The Art of Plan B

Living the French Movie

2012-02-05T18:14:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago I received an e-mail via yet another internet dating site from a guy I'll call Luke. Luke's profile was basically blank and his picture had a lot to be desired --- but his e-mails were charming and well-written, and his sense of humor was endearing. Luke was on the tail end of a nasty divorce and entering the dating game after 10+ of being married. He was therefore clueless about dating games and without the unpleasant, jaded aftertaste that so many of us professional daters cannot shake. After a witty exchange of e-mails, I reluctantly agreed to meet Luke for a drink. 'Reluctantly', because I was not attracted to his picture and because I've dated the newly-single and heartbroken before -- and it's never fun to be the Rebound Chick. But I still met him.

As on many blind dates before, I was surprised when I met him in person. But for once, it was a pleasant surprise. He was better looking than the crappy picture he had posted for the background scenery. The conversation was easy and we found we had much in common. Yet, he had lived in many countries, spoke several languages and had life experiences that intrigued me. He admitted to being nervous, and acted it, asking at the end of the long date if it was appropriate to say he would like to see me again. It was, we did, and things progressed quickly.

It was obvious that he was emotionally and financially unsettled in light of his divorce. It also became apparent that he wasn't comfortable being seen in public until his child custody agreement was final, which I understood. Last, it was crystal clear that he would likely be moving for work within the next few months. It didn't take a genius to realize that this had no future.

In the past I would have run, not walked, to the nearest emergency exit. But something about Luke kept me engaged and I went with my gut (and my libido). Things got physical very quickly. As he promised with his intoxicating European accent, this would be a way to get to know each other better. And, I must admit, he was right.

We've been seeing each other twice a week for about 3 weeks and speak or text almost every day. The sex is incredible, he makes me laugh, and he cares about what I feel and say. We talk openly about everything, including the fact that this will likely end soon. We joke that we're living the French movie --- and perhaps because we both know that movies only last for about 2 hours and a bag of popcorn, we're able to enjoy this stolen time together without thinking about life outside the bubble.

Condomnation

2012-01-30T18:24:00.000-08:00

I like to think of myself as a contemporary, mature woman of the 21st century who isn't afraid to walk into a drugstore and buy herself a box of condoms. Even during the daytime. Even if the drugstore is right across the street from my office. And so, the other day at lunch time, I did so.

And then I got to the check out. The checkout clerk was an 17-year old Hispanic male. Hey, I'm still okay with this, right? Yes, of course. I'm not going to bail. I'm just going to pretend that I'm the average condom buyer and that this is no big deal.

"Good Afternoon", he said, with a big smile on his face.
"Hi"
"Oh, wow! Look at this - you've got a coupon."
"Great, thanks."
"No, this isn't just any coupon, this is $5 off your next box of Trojan's"

I subtly glance over my shoulder. No, that is not the security guard from my building. And who cares if it is? I am woman, hear me roar!

"Seriously, I see a lot of coupons come through here, and they usually aren't for $5. This is a really, really good coupon. You've got to hold onto this."

"Fantastic, thank you."

Why are RiteAid bags see-through?

Is That a Canapé in Your Pocket?

2011-12-19T07:11:00.000-08:00

I was invited to a holiday cocktail party at the private home of a colleague and friend who lives right on the water. From previous experience, I knew this would involved high-end catered food, beautiful decorations, and a room full of interesting adults. Considering that the last 10 parties I've attended have involved cupcakes, juice boxes and ankle-biters, you can imagine I was anxious to attend.

The party was from 5-7pm on a Sunday evening --- not ideal from a Mommy perspective because Lucy is still awake. But considering that we spend every minute of the entire weekend together and are about to embark on a family vacation together, I figured she could survive without me for 2 hours.

My babysitter showed up at 4:45pm to find me on the couch in sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and dead old slippers reading Story #107 to Lucy. I had exactly 15 minutes to transform from the Mom-before-the-makeover to Sexy-professional-woman-on-the-prowl. Not an easy task.

I pushed past the cobwebs in my closet to reach back into my cocktail attire section. I pulled out a skinny, long black lace skirt, the type of low-cut, sleeveless maroon holiday top that is completely irrational to wear on a 20 degree December evening, and a pair of sexy heels that I last donned while shamelessly grinding with the lead singer at a wedding to, "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur" before Lucy was born. Could I really pull this look off when just days ago my #1 job was picking whole pieces of baby vomit out of the lint tray in my washing machine? Questionable.

I threw on the ensemble, perfume, and a healthy dose of make-up, said a Hail Mary, and dashed out the door.

The party, as expected, was beyond elegant. Asian dumplings were served in individual porcelain spoons. Tiny Vietanamese-inspired meatballs were skewered with a single snap pea. Shaved tenderloin sat precariously atop tiny pieces of toast aside carmelized onions. I tried not to inhale my 42 appetizers, which tasted considerably better than the instant oatmeal I'd been eating for the past 3 days.

