True desire

Sometimes I find myself thinking about the things I want and become jealous of the things others have. There are dozens of quotes reminding us that we are in control of our happiness and that we shouldn’t measure ourselves against others. How do we develop our wants? What is it that makes one person desire something and another person desire something completely different. 

I always wanted very typical things, a college education and a good job, a home, a horse, and a husband. I don’t even know why I wanted these things, absolutely no clue where the list came from. I got a horse, I got a college degree, (it did NOT get me a great job), a got a wonderful house, but, no husband. And honestly I’m not sure I ever really wanted one, it was just on the list.  

Today I found myself wondering what it is about women and our desire for husbands. I have one friend who will flat out tell you if she knew then what she knows now she never would have married her husband. I have another friend who is a polyamorist, described as “consensual, ethical, and responsible non-monogamy“. And is wonderfully happy and has no desire to ever find a husband.  And yet the majority of women I know all desire husbands. Is it because it is the social norm and we are trained to think that way? I know having grown up in a Catholic school girls were ingrained with the knowledge that they would have husbands and they and their worth would be measured by said husbands.  Let us not forget the Old Testament story of Racheal who could not immediately concieve and her husband Jacob took other wives who could fulfill his need for sons.  Obviously a woman’s needs are non existent other than those that coincide with her husbands needs. And it is with these thoughts that we women are constantly torturing ourselves so that we can find a husband. How many of us are constantly on diets, dumb ourselves down, or trying to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex.  Which brings me right back to the question why?

I can’t remember ever meeting a guy who was so intent on finding a wife.  I mean seriously, when was the last time you heard a guy say he was watching what he ate and working out so that he could be more attractive to women? It took me years of beating myself up and coating myself in make up and accessories before I finally came to the conclusion that I didn’t need a husband. Would it be nice to have someone to come home to and curl up on? Yes, the same way it would be nice to have someone to go to a movie or a concert with rather than going on my own. And yes, I go to both alone and I go out to eat alone too.  I still catch myself thinking about it though. Only for me, I find the term husband inappropriate, I think that I desire a mate or a partner more than a husband. I think that I would appreciate the comfort and safety( even on dates I think ” would he keep me safe if we were attacked?”) provided by a male counter part. While I know that for this is probably not likely something I will find it is still something I desire. 

Personal desire aside,how many people would be happy with the things I already have though.  There are people around the world who dream of having a home let alone a home with running water and modern amenities. How about all the people in this country who are jobless and wish they had a job to go to every day. Or worse yet, how many couples are desperately trying to have a baby of thier own when I’m carrying one I honestly never expected or attempted to have. 

Why do I find it so hard to be happy with ALL of what I have just because I am “missing” that one check on my checklist? Because let’s face it- at this point in my life that’s all a husband would be, a check mark in a box….

Remembering to breathe,

(And be thankful!)

DL

What is money really worth?

It’s interesting to hear how many people tell me that I am entitled to money from my ex. He is after all my daughters father and he should bear at least some of the responsibility.  I don’t deny that at all but sometimes I wonder if the battle would really be worth it.

Yes, I did recently find out he just dropped a large chunk on his brand new $50,000 Mustang. I knew he was a car guy when I met him. I knew he had 6 cars, lived only in the wealthiest neighborhoods, and enjoyed expensive steaks as well as extremely rare vintage whiskeys. Is that a thing? Whatever type of whiskey it was it was some sort of pricey nonsense. I don’t discredit it because it is and forever will be out of my budget, I just don’t understand pricey things all the time. I used to like expensive purses and sunglasses – I still love Chanel sunglasses, I just can’t justify the cost anymore. I feel like there are more important things in life and my old sunglasses still work just fine.

