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Wednesday, December 30, 2009

The Year in Review

Every New Year I take the chance to look back over the past year and all that has transpired. This year I have a lot of material.

In summary: last New Year's I bought a new place. Weeks later Vanessa and I had an embryo transfer with our last two embryos. At the beginning of February, I closed on my new home, Vanessa had a positive pregnancy test and I began major rennovations on the new property. My parents began to reconcile. We saw a heartbeat on ultrasound and learned I was having a baby girl. I turned 40 in April and had a Happy 40th/New Home/Surprise, I'm Having a Baby!!! party for my closest friends. In early June I moved. Over the summer my parents officially got back together. In September my daughter arrived 4 weeks early. The next three months were a blur of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and more joy than I'd ever imagined.

That is a lot to pack in to 2009. I can't imagine what I'll be writing one year from now, but I'll be thrilled if I experience 1/10 the blessings of 2009.

Friday, December 25, 2009

The Mile High Club

For some, membership in the Mile High Club is attained by having hot sex in an airplane.

For me, it meant changing a poopy diaper kneeling down in front of the restroom in the back of an airplane at 20,000 feet.

Our plane was old school - no family bathrooms, no changing tables, no bulkheads large enough for a lie down. So the flight attendants waited until the lavatory was empty and then had me lay down my changing mat in front of the door, adjacent to the emergency exit.

We had a turbulent flight. This meant that while I was wiping up poop my baby was rolling to and fro, off of the mat. Luckily, she thought this was a cool game and I went along with that theory.

I must admit that entry into the original Mile High Club would probably have been racier and sexier. But this Mile High entry was another reminder that we can get through almost anything together.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The High Cost of Hope

A friend of mine was approached by a friend of a friend on Facebook. They became friends. They e-mailed back and forth. They graduated to phone conversations. She flew out to see him. It was exciting. They dated long distance for a few months. He came to visit her. She realized he didn't blow her skirt up. It's over. The hope is over. She is disappointed.

I understand the post-relationship letdown. It's the same feeling you get when you return to work after a really great vacation. Suddenly, going to work really sucks. It didn't suck this much before vacation, but after getting a small taste of the good life, work sucks. It makes you wonder if you should stop taking vacations.

But then you read an article in the NYTimes about a great vacation destination. You google it and find a ticket on sale. Suddenly, your trepidation about post-vacation letdown flies out the window. You buy a ticket, pack your bags, and high tail it to the airport.

Or you agree to meet him for coffee ...

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Clean Up in Aisle 7

Since having a baby I've tried to tell myself that I can still do anything. Everything. Okay, almost everything. My view on this theory changed somewhat last week.

My friend Debbie was in town to meet my daughter. Debbie has a child of her own and never gets to go to the movies. I thought to myself, 'Won't this be fun? A matinee on a Monday afternoon. I'm sure we'll be the only people in the theater. I can bring my baby and she'll sleep through the whole thing - perfect!"

Well, not exactly.

We arrived at the theater to find that about 15 other people had the same idea. I carried the stroller half-way up the stadium seating and we settled in for the show. After 20 minute of previews, the movie finally began. At just this moment I glanced down at my daughter's face to see the Poop Expression. I hoped it was just gas, and I ignored it.

Twenty minutes later when nothing else had happened, I assumed I was out of the woods. I got the brilliant idea to quickly change her diaper in the aisle of the stadium seating (???? I know !!!). I laid out my mat and arranged the wipes and a new diaper. Wasn't I surprised when I took off her pants and found poop all over her legs, her onesie, and her little pink pants. Meanwhile, my vision was obstructed by the dark scenes in the movie and I could only assess the damage intermittently. At this point, my daughter started crying. I picked her up and grabbed the diaper bag, leaving my entire little set up, the stroller and my friend Debbie in Aisle 7, and booking it to the bathroom. Picture me laying my daughter down on the side of the sink of the ladies room in the movies, cleaning her up with paper towels and trying to get a poopy onesie over her head without getting poop in her hair. Does this picture qualify for the cover of Time magazine's mother of the year publication? I think not.

I'm not saying that I'll never go to a movie again. I'm not saying that now that I have a daughter I plan to barricade myself in my house and stop socializing. But I am saying that that was the last diaper change for us in Aisle 7.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

M.I.L.F.

I've learned an interesting thing about dating in the single parents network .... if you're relatively young, in decent shape, and aren't leaking breast milk through your shirt or wearing jeans with an elastic waistband, you may be a M.I.L.F.

This is the one thing I may not mind having in common with Sarah Palin. That and the fact that we both hunt innocent animals from a helicopter with semi-automatic weapons ... oh right, just one thing.

I've found myself in a different solar system. In my past dating life, a 35-something single Jewish woman who wanted children was a ticking time bomb. Every such woman's profile on jdate is accompanied by the soundtrack to Mission Impossible, with a burning fuse leading to a petri dish of her last viable eggs.

But now that I have a baby, the background music to my profile has changed. Roll, "Whoomp, there it is!" with visuals of Teri Hatcher wearing a Cougar t-shirt and pushing a Bob's Revolution Stroller. Who knew?

I've received 153 messages on the single parents site in one month. That is an approximately 30:1 ratio of messages received in my prior dating life. Granted, most of these fathers are not F.I.L.F. In fact, few are even sitter-worthy (the post-baby comparison to sponge-worthy). And at $13/hour for a babysitter, I'm gonna need a little convincing before I answer, "Whose your Daddy?"

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Sammy Davis Jr.

As of late, I've been feeling like Sammy Davis Jr.

How many short, black, Jewish guys who are blind in one eye are there in this world? One.

How many 40-year old single mothers who used gestational carriers are there in this world? Apparently, one.

This became all the more obvious to me when I attended a Mommy group last week. The other mothers were all 10 years younger, married, and had carried their own pregnancies (how bourgeois). They were talking about their birth experiences, breastfeeding, and how much their husbands help out around the house. As you can imagine, we didn't have a lot in common.

I had on yoga pants and a fitted shirt and I saw them glance at my comparatively flat stomach from time to time, with a "Are you freakin' kidding me??" expression. Okay, this was the one part I evilly enjoyed. Pilates girls, pilates.

Ahhhhhh. Maybe I should start my own Brat Pack.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Fake & Bake

My 24 year old Nanny, 'Nan', showed up on Thursday with a tan (rhyme unintentional, but I like it). It was 40 degrees outside and overcast so I knew that bronze wasn't from the sky. When I commented on the tan, she confessed to going to a tanning booth in preparation for her Big 25th Birthday the next day (I successfully fought my urge to lecture her on melanoma risk - it wasn't easy).

Nan was also going for a manicure, pedicure and to get her hair done after watching my daughter. It turns out that she and her friends had rented a limo for the Birthday Extravaganza. I figured they were going into the city for a show, but it turns out they were going into the next town over to a sports bar called The Big Bear Saloon. This gave me pause.

I've been to this particular sports bar on many occasions. It is the kind of place that has a flat screen tv in every square foot and a video game next to the front door called 'Deer Hunter'. This sports bar serves 47 kinds of beer and boasts chicken wing salad as the 'healthy choice' on the menu.

When I go to this bar, I sometimes prepare by rolling on deodorant. Sometimes.

Post-baby, I prepare for a trip to this Saloon by wiping the baby formula off my shoulder and repurposing it as a volume booster with a sweep through my hair . I certainly do not tan, mani, pedi, and style. In fact, when DO I tan, mani, pedi and style? The answer is: never.

My last lavish event was a friend's swanky wedding in Newport this August. For this major event I did shave my legs, shower, and apply make-up. I'm fairly sure this is as far as I would take it for a trip to meet Obama at the White House.

Does this mean that I care nothing about my appearance? Actually, I don't think so. But in the post-baby era, I can tell you that I can shower, dry my hair, clothe myself and whistle Dixie while cajoling my crying baby in her cradle in approximately 12 minutes. I've applied for the Winter Olympics but have been told that this event has not yet received full committee approval.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Baby Bait

What everyone is too politically correct to tell you - and yet every parent secretly knows - is that having a newborn baby is like having a cute puppy: everyone on the street suddenly stops to talk to you.

Its interesting. I've been frequenting the same grocery store, the same coffee shop, and the same library for many moons. No one knows, no one cares. And then suddeny I show up with a baby. A cute baby. Now everybody wants to be my friend. Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry interesting.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Diaper Dating

My daughter and I celebrated her 2-week birthday this week by (drumroll please ....) going out on our first date as a team.

No, not kidding.

A guy had contacted me on Plenty of Fish a few weeks ago. We corresponded, I told him I was expecting a baby via a gestational carrier, and then didn't hear from him for a while. Of course, I figured that news had been enough to freak him out. Wasn't I surprised to get a call from him a few days after I brought my daughter home from the hospital? The call went a little something like this:

"Hello" (that's me, exhausted and trying to lug the baby in carseat, diaper bag, and shopping bag into the house)

"Hey, Liv, this is Bob from Plenty of Fish. Is this a good time for you to talk?"

"Um, actually, no Bob. My baby was born this week and I'm trying to carry her into the house."

How's that for Dating Etiquette 101?

Again, I thought I'd never hear back from Bob, and yet he called a week later. After speaking he asked me out for dinner. I don't like to go out for dinner on a first date - its too big a commitment of time, energy and resources. Plus, I hate the whole 'Who's paying the bill?' gig. So I slipped in:

"Bob, it would be easier for me to meet for coffee, if you don't mind. I'll have my daughter with me and it's easier to plan for a short period of time."

And then it hit me ... having a child is a great dating accessory! I can blame everything on her now. Wow, they never mention this in Dr. Spock.

So we met for coffee. I didn't have to go throught the awkward desciption of what I look like -- hell, how many single women are in Starbucks on a Wednesday night with a baby?

Ironically, the conversation with Bob was one of the best I've had in months. I wonder if having a baby is also a good screening tool? All men too immature to date a woman with a child at this age need not apply.

