As I child born anywhere in the western world in the last twentysomething years, I was always likely to become a member of the halfves-y club. Statistically, 51 per cent of you are as well. We are all kids of parents who divorced and who subsequently divorce our family time in two, hence a life of the halves-ies.

I watched Kramer Versus Kramer the other day when it became free on my TV and by the time the elevator door closed on Merryl Streep at the end, I was so sad. My eyes were a-tearing and my nose was starting to run.

“Why couldn’t my parents be like that,” I whined in the vast echoing room that is my inner monologue. “It’s not fair,” I continued, now stomping my inner monologue feet and holding my breath for attention.

Even though Dustin Hoffman and Ms Streep’s characters are divorced, they arrive at the film’s conclusion in the apartment lobby agreeing to do not what the court had ordered but what was best for their son and what was easiest on each other. They hugged each other and Dustin Hoffman told Meryl Streep she looked “terrific” even though she had the red-face cry going on.

Maybe I’m alone here, but I was like, “What the eff?” I’ve never seen my parents hug since the split. And if one of them were to actually compliment the other, I think I’d slap my own face and shake my cheeks to test if I’d woken up in some weird parallel universe.

I made it all the way to 17 before I became part of the 51 per cent halves-y club members, so for more than half my life, my parents were a cohesive unit who made Saturday breakfast together listening to the Beatles and kissing each other just to gross us kids out. I’m still testing the waters, a tourist in this land of divorce kids. I am overwhelmed by how mature and well-versed in all this I am supposed to be now that I am planning a wedding.

If I was the kid of Kramer and Kramer, I wouldn’t have to worry at all because my divorced parents would probably invite each other to hip New York cafés to discuss their daughter’s wedding and how it will all work out wonderfully. Their kid would probably say something about how lucky they were to have two parents who love them so much and two step-parents who only add to the love of their family and other blah blah crap like the movies are made of.

I, on the other hand, am learning to sink or swim between two parents whose feelings are on the line with every decision I make, wedding-wise, not to mention a big one of whether or not to invite The Other Woman. Self-help book answers don’t cut it when the only answer I want to hear is, “Whatever you decide, we support you and love you very much,” instead of sideways glances and raised eyebrows at what the repercussions to my decisions could be.

Eloping sounds awesome.

What’s a twentysomething to do when she just wants to have a fun wedding where everyone dances and smiles and tells me after what a wonderful time they’ve had? When I think I should be smiling till my face hurts at how awesome it is to find true love and marry the man of my dreams, why instead am I getting sinking feelings in my stomach about what to do with my divorced parents? It's so anti-wedding and backwards. The countdown list I am following to make sure the wedding is adequately prepared does not list when I am supposed to explode like a volcano and tell my parents to grow up. It appears that is beyond what I can ask for with the cards I’ve been dealt. Maybe I should watch a movie about drug-addicted parents so I can cry feeling bad for their kids.