I believe in living within my means. I don’t want thousands of dollars of debt, it’s why I chose not to follow through on a master’s degree. I had spent so much on a useless bachelors degree how could I responsibly take on another $60,000 in debt without being assured a job any better than the one I have now? I do know people who live in constant debt, and they seem perfectly happy but, it’s not for me. As I sit and think back on it, I wonder now if it was insulting to him that I never acted impressed by his pricey car, his $250,000+ salary, or the fact that the last raise he told me about was more than I make in a year. Was it wrong that I told him that if I ever loved him it would be him and not his money? For all the times he asked me to hook his rich friend up with one of my friends and then reminded me to make sure I choose an attractive friend because, well, let’s face it he makes enough money to have a beautiful woman. I believe my friend Sabrina would deem this #misogyny, she’s much more politically adept with terminology than I am.

It makes me wonder just what AM I entitled to?  I know that his money could make her life better. It would put her in a private school, hopefully away from the bullying, violence, and rampages associated with public schools. It would let me take her to Disney at some point on every little girls princess filled fantasy trip. It would mean she could have designer clothes I suppose, rather than home-made ones and hand me downs. Even the crafty fun upcycles I will be making her won’t always be able to compete with what the other girls are wearing. Even though as a hairdresser I can always make sure she has great hair, that won’t be able to make up for the dance lessons and over priced recital outfits I won’t be able to afford to give her.

What about peace? safety? calm? What about never having to worry that he will try to make her life the hokey-pokey dance he tried with me? Isn’t that worth something. There is little worse than a father who shows up in his child’s life only when it is convenient for him. I would hope that having an absentee father he would know better than to put his own child through that. I have recently had the unfortunate pleasure of watching my friend and her son go through a custody battle. Her ex-husband was caught lying about his employment status to avoid paying child support for his special needs son. Having been ordered to start paying every month and pay for all the months he claimed to be unemployed he decided he wanted to fight for custody. I know how hard it is on her but, her son, his son, what he is going through is unreal. He has severe anxiety and depression leading up to any type of interaction with his father. Normally a straight A student with a bit less than average social skills he just bottoms out. What parent really chooses to put their child through that? I mean seriously? How could you do that to the child you claim to love.

And safety, I already know I’ll have to fight aggressively if he decides he wants partial custody so that he can keep his money. Because as he so aptly pointed out previously his lawyer is a hell of a lot better than anyone I could ever afford.  It honestly comes down to does our daughter really need his money that badly? Is it worth putting her in a car with a man who has had well over a dozen serious traffic violations that he has simply paid his way out of? Combined with his ptsd, his poorly trained, aggressive tendency dog, and a job that works him 60+ hours a week how safe and supportive of an environment does he truly stand to offer her just so that he can pay less money in child support. It’s at this point that I start to wonder do I really want to go to court, even though I would love to laugh when the judge reads the paternity test I am no longer sure if it’s worth it. The peace of mind knowing that my daughter will never be involved in an accident where her father was driving 120 mph, or never be mauled because he set her down and when she cried it upset his nutso dog seems a hell of a lot more valuable than the cash he might have to pay me every month.

It’s been almost a month since I last spoke to him and I can’t describe the calm I feel. Some nights I do wonder what it would have been like if we had tried to work it out. But mostly I just realize it’s all good, he’s the one missing out. Me? I’m the one looking up cute onsie how-tos, and making the things that will decorate my daughter and her room. … Serenity, it’s what counts now.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

This is how it goes

I know, I know. I’m supposed to be enjoying my pregnancy. These little kicks to my bladder, the strange, ripple -y, pokey, sensation that freaks me out instead of bringing me a smile, all of this nonsense it’s just lost on me. While I’m still fearful, I mean I don’t think I’ve ever so much as held a fresh born baby let alone fed or changed one, the anxiety is passing. I’ve been spending an hour a day cleaning out my life, trying to decide what no longer fits and what needs to go. Trying to come to terms with the things I need to accept and make room for is just as difficult.

I’ve spent the past several years trying to pull my life together. I learned to admit that my life has basically been one big cycle , failure, disappointment,  try again. The things that happen to me have been known to turn people who don’t believe in luck to tell me I have the worst luck they’ve ever seen. And it’s OK.  I learned to pick myself up, dust myself off and move on- and I’ve gotten pretty darn good at it. But this current situation, I’m really struggling with it. I can’t find the words to explain it. To communicate the anger, the frustration, the fact that some days I just want to lay on floor and cry hysterically about how unfair life can be. How was it that  I was just getting things together, I was finally learning who I was, how to be comfortable in my skin, perfecting my budgeting skills, and growing up and then it all fell apart again.