Lucy needed a bottle half way through the date and I whipped one out and fed it to her -- imagine how awkward this would have been if I breastfed! A few minutes later I told Bob we needed to go home to avoid a meltdown. He walked us out to the parking lot and went for the dreaded first-date-parking-lot hug. But it is difficult to hug someone when they are blocking you with a 6 lb. baby in a carseat -- again, points for Lucy! Bob settled for the arm squeeze instead, and I didn't have to decide whether or not to reciprocate because my arms were full.

I'm not sure if I'll hear from Bob again. If I do, great, If not, great.

I'm too happy and exhausted to worry about what he thought, whether or not he will call, whether or not I should call him, and whether or not I care. But this date was very important to me because it is living proof that being a Mom and Dating and not mutually exclusive. And it proves what I've already begun to suspect --- Lucy and I make a great team.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Sperm in a Latte Cup

Lucy and I walked (okay, she rode) into my favorite independent coffee shop today. I'm a regular at this shop and read my newspaper with a French Roast in there every week after racewalking.

The 40-something owner said to me, "Who is this?"
"This is my daughter, Lucy"
"No, seriously, who is this?"
"I'm serious Luke, this is my baby daughter."

Silence. Looks at me, looks at her, looks at me. Contemplation.

"How?"
"I used a surrogate (gestational carrier was just too much to ask).
Do you know what that is?"
"No."
"I couldn't carry a pregnancy, so I found another woman to carry my baby for me."

Silence. Looks at me, looks at her, looks at me. Contemplation.

"Where did the sperm come from?"
Okay, we're getting a big personal here, but I can handle it.

"I used a donor."
"You used a donor? Why? I would have given you mine! You know I have 6 children, including twins! Why didn't you ask me?"

I'm picturing this conversation in my head, "Hey honey, guess what I gave a customer today in one of our latte cups ???"

"Gee, thanks Luke, I appreciate that."
"I'm serious! The next time, you use mine."

Would this entitle me to a free scone with my French Roast each week ?
Just wondering.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Happy Hour, reworked

Happy hour used to mean standing around drinking cold beer in a room full of 'young professionals', all pretending not to notice each other while attempting to eat jalapeno poppers without spilling hot cheese on their work clothes. Ohhhhh, good times folks.

Happy hour has a new meaning since my daughter arrived, rather early, 12 days ago. Happy hour now refers to the 60 minutes per day when we're both awake, neither of us is crying or pooping, and we're staring at each other thinking, "I can't believe this is happening."

Yes, my daughter is here. It actually worked. It actually worked.

I look back over the past few years of dating, break-ups, single mothers by choice meetings, pregnancies, miscarriages, surgeries, fertility treatments, surrogate hunting, more fertility treatments, failed cycles, and then a pregnancy! Followed by 36 weeks of ultrasounds, doctors appointments, and then .... a baby. Holy shit, it actually worked.

(As an aside, I can't believe that some people get one of these babies by just having sex. Are you serious???)

And now my life has changed forever. All the naysayers told me that I'd never sleep again, never date again, never travel again, never have fun again. And while I'll admit that simple tasks such as a run to the grocery store have suddenly become much more complicated, I say, 'Bring it on'. I'll trade this happy hour for a bud light and a jalapeno popper any day.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

One Night Love Affair

Shit, it wasn't L.O.V.E. Her current reference tanked --- big time. As in they come home every night to her latest disaster --- poop running down the side of the diaper genie, milk all over the bottom of the frig, muddy footprints all over the white rug. Master disaster.

Let me compare shopping for a nanny with dating:

-Everyone looks great on-line; check!
-Everyone is polished and on best behavior on date one; check!
-References don't pan out; ah ha!

I think I have the secret to dating! Request a reference list and check it twice. I cannot tell you how many years of pointless dating this could have saved me...

Back to the drawing board.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Could This Be L.O.V.E.?

I think it may be. And not some dumb crush or a one night love affair --- I think this may be the real deal.

We met at Starbucks yesterday after a series of e-mails back and forth. When I walked in, our eyes met across the coffee shop. I thought to myself --- this could be My Nanny.

Her name is Rosa. She is 31-years old, beat me to Starbucks (and I was 5 minutes early), was immaculately dressed, and she had a fat binder of every certificate she has ever earned (infant CPR, 0-3 program, and a Bachelor's in child development). A Binder. Be still my heart. She is bilingual. She knows and uses sign language. OMG.

I feared that she was out of my league. A career woman, looking for $20/hour and on her way to starring in next season's Supernanny. But no, she is willing to be flexible and she might be in my league after all.

I still need to check her references. We still need to discuss vacations, the definition of 'light housekeeping', and her view on watching sick babies --- but I'm cautiously optimistic.

I was tempted to have her name tatooed on my bicep today inside a heart shaped bottle, but I'm holding off. Don't rush it.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The Road Not Taken

I met with the head of pediatrics today to tell him my story in hopes that he can help divert any problems we might encounter at the hospital after delivery. You know, the, "Hold on a minute, you're a single woman claiming that this baby coming out of another woman's body is yours?" type of problems. The usual.

I spent a few minutes in the waiting room before my appointment, dodging germs and watching the other parents with their children. As I watched them play, argue, and wrestle grimy toys away from their kids, I realized that I had a smile plastered across my face. This is really happening! Plan B has morphed into almost-reality!

After my meeting I floated over to the elevators and landed next to a couple with their 6-week old baby sleeping in his snugride. The couple looked ... rumpled. And disgruntled. They looked like they had been sleeping in their clothes, like they hadn't brushed their respective heads of hair in several days, and as though they weren't speaking to each other or their baby. It wasn't a warm, fuzzy feeling but more like a 'get me the hell out of here and don't stand too close to me' feeling.

I glanced down at them from my cloud and then took a double take at the guy. And then a triple take. Could it be???? Yes. It was Gary. They guy I dated during a 3-month holiday session from November 2003-February 2004. This guy was the recipient of my famous yoga-pilates, karma-sutra pull-up move that threw his lower back out, forcing me to massage icy-hot into his hairy ass muscle for 24 hours. Oh Gary, we laughed, and you cried. And then we broke up.

Gary was a nice guy. But truth be told, he was kind of a load. And seeing him standing there with his equally loadish wife, looking miserable, looking as though having icy-hot rubbed into his ass muscle would be the highlight of his year, I suddenly contemplated the road not taken. 'Yes, I'm doing it alone' suddenly became 'YES, I'm doing it ALONE!!!'.

Don't get me wrong --- I fully admit that this is Plan B. And it's not Plan Forever. But it also ain't Plan Icy Hot and Miserable. And for that I am eternally grateful.

I quietly backed away from the Happy Couple at the elevator and bolted down the stairs.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Substitutions

The latest pearl of wisdom that people seem to impart on me is, "Wait until your baby gets here. You won't have the time, energy or desire to date anymore."

This gem appears stranger and stranger as the due date grows closer.

I can follow the logic behind arguing that I won't have the time or energy to date. Hell, I don't have the time or energy to do it now. I certainly don't have the desire to date -- and yet, for all of the freak show, circus act, comedy club, jailhouse rockers I've come into contact with in the past few years, some type of desire for a relationship with the gravitational pull of a small planet seems to suck me back in. Considering my track record over the past few years, this force should be impressive even to NASA.

But how can you argue that having a child will take the place of an adult, male/female, sexual relationship? If a friend was cold, would you hand her a glass of water and expect that to meet the need? If a neighbor was depressed, would you tell him that an aspirin would do the trick? If a co-worker was stressed, would you pinch his ass to take his mind off his problems? (If you answered yes to this last question let me warn you that this may be misconstrued as sexual harrassment.)

The answer is no. I can also personally vouge for the fact that eating a large bowl of ice cream will not make you less bored, less tired, or more motivated to write that report for work you've been avoiding all weekend. I've tested this hypothesis no less than 100 times --- doesn't work.

Those of us who are bakers know that substitutions can get you into big trouble. If you run out of baking soda, adding extra flour won't help --- I know they are both white powders, but sorry, flour won't help your scones rise.

I've also never understood it when people say, "My pet is like a child to me." I've had several pets that I've loved deeply. They were members of my family. I had one cat for 14 years and we lived in five homes together across four cities. But I never once thought to myself, "Now that I have this cat I don't need to have a baby." I just don't get it.

And so, with only a few short weeks to the Due Date, I bash on. Perhaps you parents in the crowd are thinking to yourselves, "Oh, you just wait and see, a baby will fill up your entire solar system". And maybe you're right. And although I can't wait to meet my baby girl and have her add a new and thrilling dimension to my life, I hope I'll never say that she is my entire world. I don't think that would be fair to either of us.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Solo

I'm in Newport for an old friend's wedding. I came stag because its difficult to invite a 'friend' to be your date for an out of town wedding to sleep one foot on the floor with you in your king size bed.

It's never all that much fun to go stag to a wedding where you mainly know just the bride and groom; but, I've decided to make the best of it.

When I checked into my hotel I was very surprised to see that the bathroom was as large as the studio apartment I had in the city. Separate rooms for the toilet, sinks and the combo shower/jacuzzi room. Wild. And when discussing my disco bathroom with the bride's friends from home at the post-party I learned that not everyone has a taj bathroom --- just me.

I had a fantasy about the one single guy attending the wedding tomorrow and how I will invite him back to my jacuzzi for champagne and strawberries (because this happens so often). I then had a reality that this is likely the very last time I will go out of town solo without either a) bringing my daughter, or b) leaving her with a sitter (unlikely). Holy shit.

This last thought is overwhelming in some ways. Let me repeat: I will never again leave town without either bringing my daughter or making child care arrangements.

But when I skip past the fantasy jacuzzi date, and stick to the reality of my life, this is okay. There is room in the corner of the disco bathroom for a changing station.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Nine

Vanessa sent me a text yesterday that read, 'Nine!'. We're no longer counting up, we're counting down. And considering that she has never gone beyond 38 weeks and has gone as early as 36, nine weeks seems like a stretch.

