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D-Day coming soon...

I'm in countdown mode: One month from today, Miss Monkey and I will move into our new home. And most likely, sometime in the next two weeks, I will officially be divorced. Last week, I received an envelope in the mail from the lawyer, fulling expecting that I would no longer be married once I opened it. I had to sit down on the porch for a minute to catch my breath. I wasn't sad or overwhelmed exactly. I just wanted to make sure I was 100% present for what was about to happen. But then it didn't. It was just a notice that the court requested a specific revision to our paperwork and that it would be resubmitted. The next thing I felt? Disappointment. I thought the waiting was over. Even though we still have a whole new set of changes to homes, new routines, new last, it seemed, this part would be done. It's been nearly six months since everything was signed, so I know a few more days shouldn't matter. And yet the delay seems like one last stab—a "tricked you!" joke that ends with us stuck forever in this limbo of married but not.

Another reason I'm counting the days? I'm incredibly anxious to get my old name back. I never changed it when we got just wasn't something I ever wanted to do. Growing up, I never could quite wrap my head around the fact that my mom was once an O—and that O mom seemed like an entirely different person. Of course she wasn't, but I never shook the feeling. But then when I got pregnant, surprise, surprise, things changed. I wanted to have the same last name as my child. And anyway, traditional and conservative as it sounds, it made us seem more like a real family (which I desperately wanted to be). So I switched it...well, except at work. And then a few months after Miss Monkey was born and I realized that having the same last name is NOT what makes a family, I regretted my decision. I mean, it was fine and I certainly wasn't going to go through the rigamarole again, but I sure was happy I still had the old me at the office. And now, I want to shed that name so badly I practically have the shakes. For one, it feels like a lie. I'm just not that person. Out in the world, people will call me Mrs. and all I want to do is tell them, "Oh, no, that's not really who I am anymore. I just have to carry this name around on my credit cards until a judge says it's ok not to."  And for two, I feel almost no connection to what having that name meant.

The exception, of course, is when it comes to Miss Monkey. I made the very stupid mistake of telling her last night that pretty soon Mommy would be an S but she would still be a M, and then there was waaaaay too much trying to explain. Needless to say, she wouldn't have it. She didn't get it. Because to her, everyone in a family DOES have the same last name. You'd think I'd have realized this before my dumbass oversharing. But no. I'm still going to reclaim my old name, but for her, until she's old enough to understand, I will remain an M. It's what she needs for now, and I'm more than okay with that.

What do you think? What did you do when you once again had the option to take back your pre-marriage name? Let me know! xo, Evie