And then I turned up pregnant.  In the beginning I had more faith in the father. He was a good guy, he’d served 4 tours in Iraq, he had a much better than average job, all in all any girl couldn’t have asked for more. But then things changed. We revisited the fact that he was still recently divorced. That his ex-wife was a cheating skank. That she had delivered him a non-viable baby, the details not shared with me, only explained away that she had delivered another to her lover. And I tried to understand his anger. I tried so hard to see his point of view that I forgot my own for a while. I understood  the fact that these occurrences were why he’d had a vasectomy. That they led to his mistrust of me and disbelief that my child was indeed his child. But, the more I tried to understand the more anger grew in me. The more frustrated I became and  I cried over my pregnancy more than I should. The more I resented being pregnant, and I began to see it as the ultimate failure and I wondered why  my life always seems like punishment.  And it was all misplaced. It’s not the baby I’m mad at. It’s him. While I have to give up everything I enjoy, throw any dreams I had in the trash bin, and stay cemented in the same place he gets to move on.  My dream trip to Europe I had been saving for for 2 years? Trash bin. Savings into my retirement so I wouldn’t have to cut hair for jackasses who talk to me like I’m an uneducated yokel for the rest of my life? Out the window. But not him, as I write this he’s preparing to take a massive promotion that will move him into western Europe.  Last month he wanted to take the baby and I along. This month we are out with the trash on the side of the road.

My friends laugh when I get upset about my dog sitting in my “spot” on the couch. But it’s because they see it as just that – a spot on a couch. For me though, it’s safety, it’s a corner that hugs me without ever judging me, I can cry into the pillow and it just absorbs my tears. It doesn’t try to tell me that everything will be fine. It doesn’t lie to me saying you going to be okay. It doesn’t spout gibberish about god  only giving you what you can handle. It just sits there, inanimate holding me and wiping away the tears that the baby’s father causes. It is in fact, for all intents and purposes, at this point in time the support I need.

Maybe this isn’t punishment at all. Maybe my child is on its way to teach me to branch out. It will show me that shutting most of the world out because sticking to myself is better than risking getting hurt isn’t worth it. And maybe it will prove that when my mother tells me I am much to hard on myself she is right, after all she is my mother.

Remembering to breathe,
DL

That one person

When I woke up this morning I knew I had a lot of errands to run. My dog Tosca had been misbehaving and moody for the past few weeks so I thought I’d take her along with me. It would be a nice change of pace for  her and what dog doesn’t like car rides? So when I finished my workout we had one of our bi-weekly grooming sessions where I brushed her up, vacuumed her off, and wiped her down with a few Paul Mitchell pet wipes. I put on my shoes and loaded her into the back of the car. The new car is a small suv so she gets the whole back to herself along with the giant window. We went to the post office and a few other stops before driving through Taco Bell to get her a soft taco for lunch. We headed back home and I let her in the yard while I put her taco in her bowl. She of course promptly rolled in the dirt before coming in and gobbling down her lunch.

I should preface the next paragraph by admitting that I have some o.c.d. issues.  The biggest problem is my spot on my couch. Much like the Big Bang Theorys Sheldon I am very particular about it and it is the only place I will sit. When I got out of the shower and came downstairs she was in my spot. AFTER being outside and rolling in the dirt. I lost it, flipped my lid. I screamed. I swore. I ranted about how I give her everything.  I told her that there were dogs at the pound who would love to trade places with her. I screamed so much she peed on the floor. Right in the middle of the living room floor. I took her outside and scrubbed the floor. The poor thing was so upset she wouldn’t come back in the house when I left for work. ( My mother stopped and brought her in after she was done. )

Later that day I stopped at the bank and the teller asked me a question. ” Who is that one annoying person? When my sister was pregnant she couldn’t stand me. ” And I started thinking about it.  I remembered a friend saying her coworker drove her absolutely nuts. In fact every pregnant woman I could think of had at least one person who drives them bonkers. Could it be that of all the personalities and all the people in my life my Tosca-tot was that person? For the past several months every little thing that she did had been wearing on me. Everything from not sleeping on her bed to losing her favorite bone outside in the snow was now annoying. Stealing turds out of the cat box?  Yep. Shuffling the rugs around? Yep. Smelling like Fritos? Most definitely.