Is it normal for any expectant Mom to think about how her life will change, how she'll handle everything, and what she should expect? I would guess so. My reflections may be slightly different than the average woman living in the suburbs with her husband and her 2-car garage, but I imagine we all go through the, 'What will my life be like?' stage.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can stop saying I'm expecting a daughter and have a startled person glance at my wedding ring finger and then my stomach in confusion. Once she is here, they can just look at my ring finger.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can simply tell a guy I meet that I have a daughter, and can stop going through the 'I'm a single mother by choice using a gestational carrier' schpiel. Really folks, it would be easier to explain a sex change operation.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can stop asking Vanessa what my daughter is doing and can just hold her and see her myself.

I'm looking forward to the day when the boat arrives. I can almost see the sail on the horizon.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Client Meeting

Today I was meeting with a client about a serious topic. And then he said,

"Do you like motorcycles?"

"No, actually I'm not a fan. Why do you ask?"

"I was going to ask you to go for a ride on my motorcycle sometime."

(At this point I'm trying not to look surprised.)

"Well thank you, but I'm not a fan."

(A few moments later he says...)

"Did I make you uncomfortable a few minutes ago? I didn't mean to. Its just that I find you very attractive."

"Thank you. No, you didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I'm flattered. But as you can imagine, we're not allowed to date clients."

I've been doing this job for 14 years - this is a first.

WTF? I looked like hell today.

Copulence, I tell you. This shit is potent.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Worth Every Penny

My Grandfather used to say, "Free advice is worth exactly what you've paid for it." Rock on Grandpa, you're so right.

Many people seem to be lining up to offer me free advice or pieces of sage wisdom. Here are some of my favorites thus far:

"Do everything fun now - you won't get another chance after the baby comes."

"You do realize that your house will be trashed one year from now, right?"

"You know that no Dude is going to come within a 5 mile radius of you until your kid is six." (my personal favorite)

"After this baby comes, if you want to see people they'll have to come here. You won't be able to cart a kid, a diaper bag, and all of that stuff anywhere."

"For the first 3 months you're going to ask yourself why you ruined your life, but then it slowly gets better."

I feel quite certain that the pearls of wisdom will continue to drift my way over the next few months. And then the child raising advice can begin. I wait with open ears, a blank notebook, and a match.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Birth Plan

My gestational carrier and I met a few weeks ago to discuss our 'birth plan'. We are now at 30 weeks (!) and are literally in countdown mode.

Reviewing the 'birth plan' was an interesting exercise for me. If you'd asked me about my ideal birth plan five short years ago, here is what I would have said: My loving husband and I will be there together for the delivery. We'll try natural childbirth, but I've got no problems with pain meds as needed. Yes, I plan to breast feed.

And here we are five years later. I'm a single mother-to-be living in a 2-bedroom condo on the water, trying to avoid sexy ex-cons, bad decisions and parties centered around me that include the word 'shower'. My gestational carrier's last birth experience lasted 45 minutes from first contraction to delivery, concluding in the parking lot of her apartment complex. Therefore, my birth plan reads as follows: she calls me on my cell phone. I throw on glasses and flip-flops - no time for a bra. Grab my keys and drag-race to the hospital -- hope my gestational carrier is there with the baby still in her.

And who says I can't be flexible?

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Copulence

Oprah did a show a few months ago about a pheromone called copulence than women secrete while ovulating. Men aren't aware that they can smell this pheromone, but it apparently has a profound influence on their attraction to women.

The show was of particular interest to me. I had several surgeries in 2008 in a last ditch attempt to try to carry my own pregnancy. The final surgery in August 2008 was surprisingly brutal and I vowed it was my last. I took several months of estrogen after the surgery and, sadly, my uterine lining did not improve. I did not begin to ovulate independently and still did not get my period. And by then I'd found my gestational carrier and threw myself into Plan B.

Fast forward six months. I was at my college roommate's 40th birthday party and we finally kicked out the last guests at 3am. I went to the bathroom before hitting the hay and lo and behold - my period. I couldn't believe it.

I was certain that this event was like a lunar eclipse. I'd perhaps see it one more time before menopause. But six weeks later it happened again. And then 4 weeks later. And now every 28 days. You have got to be kidding me.

I read 'Are you there God? It's me Margaret', bought a training bra, and had my ears pierced. It's official. I've hit puberty at 40.

The irony of this situation is not lost on me. Vanessa is 28 weeks pregnant with my daughter and I will be a single mom in a 2-bedroom condo in approximately 10 weeks. Plan B does not include another baby or (holy shit!) a set of twins or triplets.

And so Why Now? I think the answer - and the question - may be copulence.

I am aware this sounds crazy. And believe me I am NOT the girl who thinks that every guy likes her. In fact, I'm the girl who needs an engraved notice from the government announcing that a guy likes me. But I'm telling you, something strange is going on. I'm shooting this stuff out all over the place. With no aim, I might add.

Case in point: last night at the grocery store. My cashier was a 17 year old boy (born in the 1990s) who was all about testosterone and Miley Cyrus. I placed all of my items on the belt and handed him a package of tortilla, asking if he could return them for me. He made a face and said, "I don't know about that, I may have to call the cops." to which I replied, "Oh no, not again."

He said, "Oooh, you get in trouble a lot. I'll bet your husband likes that. You aren't married? I'll bet your boyfriend likes that, doesn't he?"

Excuse me??? Have you finished your math homework???????

Did I somehow bring this on myself? Or, is it The Secret? do I think I'm mass producing copulence, so I'm actually attracting men to me? or is it my new lipstain? because it is really cute.

To be continued...

Friday, July 31, 2009

Watermelon Ceiling

I'm not precisely sure why, but I've had a hard time letting myself truly believe that my baby girl will be here in about 10 weeks. Call it superstition, kinahora, or stone cold fear --- I just haven't allowed myself to fully dive in.

But she is big enough now that she could live outside the womb if she had to. Don't get me wrong - I hope she bakes for at least 10 more weeks, but it is reassuring to know.

So I took a big figurative and literal step and had her ceiling painted watermelon. Light watermelon, but watermelon all the same.

At first glance it appeared that someone projectile vomited a giant bowl of raspberry sorbet on her ceiling. But now I'm getting used to it and think that with the right accessories, her room will look great.

My childhood room was (is) yellow. The wallpaper had green vines, yellow flowers and tiny aqua butterflies all over it. I loved it. It felt so safe, so familiar, so mine.

And now I look at this watermelon ceiling that my daughter will stare at thousands of times as a newborn, an infant, a baby, a toddler and someday a teenager. She'll sleep, wake, laugh, cry, fret, stew, and pine over some dumb kid in this room. All under the watermelon ceiling.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Slow burn

The problem with having a few very hot dates and an almost summer fling is that you get all worked up, all hot and bothered, and then it's over. But the all worked up and all hot and bothered part isn't over. Hence, the problem.

The good part about a near miss is that it reminds you that not all guys find a woman who is expecting a baby (at a remote location) to be a turn-off. In fact, for some guys it's a turn-on (the whole independent, strong woman thing). And a near miss can remind you that some guys think you're hot - very hot. It's a reminder that you're still alive.

And so I'm trying to look at this strange near miss as a good thing. A thaw, a warm up, a slow burn. After all, there is still second session.

Monday, July 27, 2009

The Blender

When I started my job 14 years ago I remember my supervisor mentioning to me, in the middle of the day, that he was going out to get his hair cut. I laughed out loud. He looked bewildered because he was totally serious. He explained that he had to give a lecture the next day and couldn't look shaggy. It seemed so odd to me that someone would take time out of his work day for personal grooming and would consider it completely normal.

Fourteen years later I get it. There is no formal work day for me anymore. I check and return work e-mail from home at night and on weekends and vacations. I take time out during the day to do personal errands or to return personal phone calls, and e-mail my friends during low points in conference calls. I return client phone calls while shopping at BJs, driving in the car, or cleaning my bathroom. It all blends together --- I now do whatever is most convenient and efficient, and multi-tasking is my favorite hobby. This may sound very unappealing to the hardcore 9 to 5'er, but it works for me.

Lately I've been thinking about the boundaries between my life as a single person and my upcoming life as a mother. It has seemed until now that these are discreet circles that do not overlap. I can either wear a sexy dress, flirt, and date OR have a baby, be a mother, and talk incessantly about baby products.

Guess what? Not the case. I'm going to throw all of these things in the blender (sans baby product chatting, which makes me loco). This is my life, this is who I am. I don't plan to have a revolving door of men come through my life, or certainly my daughter's life. But guess what, again? I don't have a revolving door now. With a few notable lapses in judgement, I date a select group of really nice guys. I plan to wear sexy clothes instead of mom jeans AND be a good mom, a good friend, and a good employer and employee. No, I'm not going to be a poster girl for Madonna and Child. But even if I were in a perfect marriage with a perfect house and 2.5 kids, I wouldn't be that poster girl - nor would I want to be.

I don't really know what this life will look like --- and I certainly didn't know what my professional life would look like 14 years ago. But I created it, and I will create this balance, this picture. And the craziest thing is ... I think I'm sexier, more attractive and better company now as an excited, fulfilled 40-year old single almost-new-Mom than I was as a 35-year old swingle on the prowl. Feeling good about your decisions and your independence will do that to a woman.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

A Vacation from Myself

I'm at a business meeting in the South, far from home. I sat in a room full of strangers all day. No one knows who I am, what I do, where I'm from, or any part of my crazy life --- it was refreshing. An escape.

I spent the evening reading the newspaper by the pool, reading a novel like it was my life plan, and eating (and enjoying) dinner by myself near the water.

Being alone is sometimes the best place for self-reflection. I'm at an interesting point in my life --- the last two years of chaos with my parents' separation, fertility treatments, miscarriages, surgeries, unexpected new home purchase, extensive renovations, and moving is now settled (phew!).

In a few short weeks (!) my daughter will be here and my life will again be thrown into a tailspin: delivery, newborn, having my mother here, maternity leave, daycare plans, returning to work, adjustment. This tailspin will now be my life.

