The Foils (I first introduced them in "Meet the Foils") recently visited the city for the weekend, two of their four kids in tow.

The Foils are a lovely couple, and they have achieved everything Rob and I cannot — the gaggle of happy and healthy children, the strong family bond, and the clear mission to ride the ups and downs in their marriage, come what may. I can't really relate to all that togetherness, and it gives me serious doubts about my marriage.

Rob and I took charge of the kids Saturday while their parents attended a wedding. We went to the zoo, indulged in ice cream, rode the train (to kids from the country, subways are wondrous), and enjoyed a festive Mexican dinner. An incredible day.

I expect the kids talked about their city adventures during the entire seven-hour ride home with their parents.

Of course, kids must feel safe and secure to enjoy themselves in new territory. That's not easy when you're not their parents. So it's all the more precious that Rob and I pulled that off together. But I still don't want to have kids with him.

I'm in my mid-30s with a bit of time to spare, so perhaps I will be a mother in the next chapter of my life?

Or so I've been hoping. Yesterday a friend in the 30th week of her second pregnancy said she must endure more monitoring and tests this time around because she is considered by the medical establishment to be of "Advanced Maternal Age." What? I guess sooner than later, I need to move on. 


I went to New York for a little fun with an old friend this weekend. Left alone, Rob went on a drinking binge and played violent video games through the night. I came home to find him exhausted, ill, and depressed. This is not a new thing.

It takes a couple of days for him to physically recuperate and he feels down for a good week. He tells me he feels terribly guilty and sorry, that he doesn't want to do this to himself anymore. Clearly he wants my comfort. For the first few years, I complied.

Once he did this the night before an important morning meeting at work, when we were to leave on an international flight later that day. He was still drunk and playing when I found him that morning, eyes red and swollen from peering at the screen. Scary.

About six months ago I came home from an evening out with friends to find the apartment door chained against my entrance. After no response to my calls, I broke in to find him with some sort of communications headgear on, yelling to his platoon-mates in real time as battle waged on screen. What?

We've read books and consulted therapists. He has worked to otherwise channel his anxieties at my absence. I'm reassuring before I go out for a night or away for a couple of days, and supportive and careful with him as he recuperates. He has cleared the hard dive of games and imposed drinking limits on himself, but only to re-purchase more violent games and binge once again.

My patience has limits. I can no longer be the one to comfort him when he acts out in response to my independence within the marriage. I'm curious about other people's take on this dynamic and, short of leaving, how else I might deal with it.

Soon after my parents' recent divorce, my father was diagnosed with rapidly progressing Alzheimer's Disease. My brother, an alcoholic, took on power of attorney and health care agency for our ailing father, and guilted me into agreeing to madcap schemes for his care. Though I had already written the mean old man out of my life for neglecting and hating me as a child, there is no one else to help (mother is happily married elsewhere), and so I took a bit of responsibility, embroiling myself in a disastrous mess. The dysfunction is off the charts.

Through it all, Rob has listened carefully, offered sane advice, and accompanied me on difficult visits to my father.

So despite the lack of romance, attraction, or even sex, I can't say our relationship is without incredible benefits.

However, by now I've bucked up enough to deal with my father and brother without collapsing at every new turn. Last year I didn't dare give up on my marriage because I needed Rob's support elsewhere in my life. (Writing that, I realize I'm a bit of a user.) Now that I don't need him, and there's nothing else keeping us together, a new unraveling has begun.

This is getting hard. When you know you want to leave — indeed, are trolling for apartments on craigslist — spending time as a couple with extended family members is unbearable.

Rob and I haven't told anyone in our families about our troubles, and we haven't called off our standing weekly dinner with some of our closer family members. This is a gathering we host, so to call it off, we'd need a good explanation. Like the truth. Until we can bring ourselves to be honest with everyone, we entertain as if nothing were amiss.

At last week's dinner, our typical good-spirited attempt at cooperation completely broke down. As family members sat contentedly in the living room, sipping wine and enjoying appetizers, we were seething at each other over the pot roast in the kitchen, screaming in whisper.

Okay, we've all been there, secretly fighting with our mate behind closed doors but in front of our guests acting as if the world couldn't be more right.

But during this argument, something shifted. This time I didn't care about appearances. This time, I could have cared less if anyone heard. Maybe I even raised my voice a bit so they could.

It was if my subconscious were surfacing, compelling me toward honesty. Maybe the pressure of lying is getting too much? Maybe it's time to spill the beans?

I read Lori Gottlieb's buzz-worthy Atlantic Monthly article "Marry Him!" with a sinking heart. Her thesis that older singletons hoping for motherhood should settle for Mr. Good Enough seems dangerous.

Yes, it's silly to wait for an ideal Mr. Right who doesn't exist. Yes, you and your child will have the immeasurable benefit of a participating father. Yes, you get a co-manager in the maintenance of your home and lifestyle. But you must be sure the price at which you procured these things for yourself was right. And you have to be certain you are capable of living with your decision.

Worse than remaining partnerless — and now I'm talking as someone who did what Ms. Gottlieb suggests and regrets it — you could find yourself spending days, months, years in secret agony wondering, is my husband indeed Good Enough or not? Do I ignore the needs he cannot meet, perhaps forgoing them for the rest of my life? Do I just need to focus on settling my mind as I did my life? Or perhaps, am I worth a bit more than I bargained for?

To anyone thinking of settling, I'd say be sure you can live without the things you bartered away in exchange for the security, motherhood, or whatever it is you settled for. Of course, women considering settling are likely not surfing the blogs at First Wives World. But perhaps some women who have settled, and who are contemplating reversing that course, are.