How had it come to this? The one who can’t help being stupid or doing all the ridiculous things that are making me nuts. I can’t seem to stop being irritated by her very presence. Who else orders thier dog a pizza or takes her out for tacos? Only the person whose brain is so scrambled that they are letting the little things get to them. I spent hours last week writing a letter to the man I am actually upset with. I never mailed it, but, now that I realize that my frustration wi th him is coming out on the wrong person maybe I should mail i t. Then maybe I’ll stop being angry at my dog for smelling like Fritos.

Remembering to breathe,
DL

Do you know yet?

Do I know what? What time it is? What I’m going to do after work? What the frack people, not like it’s really anyone’s business until I tell them but, seriously complete sentences and questions are appreciated.  Do I know what the baby is? Well, honestly I’m hoping it’s a human, judging by some of those ultrasounds though, I think it may be a martian.

I found out about two weeks ago. My best friend was with me and was sworn to secrecy. I texted my mother to tell her and she promptly texted everyone she knew. I’m not sure how I managed to not tell anyone at work but, I didn’t. For ten days the girls badgered me and tried to trick me but I stood my ground I was determined to host my own “gender reveal” party.

At some point I thought maybe it was a good idea to tell the father what he was having. Of course the plan blew up in my face when I wrote a p.s. on the bottom of a letter I had written a few weeks earlier. I hadn’t written it with the intention of mailing it necessarily, part of me had all intentions of throwing it in the fire place and allowing all thoughts and memories of him burn away in the logs on a cold winters night. Unfortunately my less than stellar judgement prevailed and I mailed the letter with a note telling him what his child would be. Needless to say he flipped his lid, and alas, I am once again dubbed a gold-digging whore but, with any luck free of him from here on out.

The weekend of the reveal party arrived and several of the girls tried a few last attempts to get me to slip up. When I was asked for a clue I promptly told them the hint was that it was NOT a unicorn! I went home from work that night knowing that they were all stirred up about it and had a good laugh while I made the bags for the 50/50 raffle the next evening. A bag with a blue ribbon would it be Warren and a bag with a pink ribbon should it be Joanna. The next day I whipped up a batch of cupcakes and appropriately colored the batter. I iced them with thick white frosting and rainbow sprinkles so that no one could sneak a peak. At the end of our work meeting I sold slips and the girls were so excited I felt like I was working the betting window at the Kentucky Derby! When the last entries were dropped in the bags I passed out the cupcakes and amidst the squeals and exclamations I was finally excited that maybe that things might be better than ok, they might be great!

Me, myself, and I

Amongst the chaos of every day life I often forget about myself. After the last meeting with my baby’s’ father  my wheels started turning, looking inward. This meeting had been a last-minute impromptu occurrence and I arrived in sweat pants, a tank with a hoodie over it and no make-up. I usually always have my make- up done unless my allergies are bothering me. This night though, I just had no interest and let’s face it, if we decide to make this work sooner or later he’s going to see me sans decorations.  I was taken off guard when he told me I looked pretty, I can’t recall any man in my life ever telling me that -even with make-up. The discussions were haphazard that night touching on random topics that also included what I thought I would look like post-pregnancy. I had thought about it, not hard, but I had thought about it. I had imagined that breast-feeding would help me drop some of the excess weight and I would obviously start working out again. After all I had been on my back into my size 6 jeans when I got pregnant. But this got me thinking, what was I waiting for? Studies show that most fit moms have healthier babies and better deliveries. Not always ,but, most of the case studies I read indicated these results were typical.