I'm ready for a change. I'm ready for a big change. But unchartered territory always makes me nervous and this is no different. Will I have a happy and healthy baby? Will I be a good Mom? Will I be good at juggling the work/Mom combination? Will my friendships suffer? Will my health and peace of mind suffer? Will I, as a male friend recently told me, wonder what in the hell I've done and why I've ruined my life? I don't think so. But the nay-sayers are out in full force right now: my house will be trashed. I'll never sleep again. I'll never have sex again. No dude will want to be in a 1-mile radius of me for 6 years. My work will suffer. My waistline will suffer. You get the picture.

I do question how I will figure all of this out. But I will. I always do.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Conjugal visits

Some of you may have noticed that several of my recent posts are MIA: my plan to take a summer lovah, meeting the Marlboro Man, and realizing I was in over my head.

Let me recap for you: Book club friend introduces me to her builder-brother visiting from Montana for the summer. Liv bakes scones for builder-brother. Builder-brother comes over with his carton of Marlboros and body canvas of tattoos. Liv mentally notes that she would never date someone like Marlboro Man. A wave of estrogen hits Liv like a tsunami and her brain is swept out to sea. Liv learns that Marlboro Man kisses very well. Liv wonders what else he does well. In the middle of a jam session, Marlboro Man mentions that he got one of his tattoos in jail. Liv thinks he is kidding. He is not. Liv briefly considers being a jailhouse ho. Liv pictures her gestational carrier crossing the border into Mexico and selling her unborn child to a more worthy parent. Liv breaks up with Marlboro Man, who does not take it well. Liv calls police and in a paranoid streak worthy of an Oscar nod, erases related blog entries from this site in case her unborn child reads this one day.

Not kidding.

Several of my friends have had babies recently. I note with interest that their stories do not read this way, but more like Madonna and child.

I would like to fully blame my bibliophile friend for the omission of the century. As for my momentary lapse of reasoning, I blame the estrogen tsunami. As for my jailhouse ho dreams --- I know it wasn't realistic. But damn ... think of the conjugal visits I would have had. Damn.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Blink

Have you read this book by Malcolm Gladwell? I find the concept fascinating.

Here is the 50 cent summary:

If we listen to our inner selves, the answer to a complex question will sometimes come to us in the blink of an eye. Some call it a gut feeling or a premonition. These blink decisions are often dead accurate --- even more accurate than decisions made over time and with reams of data. The reason? We are actually using weeks, years, or decades of experiences, data, and insights which come together in a complex decision-tree to deliver a reaction in a split second. So, go with your gut.

One of the many examples given is a beautiful, ancient sculpture brought to an art gallery for auction. All of the paperwork, the background story, and the history appeared to be legit. But several art historians who viewed the piece independently said it was a fake, even though they couldn't explain why. Gut feeling. They were correct.

We often try to ignore these gut feelings, especially when they don't fit our plans. I find myself trying to do this all of the time. I was dating a guy a few years ago and trying to convince myself I really liked him. In the moment before I fell asleep a thought rushed through my mind in a nanosecond, "He is fine to date, but you could never love him." I jolted awake and spent an hour trying to convince myself why this wasn't true. But it was true.

Another time I was throwing an annual summer party and my serious boyfriend walked through the door after months of dragging his heels about moving to my area. This was supposed to be the first day of our life together. When he walked through the door instead of being thrilled to see him, the thought that flashed across my brain was, "He'd be a good friend, but I don't want to be married to him". Lightning bolt. Also true.

I'm still trying to ignore all inconvenient revelations in my life. But this book made me realize that sometimes you can't talk yourself out of the truth --- even when you don't understand the underpinnings that led you to that conclusion.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Trolling for Mr. Rhythm

A round peg does not fit into a square hole. We all know this, and yet we have all been guilty of trying to shove the peg in there anyway. This weekend I was the peg.

My good friend's husband, Eli, was in town this weekend for a wedding. My friend didn't make the trip, and so Eli asked me to be his date for the wedding festivities. We never get to see each other or hang out, so this was a treat.

Eli thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. I'm his wife's close friend. I've known them since they met. I know their families. I was in their wedding. I've been to the city apartment, house #1 and house #2. I flew down to meet their baby when he was born last summer. You get the picture.

Eli would LOVE to see me find Mr. Right. He met Glenn years back and was so happy I'd finally found someone --- and since that fell through, Eli has kept his ear to the ground for me. And taken out a few billboards.

I'm actually flattered that he thinks I'm great and wants to make my life even greater. But this weekend he took his matchmaking passion to a new level --- we'll call this level 'Code Red'.

There were several single guys at this wedding, and several of them were in the bridal party. When the groom introduced them at the rehearsal dinner, I leaned over to Eli and whispered, "This looks line a police line-up of my last 10 bad blind dates". Awkward, awkward, and awkward in a wrinkled shirt. Great guys, I'm sure, but no one rang my bell. Not even a 'ding'.

Eli seemed to agree. Until Sunday night rolled around and there were 30 minutes of the wedding remaining. He took his 8th Crown Royal on the rocks and started trolling the room for single guys still standing.

I watched the entire thing unfold like a bad slasher film on a budget. Eli sauntered over to a guy who I mentioned 'had rhythm' on the dance floor (which, Eli relayed to me, 'translates in the bedroom, Liv'. Oh boy.). Eli sat down. They started talking. They both glanced over at me. Eli got up and headed outside, Mr. Rhythm boogied on over and SAT DOWN NEXT TO ME. I tried to muster up a pissed off attitude but, to be honest with you, it was so freakin' funny that I couldn't even channel anger.

Mr. Rhythm is young, 5'2", and lives on the West Coast --- a mere 3,000 miles from me. He was actually very funny, but WTF? So we talked for a few minutes, as Eli watched through cupped hands on the window, and then Mr. Rhythm asked me to dance the last dance --- Sinatra's 'New York, New York'. Have you ever tried to dance to this song? Well, it ain't easy folks. So awkward I was forced to laugh.

Mr. Rhythm was catching a ride with his mom to the mother of the groom (MOTG)'s house, where they were staying and he'd been sleeping on the couch. That morning he had awakened to the unfortunate sight of MOTG ironing in her underwear, and was still traumatized. So, I encouraged Mr. Rhythm to squeeze his eyelids tight and we parted ways, as the DJ folded up his operation and the waitresses undressed the tables. How romantic.

I considered leaving Eli in the parking lot to thumb a ride back to his hotel. But then I realized that, in his own twisted way, Eli is trying to help me. He thinks I'm great, wants me to be happy, and thinks I'd be even happier in a relationship. Any relationship. The night was growing shorter and as he put it, "I had limited time and resources to work with, Liv". It was at this point he tried shoving the round peg into the square hole. With the best of intentions.

So here is what I have to say to all of my Eli's. Thank you. It means a lot that you love me, think I'm awesome, and want to help me find a great guy. But do me a favor ... wait for a GREAT GUY. And please don't slip a $20 to the parking lot attendant and have him ask me to dance ... he's got two left feet.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Glancing Back, Moving Forward

Oh, the power of Facebook. A few weeks ago I received a friend request from Alex, an old friend of Glenn's (my close call) who lives in my area. At the time of my very painful breakup with Glenn, Alex was incredibly supportive and helpful to both of us. He listened, advised, and gave tough-love when needed. I was very sorry to lose him in the unwritten divorce decree.

And so, when his friend request showed up in my inbox, it gave me a moment of pause. Actually, a few moments. I really like Alex, but did I want to open that old wound that I've worked so hard to heal? I took a few days to think it over and decide that being FB friends is a relatively innocuous commitment 4 years down the pike.

As fate would have it, my friend Alison and I were discussing FB and I happened to mention that I'd received a request from my Ex's friend, Alex. She asked his last name. Lo and behold, one of her friends has been trying to set her up with Alex for over a year! What are the chances?

So she e-mailed Alex and the three of us got together for a drink this week. Alex and I arrived first. He filled me in on the highlights and lowlights of the past four years, and then asked for my summary. I said, "Sure, but first I'd like to ask you a question?"

"I know what you're going to ask me."

"Really? What?"

"How is Glenn? How does he feel about the breakup? Is he dating anyone?"

The needle on the record screeched to a halt.

"Uh, no, actually. I was just going to ask if you're still in touch with him and, if yes, how much of what I say will you share with him? Because my personal information is personal."

To my surprise, Alex said that he and Glenn are still in close touch. (My guess would have been that Glenn had fallen off of the face of the earth after leaving town. ) And then to my much greater surprise, Alex added, "And I'm sorry to say this, but he isn't over you. He feels unresolved about your breakup."

I had a moment of complete and utter shock. It has been 4 YEARS. Not 4 months, or 4 weeks, 4 YEARS.

The breakup was terribly raw and painful and sad and unfortunate. At the time, I felt like I'd been chewed up in a giant meat grinder, spit out on the side of the road, and run over by a line of Hummers. That feeling lasted for at least a year, with flashbacks of the feeling for at least two. But I've worked really, really hard to move on, and I have. In fact, I now realize that it couldn't have worked, and shouldn't have worked.

Alex went on to say that Glenn is 'angry' that he messed up his chance of marriage and children with me, that he was not given a chance to make things right, and that he was 'shut out'.

For a moment, I was sucked back into the vortex.

I could have said that one canceled engagement (of which I learned of via an e-mail sent to my parents), one breakup/makeup, several months of marriage counseling, and approximately 10,000 discussions on the subject were the chances 'to make things right'. I could have said that you are forced to shut someone out when they send you dozens of e-mail manifestos on topics like 'What we will do at our 40th Wedding Anniversary' and 'What we will name our pets', with no attention to the actual problems at hand or proposed solutions. I could have said that months and months of phone messages, sappy cards, and e-mail proposals (yes, e-mail proposals) wear you down, make you cry at work, and drain the last ounce of sap from your soul. But instead I said, "I'm really sorry to hear that."

And I am sorry to hear that.

I'd like to think that Glenn can't get over me because I am the sexiest, smartest, funniest woman on the planet. I'd like to think that my baking, bedroom, cocktail-conversation, and athletic skills scored so high that other women pale in comparison. I'd like to think that the thoughtful, romantic and somewhat sappy gestures that went unappreciated during our relationship were recognized for their originality and brilliance in retrospect.

