month begins- a month with the same bills due, bills generated from an income and associated lifestyle I just don't have anymore. Christmas is looming and my children, rightly so, expect Santa to visit as usual. These concerns are mine alone.

I read to my youngest child every night before bed (it used to be every other night), tonight's story featured Mr and Mrs Bear (parents of Baby Bear) and I realised they share shelf space with Mr and Mrs Brains (parents of Baby Brains), Sophie's Mummy and Daddy (not at all fazed having a Tiger come to tea), Mr and Mrs Thomas (parents of Mog's family)- a search on Amazon reveals there are more books with stories for children of LGBT parents than of single parents. Now, given my track record with men, these easily available books cannot be ruled out; but in the meantime I would appreciate some stories that feature just Mrs Bear or Ms Brains.

But what about the kids? Well the kids are OK, a tad confused and statistically more likely to have poor health/educational attainment/job prospects/self esteem; a higher chance of ending up in prison/unemployed/as lone parents themselves but they're OK. I'm probably the worst person in the world to end up in sole charge of 3 young minds and I hope they'll all forgive me one day but they are clean, fed and loved though perhaps shouted at a little more than is healthy.

So, I've become a statistic...but I'm still here and that's got to count for something.