In all honesty my workouts had become quite lax over the past few months. I had sunk into a depressed rut and had just stopped caring. I was knocked up, what did it matter if I looked good or not? My body was most likely going to be ruined and no one would ever notice me again anyhow, I would just fall into the barrel with the majority of other average moms -not the shot glass of post-baby supermodel moms. But, wait, that doesn’t sound like me. At all. I’ve spent years running races trying to hit every state, I even spent several years lifting with a competitive body building team. Only I can say who I become post baby. I could let myself become a sluggish mom, requiring a leash for my child or I could utilize a jogging stroller and then have the babes father or a family member hold it on the sidelines of a race while I run past waving and crying. Because let’s face it, I don’t think I’ve ever run a race where I didn’t cry at least a little bit.

The next morning I woke up and revamped my entire diet. I’m not talking about a diet diet I’m generalizing about the food I put in my mouth every day. I reloaded Myfitnesspal onto my iPhone and adjusted the calorie intake to 2000, it seemed like a round about goal. They say every pregnant woman has different needs but, on average an extra 300 calories a day should do it. I went to the grocery and bought more veg and made dishes or smoothies I could hide them in. I replaced my new favorite milkshake with the “skinny frosty” which is essentially 2%milk, a tablespoon of chocolate syrup, a teaspoon of vanilla, and a lot of ice. It’s not as skinny as it could be but it’s a hell  of a lot fewer calories than that cookies’n’cream shake I love. And today I wanted cookies so I made a batch of my favorite high fiber oatmeal chocolate chips. I’m not saying I haven’t indulged at all in the past week(I totally gorged on a box of mac’n’cheese one day) but, black bean, corn, and quinoa tacos with baby spinach, avocado, and 0% greek yogurt have definitely made a return.

That monday I called and asked my doctor if it was acceptable to start lifting again. Obviously not as heavy as I used to but, honestly the first week back my 8 pounders left me tired, sore, and aching for more. I changed my sluggish 2.5 walks at a 1 degree incline on the treadmill up to 3.5 walks on various inclines with some backwards work mixed in. Thanks to Bille Piper and the cast of Secret Life of a Call Girl for keeping things interesting. After my workout that day I cranked up the stereo and mixed up a face mask to scrub off all the dead skin and brighten my complexion just like I used to do every week. I sat down and gave myself an adorable manicure and then a good pedicure before hopping in the shower to scrub the rest of the depression off with a good coarse brush and finally rinse all the goo off my face.

When I dried off and moisturized I took a good look in the mirror. It was me again. And you know what? That little baby in my abdomen, it didn’t care one single bit that I was taking care of myself.

Put your left foot in , you put your left out

My life isn’t the Hokie Pokie but, there are days where it sure feels like it. And I just don’t mean my on and off again feelings about my pregnancy. Some days I feel like there is no one there with me and there are days I feel like everyone is there, also known as bad days and good days. Then there is my baby’s father – some times he’s ready to give it a go and then there are time spans that he can’t even respond to a simple text.

Last week I had a first meeting with my baby’s father in a few months. It had seemingly gone well, we got along as though nothing was well, wrong I suppose is the word. He was kind, non aggressive, and made it easier for me to his side of things. I knew heading into our previous relationship that he was big business guy, coming off a divorce that should have been over a while ago had the ex-wife not dragged it out guy, amongst other things guy. And that was fine then, dating him was fun, then the pregnancy reared its ugly head and I was no longer wanted baggage. Two months later though I was wanted again. It was hard not knowing where to go from there. But the meeting cleared things up and we started moving down the “maybe we should try this trail”.  But he travels a lot. And me being a naturally lonely soul who, let’s face it, I’m relatively sure my family doesn’t even want half the time, can sink into feeling unwanted quite quickly. Sometimes I’m not sure if he is honestly so busy that he just forgets to check in on me or he’s testing my loyalty after his ex-wives infidelity, or he just doesn’t care at all.  Last week he was full of suggestions and I really mulled some of them over, this week he’s out-of-town again and I haven’t heard a peep from him in 3 days…