But the truth of the matter is ... this isn't about me. The rearview mirror on Glenn's Car of Life is rose-colored. He appreciates nothing in the present, but only when he has neglected it and it has slipped away. When you spend all of your time staring into the rearview mirror, you sometimes crash into the tractor trailer in front of you.

I knew that if we married, Glenn would forever complain about all he had given up to be with me and how much he regretted it (I knew this, because it was his daily rant for the last six months of the relationship).
If we broke up, he would forever complain about losing me. I choice Option B.

I've waited a long time to find the right guy. I deserve someone who will love me, appreciate me, and treat me with respect and consideration while we are together. Someone who realizes what a great catch he has with me. Someone who will be completely honest, throw everything he has into the relationship, and move forward without a backward glance. That is what I gave and its what I deserve in return.

I hope Glenn will find resolution and will be as happy as he can be --- or wants to be.

For myself, it has been an interesting 48 hours glancing backwards. But now I'm done and will continue to move forward.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Sweet Surprises

I never expected to have a baby on my own, and I certainly never expected to need a gestational carrier. But last week I had a sweet moment that I would have never experienced had I not followed Plan B (or are we on to Plan K by this point?).

Vanessa was leaving town for a business meeting and her husband came down with a bad cold, even staying home from work one day (which he never does). Vanessa was stressed to be leaving a sick husband in charge of their three children while she'd be 7 states away for 3 days and nights. I offered to go over to her house after work and take the kids to dinner to give him a break. Vanessa pitched the plan to her husband and he protested that he'd be fine - but their 4-year old heard the conversation and said, "I want to go out to dinner with Liv!!!!!". And so it was written.

The 8-year old, the 4-year old and I headed to Friendly's, leaving the 1.5 year old at home with daddy. They talked the entire time, trying to sweet talk me into letting them get the tall, blue sugar-syrup drink concoction with cheese sticks and a side of fries (sugar, fat & grease x 10). After deep negotiations, we settled for water, cheese sticks, fries and ice cream (fat, grease, sugar x 10).

In the midst of all of this excitement, the 4-year old whipped around and said, "Do you know that I've kissed your baby? I've poked her too!".

Something about this moment in Friendly's, surrounded by two little boys and talk of snakes, scabs, blood and really bad food, made me grateful for my journey. It is not the path I would have chosen or the one I expected, but it is one I love.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

New Digs

I've finally, finally, moved into my new home. It's strange - I fully expected a few days of driving to the wrong house, struggling to find ingredients in the kitchen, and walking into the wall in the middle of the night on the way to the new bathroom. None of that has happened.

It almost seems like I belong here. Like this was supposed to happen. To overuse a popular phrase, it feels organic.

I've been sleeping in the baby's room because the Eastern cathedral windows in my bedroom let in the wee morning sun (did you know that its bright out at 4:30am?). I imagine my daughter sleeping there some day very soon, and even that seems normal. As though I already know her and expect her.

Since moving in, I've been taking active measures to create new, healthier habits in this new abode. Less tv. Less sugar. More reading. More flossing. And now I'm adding more yoga.

I'd like to take one more step: less self-doubt when it comes to dating. Less worrying about how that part of my life will work out. Less fretting about whether some dumb arse who looks 55 years old is turned off by the fact that I'm expecting a baby, that I'm not a supermodel, that I'm me. Enough.

And when I'm honest with myself, I already know the answer. The right guy will come along. He will find me, I don't need to go looking for him. He will love both me and my daughter and feel lucky to have finally found us. And it will feel as organic as it feels to wake up in this home and look out on the water.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Billboards

One of the greatest lessons I've learned was taught to me when I was 25 years old. A co-worker said, "Have you ever noticed that most people point out their insecurities to you within the first 15 minutes of meeting them?" I started paying close attention and ... its true! A guy at my reunion greeted me with hello and the admission that he'd gained 20 pounds. A woman mentioned that her nose is too big. Another offered that her boyfriend is 12 years younger than she, and looks even younger. A friend goes on and on about a non-existent imperfection on her forehead. And the crazy thing is ... I truly hadn't noticed any of these things on my own (and I'm quite observant) - but as soon as these statements were made, those issues were on a billboard in bright lights.

This observation made me look at myself and how often I do the same. If someone compliments my outfit, do I say, "Oh thank you, but these pants are too tight - I've gained 5 lbs this month" or simply, "Thank you!" I think in the past it may have been A, but I now strive for B whenever possible.

I thought I had this approach down to a tee, but I think it deserves a second look.

Case in point: in my own mind, the approach I'm taking to my life makes perfect sense. I have not yet met the man I want to marry, I know I want children, now is the time. Done. But my inner voice has been saying, "This is the right thing to do, but other people will think its kind of freaky for a 40-year old woman to have a baby on her own, using a gestational carrier. Freaky x 2. Especially for men in my dating pool".

Have I been projecting this viewpoint and posting it on a billboard on I-95? I ask because today I was at a Memorial Day picnic at my friend's house. He has a fairly traditional story. Met a girl, fell in love, got pregnant, became engaged, got married, had a baby, bought a house, pregnant with baby #2. Okay, not exactly the order he'd planned, but damn close. Their friends and family members were at this picnic and I've met everyone multiple times over the years. I suspected they might know my story ahead of time, and they did. There were a few joking comments about how great I look for this stage of pregnancy, but other than that, no Freak Show looks. Few Freak Show questions. Only happiness and excitement for me. End of story.

And once the baby is born, my pregnancy history is last week's New York Times - no one cares. And then I'm just another single mother back in the dating scene -- only without the baggage of an Ex. No headlines here.

And so, on this Memorial Day weekend, the billboard is coming down and making room for yet another Dunkin' Donuts sign.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Hair Fit

I like to think that I'm a 'big picture' kind of gal. Don't sweat the small stuff. Life is too short. I generally buy into all of that shit.

With the notable exception of the Hair Fit.

I know that children are starving in India. That the economy has tanked. That the State of California is in such dire straits that not even The Terminator can fix it. I get it - these are real problems.

However, there are few problems that can put a serious damper on my mood like a bad hair cut. I know hair grows back. I know its not life threatening. And guess what? I still have a massive hair fit.

A hair fit can last for hours, days or even weeks, depending on severity. When I was little, it meant wearing my old little league baseball hat around the house and scowling like I'd lost my best friend. As an adult - well, it pretty much means the same thing. Gloom and doom, folks ... GLOOM AND DOOM.

Luckily, I now have a great hair stylist and the hair fit happens only every few years -- but when it hits, watch out sucka.

I bring this up because sometimes it is okay to sweat the small stuff. And because life isn't too short for a small hair fit. And I'll bet that even Obama pauses from trying to save our country from sinking into bankruptcy and getting attacked by terrorists to get seriously pissed off that his favorite show was erased from his DVR.

So today I'm giving myself permission for being pissed off that my move has once again been pushed back. That I already moved my entire kitchen and am living off of salted almonds and egg sandwiches. That the cable company inadvertently turned off my phone, cable and internet, again. That my watch battery died. And that my nose is running faster than Joe Biden's mouth.

Even the most die hard Plan B'er is allowed to be officially pissed off over the small stuff from time to time.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Beautiful kidneys.

Is that the main verse of a love song, you ask? No, but maybe it should be. It is certainly music to my ears.

We had our Level II ultrasound this week and I can't tell you how amazing it was to see the structure of the brain, the chambers of the heart, the ossification of bones, a straight and perfect spine, 4 normal limbs, beautifully placed hands and feet.

With each new 'normal' report I felt like I'd hit the jackpot. Over and over again. With so many things that can go wrong, how lucky was I to have a baby with a totally normal ultrasound? Pretty damn lucky.

I sat there in the dark next to Vanessa, with silent tears running down my cheeks. She looks really pregnant now and is feeling movement all of the time. But I'm the one whose heart is skipping a beat.

22 more weeks and counting.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Well, shit.

There was a major glitch in the finishing of my floors and the entire thing has to be redone. I won't be leaving these walls for another few weeks. Crap.

Friday, May 15, 2009

These Walls

Well, its official. Or pretty darn close to official - I'm moving next week.

I was in the shower this morning thinking about the condo I live in now. I moved here in 1995 (gasp) when I was 26 years old (gasp, again). I so clearly remember how I felt at the time --- I had been recruited for a big job at a major University in a new city in a foreign state. Everything was so fresh and big and promising and new.

I was moving from a crappy little one bedroom apartment I didn't like, in a suburb I didn't like, of a city I hated, to leave a job that really sucked. I was sooooooo thrilled to be leaving that entire scene.

This new condo was The Mecca. I had my own garage with an electric garage door opener! and a garbage disposal! and A WASHER AND DRYER!!! OMG, I was practically moving into Trump Tower.

A lot has happened between these four walls.

I moved here with my cat from college. She loved to run up and down the stairs, sit in the front window, and hang on the deck. She died five years ago. This will be the first place I've moved in the last 6 homes without her.

I stressed and cried and fretted about my new job, and my jerky new boss, for years and years in this house. And then I worked it out and this job has, truth be told, been more fruitful than I could have ever imagined.

I made some friends, changed friends, changed friends again, and finally found real friends. I held many a book club, weekend getaway, dinner party, wedding shower, and baby shower for said friends in this home. Many glasses of sangria, deep talks, hard cries, and heartfelt laughs happened here.

I dated a million guys in these 14 years - and this number is too close to the real estimate to be truly funny. Most of these guys never made it to date #2, let alone my condo, but a few of them did (several of whom shouldn't have). A lot of awkward moments, 8th-grade style make out sessions, laughs, discussions, dreams, fights and break-ups occurred here. I'm ready to leave those ghosts behind me.

And now I'm moving from The Mecca to a whole different league that I didn't even know existed. The new place has a view of the ocean, lots of light, new construction, and my thumbprint on every paint chip, light fixture and door knob. It kind of makes you wonder --- where will I move 14 years from now?

