Re-thinking Happiness

It is the Sunday night of Labor Day weekend. Lucy and I have had a wonderful weekend so far. After several consecutive weekends of travel and vacation, we've spent much of this weekend alone, together. Alone together. An oxymoron that really works.

The weather has been perfect. We've walked, gone on adventures, napped, read books, played with friends, and had ice cream. When I put her down to sleep tonight and gazed out the window at our beautiful view I thought, "I feel full." Happy, and full.

I know people who like to jam pack their schedules and lives with events. They race from one party to the next, travel every weekend, get home late on Sunday night and don't unpack their bags or catch up on laundry until Thursday. I've never been that girl. I like to have time to breathe. To enjoy the moment. To come home a few hours early to regroup before the week begins.

And I think this is how I feel about my life right now. I'm inhaling every moment I have with Lucy. She is almost a year old and these 12 months have flown by, just like everyone swore they would.

I've dated a few guys in these 12 months, but mostly I've been alone, together with Lucy. Sure, I miss adult company, companionship, conversation and physical intimacy. I'd by lying if I claimed otherwise. But I've also relished the time I've had with Lucy --- undivided time without outside stress, conflict or compromise.

And so tonight I'm left to rethink happiness. For so long I thought there was a missing piece to my puzzle for which I was constantly searching. And now I wonder if I have all of the pieces right in front of me --- and they fit together perfectly.

If You Ask A Stupid Question,

you will definitely get a stupid answer.

Today Lucy and I were at a local museum and a very nice, but rather over-the-top, woman commented that Lucy is very tall (she isn't). Her own daughter was 6 months older than Lucy and half her length and girth -quite the petite flower. This woman could not get over Lucy's length and finally said, after peering at my ringless left hand, "Is her father really tall?".

The question hung in the air.

It was my moment of truth.

How do I answer this? Honesty is the best policy. Simply explain that Lucy doesn't have a father, but that our family sperm donor was indeed 6' feet tall and also had brown hair and eyes. After all, this is becoming a common practice. It's practically mainstream. Like ice cream and apple pie. Chevrolet. Franks and beans .... err, you know what I mean.

So I sat up tall in my seat and replied, "Yes, he is quite tall."

Simplicity trumps full disclosure.