Then there is me, myself, and I. Some days  I think I can be a good mom and I’ll be alright. Other days I can’t stop thinking about how horrible I’m going to be. What if I put the baby carrier on top of the new baby friendly vehicle I bought and drive off?  Or what if I look away and the poop eating dog licks the baby and gives it some sort of disease? There are days I am absolutely certain I am going to be HORRIBLE at the whole mom thing. I was walking along on my treadmill this morning (yes, I have been reduced to walking) and all I kept thinking was how thankful I am that babies nap so much that maybe I can double down on my runs which if I combine it with breastfeeding I can get myself back down to a size 6 pair of jeans in a decent amount of time. That way if he decides to stick around I’ll still be at least attractive enough that he would admit to being the father of my child and if he doesn’t maybe someone else might want me – right? It’s all utter neurosis and yet it’s still in my head. The one piece of me that can’t seem to Hokie Pokie itself out of me for even one minute is my insecurity which has increased almost 10 fold since becoming pregnant.  Then I start thinking of the baby, and how as it grows it will do the same thing. It will love me, then hate me, want me and then want nothing to do with me all in one big repetitive cycle from toddler to twenty something.

Everyone wants to know what I want. What do I want to do. And it’s so much more than a simple question for me. I want to raise my child with its father… but not if it’s father doesn’t want to be with me.  I can’t tell people what I want though because I can’t see all the pieces to the equation. I often feel like I am trying to build a puzzle without a picture. I’ve managed to get the outline together, as well as a few large chunks but I can’t figure out where I, I mean the pieces belong inside the border. I was offered the possibility to be a stay at home mom if we work things out but, what if we don’t? then where does that piece go? If it does work out do I sell my house and replace that piece with his house? So many choices and all I can do is lay on my floor and cry it out alone because, what else CAN I do? I can’t see the future, I can’t decide which pieces I need to keep and which I need to put out for the rubbish men in the morning…If I manage to get up in time that is.

Maybe my destiny is to live a life like the Hokie Pokie. Always being good enough to jump in for a while, shake it all about, spin around in circles, and that is what it’s all about.

Trying to Breathe,

DL

Dread… cue the Jaws movie theme…

It has honestly been a week of nothing but anxiety and panic attacks.  I started my week knowing that it would be the first week of snow in the city which, obviously, causes problems here in Pittsburgh. Two snowflakes in the air and the entire city is in an uproar. For me though, most of the anxiety started with, and ended with for that matter, the impending meeting with my baby’s father. It was true he had never done anything to physically harm me but, he had some pretty deep cuts with a few harsh accusations. What he might possibly say to me left me anxious and full of dread. To boot my abdomen had finally started to pop last week and when I went to my doctor’s appointment I was told “there you go, finally getting a few pounds!” O-U-C-H. For real I thought the woman had hit me with a baseball bat. I’ve spent a large portion of my life battling my weight and pregnant or not I visibly winced at that statement.

The meeting of course was preceded by a flurry of texts discussing the difficulties he had been going through in the past month or so. I don’t deny that he had some medical hardships and I do believe him when he says he had some inner conflicts over the entire situation. Finally a few nights before the big night a precursory phone call occurred. I bit my tongue, as sharp as it is, I knew it was for the best. Of course within a few hours I was hysterical and began feverishly texting him and unloading all of the massive fears and anxiety I had developed since he had chosen to waltz back into my life. My biggest personality flaw I have to say is my ability to store the things that are bothering me until I turn into a bottle of soda that has rolled down a flight of stairs and then when my lid is just unscrewed in the slightest bit I *pop*! Every random disconnected thought rattling around in my ever spinning brain fizzes out in all directions leaving those around me shocked, soaked, and sticky. It was indeed better to happen now than at the meeting which would take place in a public location though right?