Although I'm excited for the move, a fresh start, a new chapter, I'm also just a little bit sad to leave these four walls that have treated me so well.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Party of One

There are groups for single mothers by choice, who choose (I use this term loosely) to have children on their own. There are groups of women who choose (same comment) to use gestational carriers. However, I have found that there are few women who choose to have a baby on their own and are using a gestational carrier.

And maybe thats okay. I tried to hang with the single mothers and found that some were anti-men, some gave out free and unwanted medical advice (you should try cleansing your body with a special diet for 6 months), and most were nice, but just not my crowd. I tried hanging with the other 'intended parents' and found discussions revolving around buying carriers Tiffany jewelry wasn't for me -- again, most people were nice, but just not a good fit.

I sometimes ask myself why my life story reads like an episode of Desperate Housewives. I always seem to find myself starring in unusual plot lines - what is it? Do I crave attention? Did I lack vitamin C as a child? Is it from all of that glue I sniffed in fourth grade (you have to admit, that stuff smelled great)?

I think it may be that I know what feels right, and I know what doesn't, and I'm not good at settling for the wrong thing.

The more common approach for a woman in my position -- mid-thirties, not married, wants children -- would have probably been to marry the guy I loved, but with whom I wasn't happy. We would have struggled and either been unhappy or divorced. We would have either accepted that we couldn't have children or adopted. I would have had a lot of company in this situation.

I prefer the party of one for now. I just have to believe that this road less traveled leads to a brighter future.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Mother's Day

I received a card in the mail from my gestational carrier this week welcoming me to Motherhood. We are now at 16.5 weeks - no one else in my life would have sent me a card pre-birth, knowing how evil-eye I can be about such things, but it was thoughtful coming from Vanessa.

I've tried to explain to Vanessa what this journey is like for me. Its complicated, and so unique - but this is the best I can do:

I've always known I wanted to have children -- I've known it since I was a child myself. Deciding to go it alone was difficult, but once I crossed that hurdle, I knew I'd made the right decision. When I passed 30, and then 35, I worried about the quality of my eggs; but, ironically, that wasn't my problem. My problem was my uterus and I'd likely had this problem all my life.

My doctors and I tried everything - hormones, procedures, surgeries, more hormones, more surgeries - and nothing worked. I went through IVF and froze my embryos while we continued to try to fix my uterus, to no avail.

The potential for my future children existed. On a tiny island in the frozen Arctic waters, far from home. I just needed to go and get them, to bring them home, let them start a life. But my boat had a huge hole in the bottom. We tried to patch it, we tried to bail water out, but nothing worked. And every time we'd place a child in the boat, they would woosh out into the sea, lost forever. It was heartbreaking.

Some of my doctors didn't want to give up -- they spoke of more hormones, more surgeries, more procedures.
But I decided to get a new boat.

My daughter is now on that boat on her way to shore. I wish I could have gone to pick her up myself, but this is the safest decision for her, and for me. She is safe and warm and I'll meet her a few months later, and we'll travel the rest of the journey together.

And so, on this Mother's Day, I am a little sad that I'm not the one who can feel her kick, experience her movement, be constantly reassured that she is safe. That she is okay. But mostly I am grateful. Grateful for Vanessa, grateful for my medical team, grateful for the sheer luck that made this possible. Grateful that I have the chance to become a Mom.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

That's My Girl

I was at book club on Sunday night listening to several of the women talk about their new babies. Again, my stealth pregnancy makes it interesting for me to observe life as a non-pregnant woman when I'm really expecting.

One common theme was these new mothers describing how - even now, when their children are several months old - they look at them and can't believe that these children are theirs. One woman described that she wouldn't be surprised if another mother came to the door and said she was there to pick up her child.

I would have predicted that I, especially, would feel this way, too. After all, I'm not carrying this pregnancy. I'm not the one whose body is changing. I didn't experience the morning sickness or breast tenderness, and I'm not feeling movement, wearing maternity clothes. or answering questions about my expanding belly.

But I had a moment during the CVS when the technician put the ultrasound transducer on Vanessa's abdomen, and that little baby lifted her arms and reached up toward the probe.

Something happened to me in this moment. Amazement. Recognition. Love. And I knew right then, that is my child.

This is a strange thought for a dyed in the wool pro-choice, scientifically-driven, bra-burner to have. But I had it anyway. I knew we were only 13 weeks along - but dammit, I felt love for that little mass of cells. There is no other way to describe it.

Perhaps its making lemons out of lemonade, but I've always felt there was a huge advantage to starting at rock bottom. My shitty first job made me appreciate this job. Same for my shitty first office. And my shitty first city. Same with my first one-bedroom apartment. And now I'm wondering if all of the shit I've endured through the fertility process, doing it alone, and using a gestational carrier has made me appreciate my daughter even more.

Damn, I should be in great shape when Mr. Right finally shows up.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Turning in the keys

I'm in an interesting situation. Most people don't know that I'm expecting a baby - I'm single, I'm not carrying, and I'm not showing. I've told my family and my closest friends and colleagues, but an awkward conversation to strike up with my parking lot attendant, if you know what I mean.

So, let's call this a stealth pregnancy. It may not show on the outside, but a lot of wheels are churning on the inside.

I've never not worked. I went straight from college to graduate school, to job #1, and then job #2 where I've stayed for 14 years. The longest break I've ever taken was 3 months between graduate school and job #1, when I was interviewing, moving, and setting up shop. Since then, my maximum leave from work has been 2 weeks -- and even then I check e-mail and vmail every day (by the way, I'm not bragging).

The idea of a 3 month maternity leave is therefore a novel concept for me. But its a concept I plan to embrace. I've gone through hell and back to have a baby, and I want to be the one raising and enjoying her. And she deserves to spend time with her Mom.

A friend of mine recently had a baby. Goal #1 for her was to ensure that her life changed as little as possible. Dammit, she would still work, go to the gym, play her sports, and do everything she did pre-baby. The baby could work itself into her schedule, and not vice versa.

Not me. I'm starting to opt out of things for the fall. I'm passing hard-won opportunities on to junior co-workers. I thought this would be much harder for me than it is. Its not. The career thing is kind of like Happy Hour. I've done Happy Hour. I've done it for many years, and I've done it well. I've had dollar beer nights, ladies specials, Margarita mixers, and well-drink Fridays. I've eaten many a chicken wing, jalapeno popper and greasy nachos with cheese whiz. I've flirted with 20-nothings, young professionals, 30-somethings, and guys that were too old to be at Happy Hour.

I've given up Happy Hour for lent, and I don't need to have it back. This is how I feel about my career. Been there, done the long hours and weekends, handing in the keys.

Don't get me wrong, I still need to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan. But this diner now officially closes at 5pm --- and I'm taking time out for story hour at the library.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Off the Clock

I have an announcement to make folks --- Liv Steadman is officially off the clock! That's right, years of worrying that I would soon be 30, soon be 35, soon be 37 --- and needed to meet someone, speed date, get engaged, get married, get pregnant --- all of that is OVER.

I'm pregnant (in an offsite storage facility sort of way), moving into shit-shack turned glam=palace soon, and taking on 40 in rare style.

Does this mean that I'm not interested in men? Absolutely not. But it does mean that I no longer feel the need to weed through jdate, match and my local Starbucks 'in search of' the frog who will turn into the Prince.

I'm sick of looking for Mr. Right. Mr. Right can come and find me --- I'm the girl in the plumbing aisle at Home Depot wearing jeans and an old t-shirt, spending 25 minutes crawling around on the bottom shelf ISO a flair style, satin finish, hall & closet doorknob. Is that as sexy as the 25 year old chick with three coats of make up, high heels and fake boobs at the skank bar down the street? Damn straight Buster. And guess who gives better knob?

Sunday, April 26, 2009

40

I haven't spent much time in my life contemplating what I'd be doing at age forty; but if I had, I can tell you it wouldn't have been what was going on in my world this weekend.

Picture this: I threw a party for myself and invited my 15 closest friends from high school, college, and beyond. They traveled far and near to attend and were excited to finally meet each other, see my new home, and ring in a new decade with me.

When I sent out a 'Save the date' two months ago I thought that I would be moved into my new home. Of course I would!!!! Now picture a condo full of construction equipment, paint cans, sawdust and folding metal chairs borrowed from the clubhouse. I like to call it warehouse chic.

Everyone arrived, talked, took the tour, and drank the drinks. And then the Birthday Girl stood up and gave her own toast: To the friends who had been there for her during the tough times - failed relationships, parental separations and illnesses, very short pregnancies, miscarriages, surgeries, heartbreak and disappointment. To better times, a new decade, a new home and ....
a new life.

My gestational carrier arrived with her very pregnant belly and the special guest of the evening --- my daughter!

In a million years I could have never written this script. Never. But Plan B is turning out to be a beautiful story and I cannot wait to write the next chapter.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Labels

I've never considered myself to be the type of person who is worried about what others say and think about me, or a person who is caught up in labels and impressions. But maybe I have been.

I say this because I've spent the past ten years of my life worrying about finding the right guy, getting married, having children, and doing things in the 'right' order. I've finally abandoned that dream and I've realized .... I'm pretty damn happy! And when I look around at my married friends, I realize that I'm happier than many of them.

This is not to say that I don't want to be in a healthy, happy, loving relationship (with great sex). I do. But I must admit that I'm really happy being on my own, doing my own thing, and soon moving into a beautiful new home.

I read an article today called, "Just in time". It described how if you allow yourself to receive what you need, when you need it, you'll find that the world provides all you need and more. I like that theory. And I'll get back to you about whether or not it works.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Eruption

Just days ago I felt that my new home was a shit shack covered in 5 inches of sawdust and it seemed that this project would never end. This weekend I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and its a bright one. I'm beginning to feel like the construction will be finished, the place will be cleaned, and I will move into this place and be very happy - all within my lifetime. This feels like a metaphor for a lot of things in my life right now.

How interesting that all of this change is occurring just weeks before my 40th birthday.

I feel like I'm walking on the crater bed of a great volcano. So many things are rumbling beneath the ground --- the heat, energy and power are coming to a head. The eruption will be beautiful.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Bad Week

It is fair to say I've had a bad week. I had a fight with my surrogate, wanted to strangle my contractor, and felt that if I ever entered Home Depot again I'd have to torch the place. Yes, this has been a bad week. In fact, I saw That Guy today, and was totally disgusted with the whole thing - stupid, unlikely, annoying. You know, that rant.

An old friend of mine had the misfortune to call me right after the fight with my surrogate, and heard me crying, angry, and in a totally irrational "I'm right and she is wrong" tantrum reminiscent of elementary school. She said to me, "Wow, this must be really hard for you, because you don't take shit from anyone".

This statement set me back a few steps. I really don't take shit from anyone. When people give me shit, I fire them, break up with them, stop being their friend, delete them from my phone or hang up on them. Sometimes, all of the above. And I can't do this with my surrogate. I need her. I don't like being caught by the short hairs.

What does this say about me? Am I a really intolerant person? I don't think so, but what intolerant person thinks they are intolerant? Probably damn few. Is this why I'm single at almost 40? Perhaps.

An ex of mine used to say that when his friend got married, he and his wife would have huge fights and she would storm out of the house with her purse and stand on the porch. Eventually, she would get cold and come inside. He was trying to tell me that I just had to put up with his shit and that is the way that relationships work. I informed him that I don't carry a purse, but do own a car.

I'm not saying that I fire, break up with, delete or hang up on people without giving it the full college try. I really think I do. But when people don't show me the respect and consideration I try to show them, it really pisses me off. And boy, does it translate into a bad week.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Dream weaver

I'm not the type of person who has recurring dreams. In fact, I don't usually sleep long enough, or deep enough, to have dreams. Then why, I ask you, have I been having dream after dream after dream about the same thing ....

That Guy.

You know, That Guy who really blows my skirt up And has for 10 years. But is married. And therefore off limits. As in: no way, no how. That Guy.

I'm not the kind of girl who would ever consider having a thing with a married guy. Ever. And that is not even up for consideration anyway. I don't even see this person very often. And really, I barely know him. And he probably doesn't even know I exist.

Right?

Okay then, why in the hell do I keep having dreams about That Guy? And why are they so realistic? And why do I remember them so vividly? And why do I deep down think this really means something?

It's unrealistic. It's ridiculous. It's totally stupid. It's unscientific. It's annoying. And yet, it keeps happening.

And shit -- I really do believe it means something.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Destiny, schmestiny

Do you believe in destiny? That life is written, and that we are little rats just following the maze called life that is neatly laid out in front of us? or do you believe that we have the ability to intervene and change our lives?

What do I think? At this point, I have no freakin' idea.

My horoscope today reads: "One often meets one's destiny on the road taken to avoid it," Sometimes, in fact, you can't even get properly aligned with your highest potential unless you try to escape it. Only by seeking an alternate route are you led into the circumstances that ultimately activate the fullness of your gifts. These mysteries will soon have personal meaning for you, Taurus. Upcoming plot twists will lead you to where you didn't even know you needed to go.

Again, no idea what this means. But haven't I had enough plot twists in the past two years???

The one thing I know for sure is that just when I'm set on the way IT WILL BE, and have a hard and fast death grip on that particular outcome, I often have to come to grips with the fact that it will not happen in that way. I fight it for at least a few years, hard and fast. But then I usually concede, grieve the lost dream, and move on. It is just at that moment that whatever I wanted in the first place sometimes comes around. The irony is that by this time I'm not even sure its what I want anymore.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Full

I'm loathe to admit that I'm one of those stupid women who has spent countless hours, weeks and months of my life worrying about losing 5 pounds. I've lost and gained the same 5-10 lbs at least 100 times in my life and have been on every diet plan from grapefruit to Weight Watchers. Embarrassing, I know.

Something unexpected has happened in the past few weeks --- and without an extra spin class, diet pills, protein loading, or cutting my glycemic index --- I've been losing weight. In fact, I've lost about 3 lbs in the past 3 weeks. This is big news in Diet Country.

Why the weight loss? A strange thing has happened lately. I'm just not that hungry. I'm certainly eating my three square every day, but I'm not really interested in munchies, multiple desserts or any of the usual suspects.

Why? The answer is surprising. I feel full. Not physically full so much - although I'm not hungry - but emotionally full. I feel that things are falling into place. I haven't seen all of the pieces of the puzzle, and I don't know what picture they'll form, but I know that the box in front of me contains all of the pieces and that it will be a beautiful picture.

Damn, I wonder if I can package this and sell in to Jenny Craig. There are millions to be made here...

Sunday, February 15, 2009

The Angry Cupid

When I was in college some of my friends invented The Angry Cupid, an imaginary character who would go around shooting happy couples in the arse with a dart gun. Somehow I don't think this concept would be such big hit with the college shootings as of late, but it was damn funny in the nineties.

I'm single at the moment and can honestly say that I don't mind Valentine's Day and the pervasive love songs, candy hearts, flower ads, and romantic restaurant specials that follow. What I do mind is all of the people who make comments about 'feeling sorry' for single people on Valentine's Day. For the love of God people, get over it.

The absolute worst Valentine's Day I've ever had was not when I was single, but four years ago when I was in the relationship that was supposedly The Big Kahuna. It was our first V-Day together and we decided to do something meaningful, rather than commercial. Deep, right? I spent several weeks putting together a compilation of our relationship thus far: our first e-mails, a timeline of our relationship, and a meaningful letter. I'm no Martha Stewart, but I have to say it was good. And what did he do in return? Absolutely nothing. Not even a card. And then two days later he sent me a box of firesale dark chocolate. I don't eat dark chocolate, it gives me a headache. That was rock bottom.

A year later I spent pre-Valentine's week trying to think up a way to get out of the relationship that came post-Big Kahuna. I knew if I didn't get out before V-Day it could get ugly. I spent that Valentine's Day locked in my condo with the phone off the hook, relishing my reclaimed singlehood.

I know that Valentine's Day is a Hallmark holiday, but I'll admit that I like it anyway. When I'm in a good relationship, I actually look forward to writing a sappy letter, cooking a special dinner, and buying into the cheesiness that Valentine's Day demands. But I spent this Valentine's Day en route back from my good friend's 40th birthday bash and spent the evening in, recovering from the party and working on house projects. Cupid isn't angry, he's just on vacation --- and that's okay with me, I need the break.

Friday, February 13, 2009

The Tear Down

This morning I woke up at 3:30am and couldn't go back to sleep. Why, you ask? Because I'm buzzing on adrenaline 24/7.

Lets assume this is a kinahurra-free zone, which allows me to say that I feel like Life is heading in a really positive direction. In fact, yesterday as I was driving to work I started worrying about the baby project. High blood pressure-style worrying. Before I could rev it up above 140/80, I glanced up and saw a huge rainbow in the sky. I suddenly knew that everything would be okay and the fear instantly dissolved.

(Believe me, I know this last paragraph sounds very 'Strawberry Shortcake meets Holly Hobby', but I'm not kidding).

Now that my overall anxiety has lifted, it makes me realize how pervasive that anxiety once was. And if you're anxious all of the time, even if you're faking it fairly effectively, it seeps through your pores like yesterday's tequila chaser. You can smell it, other people can smell it, and it affects your performance in life. It can also lead to a massive hangover --- oh wait, thats just the tequila.

Back to this morning .... I had so much spare time that I took a walk over to my new condo. The entire kitchen has already been ripped out and cleared out. The closets have been ripped out. The place is a bit messy right now; but what I really see (aside from dust, dirt, and an old refrigerator in the living room) is a great foundation, a fresh start, and the potential for a brilliant future.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Rational Thought Has Left The Building

I'm much more of a realist than a romantic. And I'm more science than science fiction. So how can the following be true?

About ten years ago I was in a bar with a friend of mine, in deep conversation about nothing much. The door opened and a group of guys walked in ... and then I saw him. I'd never seen him before, it was as though I'd seen him a million times. He saw me, I saw him see me, and my friend cranked her neck around to see why I almost fell off my bar stool. 'I went to high school with him', she said in semi-disgust (any mention of high school brought about this reaction). And then he walked over. They said hi, she introduced me, and we jumped right into conversation. I felt like I'd known him forever.

He eventually went back to his friends and I pretended to hear what my friend was saying for the next hour. But mostly all I heard was the waves of estrogen crashing into my brain.

The next day I googled his phone number and called him at work. A bold move, even for me. We spoke for a few minutes and I asked him out for a drink. "Wow, I'm so flattered. I'm really flattered. But I'm kind of seeing someone --- no, I am seeing someone. But I would have loved to. I'm really flattered." And I believed him.

Our paths have crossed dozens of times over the years. He married that someone and they have a child together.

I saw him the other day and that feeling of familiarity burned brighter than ever. I hope he is happy and would never dream of interfering in his life, and I'm certain he feels the same. If he felt or acted differently, it would be a disappointment. And yet I feel certain that our path has not crossed for the last time.

Maybe we knew each other in a past life, or maybe we'll meet again in a future one. All I know is that I'm in no hurry to figure it all out. And meanwhile, my friend says, "You're really hot for this guy? Because when I look at him I see some middle-aged lawyer from my high school class. Huh."

Sunday, February 8, 2009

The Planets Align

There are a few sayings that bug the shit out of me. "It is what it is", is in the top ten. "We'll have to agree to disagree" is right up there. Until recently, "Everything happens for a reason", was tied for Most Annoying and Dumb and Dumber ... but lately, I've had to take a hard second look at this phrase.

First, let me say that I absolutely do not believe that EVERYTHING happens for a reason. When I was in high school a guy in my town was minding his own business, driving home from work and a limb snapped off an overhead tree and rammed through his windshield. He was killed instantly. Some insensitive schmucks around town started blabbering crap like, "Wow, he must have done something really bad to deserve that." Really? is that how life works? I don't think so. Lots of bad things happen to good people. And lots of assholes get more than they deserve. The same is true with illness. Many really good people have bad luck. And a lot of SOBs live long, healthy lives.