The day of the meeting finally arrived and I left work a bit past 5 so that I could go home before the 7 o’clock meet time.  He had one final meeting for the day but after that we would finally see each other after almost 3 months time, or basically my entire pregnancy thus far. When I got home and changed out of my work clothes something told me he was going to be delayed and I ought to put on comfy clothes and read a bit. 7 o’clock.    8 o’clock. Boy, was I hungry. 9 o’clock. Might as well have a bowl of cereal this meeting isn’t happening. 10 o’clock. 10:45 *ding ding* says the phone, “I’m sorry” says the text. For some reason I seem to be able to remain calm in these situations, I suppose that somewhere in my brain there is a little voice reminding me to be an adult and not a hysterical teenager. I simply finished my chapter and went to bed not acknowledging the text(blast you iPhones letting people know when you’ve read their messages!) and not replying.

“Do me a favor and imagine that instead of meeting me last night you were supposed to attend our childs’ school recital.”

Could a sentence that simple get my point across? I’m a big girl I can handle getting stood up. Does it sting? Yes. But nothing near so painful as it would be to a child looking for their father in the crowd and realizing that not only did he not show up, he didn’t even bother to call. Surprisingly he understood completely. The meeting was rescheduled for that night with the knowledge that this was the last chance. After another no-show this time I would be letting my lawyer handle everything. As difficult as that is to say it was really the most logical thing I could say. I’m not sure if it is just me but, making decisions while having an excessive amount of hormones fueling your emotions is a very difficult thing.

For my own privacy and sensibility I won’t go into the details of what was said. What I can say though is that it felt as though no time had passed. Almost as though it was just the date following the last one we had gone on. Well, once I defrosted a bit and lowered my defenses it felt that way. Sitting at the table I felt perfectly comfortable eating which is often a task I have trouble performing around men. The relaxed tone and ease of conversation left me with a lot of thoughts and questions, there are so many roads I could walk down at this point. I can only be thankful that my inability to jump head first into anything had remained in tact and I have to hope that it won’t make me miss a valuable opportunity. When I came home that night I stumbled upon a blog written by a coupled mother describing how much she dislikes single moms. How they have it so easy. They get to do everything by themselves, make all the decisions, and they don’t have to worry about pleasing their husbands on top of everything else they do.  My initial thought was “is this woman for real?”. Then I thought about how I felt the night before when he hadn’t shown up for a meeting of what was to me of great importance. Maybe I was better off alone.

Or maybe he really did make a mistake he regrets and I should just  put my neuroses aside and give the guy a chance.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Picking up

As in where we left off? The broken pieces? And moving on? Any one of these questions could begin with the phrase picking up. And yet every single one leads to a different ending. A different outcome that could be good. Or bad. Or down right ugly.

Do you remember those books from the ’80 ‘s where you picked your own adventure? You would read a few pages and then come to several options. After reading the options you would chose one and turn to the corresponding page. I loved those books. I would read them over and over until I had exhausted all my options and explored all the possible outcomes. I feel like I’m living in one of those books now,  only I can’t go back and make a different choice.  Whatever I choose now will affect not only my life from here forward but the future of the small person currently residing in my abdominal cavity.

I’ve been accused of being vague and indecisive but I find it so hard to make large decisions in a short time or under pressure.  Often I make myself lists of pros and cons when I get stuck but this, this is just to big of a choice.  I had been so ready to go this alone.  Why did he decide he wanted back in?  I find myself unable to sleep at night  wondering how I can possibly make the right choice now.  I am the type of personality that will let a wound fester and build until one day I just rip it open and drain the pus. All the things he said to me in anger, in frustration, they will sit in the back of my head bubbling and stewing until the day I flip my lid.

And now that he is offering me an olive branch my convictions are faltering. Just last week I was absolutely sure we would be fine. Mom and baby, a new family model, independent of social convention we would be a-o-k.  I had discussed a care share with a friend whose daughter is due three months before my baby. I had finally committed a room to a nursery and cleaned it out. My friends were deciding who would attend birthing classes with me and ultimately who would be my coach. I was so sure I had chosen the right path.