Now that my disclaimers are out there, new data just in suggest that sometimes unforeseen delays, detours, disappointments and plot twists may not be dead ends. If you keep on truckin', hang in there, take an alternate route and bash on, you may actually find yourself in a better place than even originally planned. It is hard to believe that your envisioned Mecca could be outdone, but sometimes its true. And maybe its even worth the heartbreak and the wait. Maybe. And maybe sometimes when you've been through hell and feel like your guardian angel went out for a very long smoke, the planets align. And maybe you realize that the mass confusion and background noise suddenly quiet, and that the future looks bright. So bright that you've got to wear shades.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Landmarks

My college roommate turned 40 last week and I attended a fab 80s style party at her house last weekend, at which I saw her sister, her book club friends, and her sister-in-law --- a true blast from the past. It got me thinking about our lives so far, and my own 40th birthday coming up in a few months.

When we were seniors in college, my applications to graduate school were all in by January, and I was accepted in April. Therefore, spring term was really a formality for me and I took a few BS classes to fulfill my last requirements. The week before finals all of my friends were studying, and I was playing hookey (per usual) and enjoying the long-awaited spring weather in upstate NY. I tried my best to recruit my friends to come play hookey with me, but they all insisted on hunkering down at the library to study (the nerve). So, I took off solo in my car and ended up - where else? - at Ben & Jerry's.

Ben & Jerry's just happened to be next to a laundry mat. While waiting in line for my cone, I overheard an elderly woman ask if she could use the telephone to call a cab, again. She was next door doing her laundry and needed a ride home. She had already called the cab company several times, to no avail. For some reason I asked her if I could give her a ride, and she accepted.

We walked out to the car and she had a light raincoat tied around her waist. She laid it down on my front seat and explained to me that it had been a long wait ... it was then I realized she'd had an accident. I was so embarrassed for her and assured her that my front seat had seen much worse during the past 4 years at college.

The space between our two bucket seats, and our two lives, spanned the distance between two continents. Two worlds. Two universes. I was at the beginning of my life: graduating from college in just a few days, heading to graduate school in a faraway city, taking on a new career, planning to conquer the world. She was at the end of her life: just trying to catch a ride home from the laundry mat was a struggle.

And then we started to talk.

I learned that she was a recently widowed college professor. She and her husband, also a professor, had both graduated from Cornell. They met and dated while undergrads, and went on to marry and have successful careers. She was one of an elite group of women in her day to get a PhD and go on to become a tenured professor. She was smart, accomplished, and terribly impressive.

Her house was just a few short blocks away and I helped her carry her laundry basket to the front door and we parted ways, never to see each other again. When I climbed back into my car, I realized that the space between us spanned -- not continents, not worlds, not universes -- but simply a few decades.

And now 20 years of my life have flashed by in the blink of an eye. I realize that I will soon be closer to 60 than 20. (Is this possible? Apparently the answer is yes.) And I hope that in the next 20 years I will learn even more from the people I come into contact with every day. The casual strangers who shape your life and make you realize that none of is alone in this journey we call life.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

The Problem with Friends

I'm blessed with many good friends, and a handful of tight friends. Very tight friends. I'm also close with both of my parents and have grown closer to my sister over the past few years. There is no doubt that I have a solid support network. I'm lucky.

However, I've found that this support network can be both a blessing and a curse. Here is what I mean: I share a lot of my journey with my friends. They are invested and really want things to work out for me. When things don't work out, I have to go back and update all of my friends. If I don't, they eventually call me for an update. This is great when you have good news to report, because you get to report the news and relive the victory a dozen or more times. This is not so great when you have bad news to report, e.g. a miscarriage, a second miscarriage, your parents' separation, a break-up, or a failed embryo transfer, because you get to report the news and relive the pain a dozen or more times. As an added bonus, you also get to see the person who loves you get upset, feel bad for you, and then feel like shit because she can't fix it. Its like pouring a 1/2 cup of salt into an open wound - not fun.

So now I'm trying out a new strategy: what happens if you just keep everyone in the dark about what you're really doing and pretend nothing is going on? I'll get back to you on how well this works. What I have noticed is that you can only keep yourself in the dark for so long. Case in point: you wonder why you're eating everything that doesn't eat you first, and why your ass and thighs appear to be spreading like wildfire. Ah ha! its because you are pretending that nothing is going on in your life right now, and so instead you're eating your way through your pantry. Not pretty folks.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Kinahurra

In lieu of New Year's Resolutions, or a detailed, catalogued review of everything that went wrong/right in the past year, in 2009 I'm trying something novel. I am planning for 2009 to be a fan-freakin'-tastic year. (The Jewish grandmother in me worries that this is a kinahurra, but I'll spit over my shoulder and hope to be excused. )

To achieve this goal, I'm borrowing a little trick that I've used in my professional life for years, with great success. This trick is called 'faking it', and it goes a little something like this: show up, dress the part, act the part, people will buy it, and you eventually become it.

So far this year I've been playing the part that I'm irresistible to men. Its almost like I'm emitting a pheromone that makes men flock to me. Its raining men. Hallelujah. Sounds silly, right? Well, it is kind of silly, but I think there may be something to it --- I will report back when I have more data, but so far I've snagged an attorney and a contractor. I'm throwing both of them back, but the bait seems to be working.

The next trick in my book is that I'm expecting my career to take off in new, exciting, and highly-paid directions. I'm actually serious. Rock-star directions. I recently bumped my consulting fee up to $300/hour and was rather surprised when someone actually paid it (and this wasn't an Elliot Spitzer-type consultation - for that I charge at least $350/hour)

When you expect great things to happen, it almost seems like everything that happens is great. If not great, than maybe a step toward greatness. Rose-colored glasses again, I know. But really, wouldn't you rather peer through rosy glasses than sewer water?

Happiness on the Drop Down Menu

I've decided that happiness is a decision.

Sure, we all have bad days, bad weeks. Hell, I'd be willing to say that the last 18 months have slapped the hell out of me. And there are certainly some events that are hard to spin brightly, even with the best mix master at the wheel. But for the most part, happiness is a decision.

Case in point: the sister of a friend of mine always views her glass as half-empty. And the remaining liquid contains curdled milk. She had her dream wedding a few years ago, followed by her dream honeymoon. Then she and her betrothed took 3 months off (what??) and traveled across the country in an RV. Now to me, that sounds like hell on wheels, but to each his own. They then decided to have children and, BANG!, got pregnant right away with a healthy, beautiful child. They wanted to have more children soonafter and, BANG!, pregnant with twins. All decisions she made. And yet, she isn't happy and complains about having three children under three.

I realize that everyones' life looks clean and bright from a distance, particularly if you're standing outside looking in and can't hear the kids screaming, the dog barking, and the fat husband snoring. But at the same time, life is about making informed decisions and then throwing everything you have into making that path work. Looking back over your shoulder at the life you just passed will only contribute to making you very unhappy, while driving smack into the tractor trailer in front of you.

This week I had to put my adorable, stolen cat to sleep. It broke my heart and I bawled like a 10 year old girl in the vet's office and all the way home. Call it self-preservation, or call it choosing happiness, but I've decided to focus on the good things. I had that cat for three years and he was warm, safe and loved for those years after being in an abusive home. I knew he had kidney disease and he lived for two really good years after his diagnosis. It sucked rocks putting him to sleep, but now he isn't in pain and is hopefully in a better place. The coppers never caught me for cat-napping and I didn't spend any time in the slammer.

I bought myself a pair of rose-colored glasses and I plan to look through them as often as possible in 2009.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Red 22

I'm not a fan of uncalculated risks. I don't ride motorcycles. I always wear my seat belt. I floss every day.

However, and perhaps ironically, I am a big fan of calculated risks. I once quit a great job because my boss was not fulfilling his promise to find me adequate office space (he let me quit, and then called two days later and said he'd found the space). I've been para-sailing, scuba diving, and canopy swinging. I've boldly taken jobs I didn't know how to do, and moved to new cities where I knew not a soul. I've been on dozens of blind dates. I consider myself gutsy, but not stupid.

Many of these risks push me outside my comfort zone. And although I know and love my comfort zone, I also realize its important to step outside the padded room and take a healthy, calculated risk with a good chance of return now and then. I consider the inability to take the plunge when the cards look good a major liability in life.

Talk is cheap, but I had the opportunity to put my money where my mouth is recently. My mother was in town shopping for a condo near me in which she would reside part-time. This second residence would allow her to have a home near me and my sister, and would allow her to see and (let's be honest) help raise the grandchildren which are hopefully soon to come. Not what she ever thought she'd be doing at age 71, and not what I thought I'd be doing at age 39, but here we are.

We looked at several overpriced, underwhelming condos and were both disappointed. Then our realtor told us she had a nice ranch for us to view, and asked us to meet her at the tail end of an Open House the next day so she could walk us to the ranch.

We arrived at the Open House with 15 minutes to spare and it was immediately apparent that this property was all wrong for my mother -- lots of stairs, views of the ocean, not appropriate for a part-time property. And yet I was mesmerized, "This is amazing. This is amazing. This is amazing." The realtor slyly suggested, "You could always buy this place, and your mother could buy yours."

Ding! Ding! Ding!

But I'm not in the market for a new property. But this place has lots of stairs. But I never thought I'd shell out money for a water view. But I'd have to MOVE!!!

And yet, it just felt right. I could picture myself in this new condo. My mother was more excited about living in my familiar space than in a new condo she didn't know. This was a one in a million opportunity. And, although I like to squirrel my money away like acorns for an eternal winter, I could afford this place.

When a great, calculated risk comes along -- be it a relationship, a job, an investment, or a new home --- and it offers a substantial chance of gain, you've got to take it. Its uncomfortable, its scary, and its terribly exciting. At that moment you have to take all of your chips, put them on Red 22, and spin the wheel. And that my friends, is why I just purchased a new home.