But now I am wondering is this  a man I can trust after all?  While he is asking for nothing more than the smallest amount of faith and the chance to “pick up where we left off” I am terrified.  Can I handle another bout of rejection if this time around doesn’t work? I do understand that people make mistakes, after all, we are people. When I listen I think I hear sincerity, that he truthfully does want to try again. My mind though, it reminds me of cancelled plans, stood up dates, and upsetting statements. The good times, the fun, that all seems to be lost and buried in the recesses of my mind.

How can I willingly set myself up for what almost promises to be an epic failure? I know that I should give him a chance, I should meet him at least once. The real question I suppose is how do I convince myself to open up to the possibility.  I  think a father figure is a good idea, although the statement that ” fathers are a biologic necessity but a social disaster” still resides in my thoughts. I know for a fact that he could offer the child things I alone never could. And the opportunity to be a stay at home mom definitely has its appeal. What I wouldn’t give to be allowed a peek at a few of the possibilities before I make my final decision.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Damaged goods

I’ve spent most of my single life always feeling I wasn’t worth anyone’s affection. Growing up I wasn’t pretty. I was always a bit chubby and I had brown hair when all the other girls in my middle school were blondes. In high school dating wasn’t really on the top of my list, I would much rather have fun with my friends. I remember watching what I ate though and trying various at home exercise videos and diets. Body image wasn’t the issue then that it is for girls now, it was just in the beginning stages. Super models and actresses still weighed over 100 pounds and female athletes were emerging. Of course there was no Facebook, twitter, or Instagram for people to continually post selfies for others to comment on and criticize.

I nice chunk of my twenties was spent with a platinum blonde mohawk and more girls asked me out than guys. Moving through those years I developed an awful self-image, I always thought I was too fat and even working out 5 or 6 days a week couldn’t get me below a size 6. I dated guys who would say things like “if you would just drop 10 pounds you would be so hot.” I even dated one who planned my meals and my workouts for me. When my weight didn’t go down he would accuse me of cheating on my diet. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I walked away. I lost all interest in dating and stopped until I hit my late 20’s and when that didn’t work I stopped again. I figured I was just bad at dating.

I spent a few years pulling myself together. I finished college, took my daily runs out onto the fun run and race circuit, bought a house and settled into a life of my own. Eventually I felt good enough about myself to think maybe now, maybe with my life together I was worth someone’s love. I still wasn’t attractive enough though to catch anyone’s attention out in the real world though. The more people I talked to the more I thought maybe I would try the internet thing. I did my research and chose the popular site Match.com. It wasn’t long before I began receiving emails and started “interacting” with guys. I met a few, only one that I found appealing and got along with.

With this new turn I find my self wondering if now I am permanently damaged goods. It is an awful sentiment to have towards myself and pregnancy but, it is there none the less. I find myself wondering, if I wasn’t pretty enough for any man to want before I was pregnant how or why would anyone want me after I have a child? For as tired as am some days I still find myself chugging along on my treadmill, sometimes walking hills with weights, fueled by the terror of being obese and ugly after the baby is born. My mother keeps reminding me to watch every morsel of food that goes in my mouth but, some days I just really want a cheeseburger and fries. I remember Mike asking me if I had a friend I could set up with one of his friends. The one I suggested wasn’t  acceptable because she has a child from her first marriage and no guy wants to clean up another mans mess. It was a thought that stuck with me until I thought about some of my other girlfriends. More than one of them are divorced and some are just single moms. The catch is though, they all found someone else. And even if the hadn’t they all still had happiness with their child/children. Just because society still idealizes the nuclear family with its 1 mom, 1 dad, and 2 children,  it is a reality that has been left by the wayside for a good portion of families.  As I discussed the idea of being damaged goods with a friend one after noon he could do nothing but laugh. He pointed out that we don’t live in that era anymore, the same way my fear of asking out a guy is outdated.  The statement that “… we are too old to consider a parent damaged goods. The right guy will likely be more attracted to you when they see your mom skills.” I think he is right. And while I still have to meet with Mike I feel that I should stand my ground and know that my plan to be a single mom is better than being in a miserable relationship of sorts for the next 18 years.

Remembering to breathe,

DL