All of the guests were at least 15-20 years my senior, and some considerably more. The two male servers were closest to me in age --- one in his early thirties (Server #1) and one in his mid-forties (Server #2). I noted that they were both well-spoken and very well-mannered, and suspected that this was a side gig for them both. They were polite and pleasant, but also busy, and our conversation was limited to, "Yes, I certainly would like another roasted tomato and brie tart".

At 6:45pm I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to leave to make it home for bedtime stories. Server #1 and the host pointed me down a hall to a back bedroom to retrieve my jacket.

I was diligently digging through a pile of coats and wondering if anyone would notice if I traded up to a mink stole when I heard someone behind me.

It was Waiter #1.
"Let me help you find your jacket".
"Great, thank you", I said, surprised to see him while the party was still going strong in the main room.
"It was dark with a fur collar, correct? It was very attractive."
"Wow, great memory", I said, as he helped me on with my coat.
"By the way, my name is Jonathan", he said, as he extended his hand.
"Oh, I'm Liv"
"Perhaps we'll see each other again"
"Yes, perhaps we will".

I walked out into the cold wondering, "Did that server just hit on me, or am I just high from the 3 raspberry brie tarts I just mainlined in the back corner?".

Maybe you can transform mom jeans into a MILF in 15 minutes?

The Coat

2011-10-24T18:29:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I had plans to go out on Saturday night with a girlfriend. The babysitter was lined up and I was ready to rumble. The friend cancelled at the last minute due to health problems.

Last minute, Saturday night, babysitter already lined up = what's a girl to do? I decided (and those of you who know me well know how unusual this is) to hit the mall. Yes, I was going to force myself to go shopping.

I was armed with an agenda: new work skirts, shirts and sweaters. Perhaps a weekend sexy MILF blouse. A good fall-to-winter transition wrap if I could find one. Maybe one pair of sexy, yet non-blistering, kitten heels.

I started off strong, going into every store and pulling things off the rack. My resolve started to fail by store #3 when I hadn't even found anything worthy of a try-on. By store #5, I was thinking that I can get 5 more years out of my already ratty 15-year old cashmere sweater.

An then, in the middle of Saks, I saw it. The perfect coat. Black, fur (fake, of course) collar, beautifully tailored and a cut that is good on me. Tahari. Marked down from $450 to under $200. It was perfect.

I quickly shook it off. I already have several coats. And a small coat closet. This trip was intended to buy work clothes and one MILF blouse --- no coat on the agenda. And with that I walked quickly out the door without even trying it on.

Good for me. I don't need a coat. How often do I go out to a cocktail party these days? Would it even look good with a bulky sweater? Hasta la vista, chaqueta.

I made it all of the way to the parking lot. And then I had the brilliant thought, "I'll just try it on. I'm sure it has a fatal flaw and that will make me feel better." And with that I booked it back to Saks.

The coat fit perfectly, but I was still holding strong with my small coat closet reasoning. And then the harried saleslady walked in and said, "Oh my gosh, that coat was made for you." And I could tell she meant it.

So I now I own a perfect coat. This doesn't happen many times in life, but sometimes you just see the perfect coat, the perfect cocktail dress, or meet the perfect friend and you just have to go for it. Even if it means you'll have a cramped coat closet.

Modern Love

2011-10-20T18:18:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago there was a Modern Love piece in the Sunday NYTimes entitled, "Sometimes, It's Not You". It was the honest account of a 39-year old woman who hadn't been in a relationship in 8 years. She desperately searched for 'the answer' to her 'problem': Perhaps she needed to grow her hair out. Grow up. Quit whining. Adopt a positive attitude. Stop being critical. Take more bubble baths.

The list is familiar to me. And the quest to 'figure it out' is one that has become so familiar over the past decade that my therapist now simply presses 'start' on her 1982 cassette player and regurgitates the conversation we've had 1000 times since Clinton was in the White House. I've always felt that my failure to find the 'right guy' and 'settle down' is a puzzle to be figured out. There must be an answer --- and if I can find that answer, then I can finally finish the Rubik's cube.

And then comes the twist. The writer eventually found the guy she then married. She claims that the puzzle wasn't solved because she worked through her issues, grew sexy hair or channeled Jennifer Aniston 24/7 --- she just finally found the right guy. Could it really be just that simple? And if so, I want a refund on my hair extensions.

2-Year Old Psychic?

2011-10-03T09:57:00.000-07:00

Lucy and I were going to a relative's home for Rosh Hashanah, so I left work early and ran a few errands on the way home. Mid-errand I stumbled across a comforter I liked, bought it, ran home and threw it on my bed to see if it matched. I wasn't convinced, so I yelled for my Nanny to come take a peek.

The Nanny ran upstairs with Lucy in her arms and said she liked it, "What do you think, Lucy". Without skipping a beat, Lucy pointed to the side of the bed that is currently un-occupado (I've been single again for 2 months) and said, "Man!".

The Nanny laughed, Lucy kept pointing, and I felt a deep red flush roll up my body. It suddenly became a bit too hot in my bedroom for a down comforter.

"I have absolutely no idea why she would say that," I protested, perhaps a bit too vehemently, "I'm not even seeing anyone".

"Well, Lucy predicts you will be soon!"

I felt my imaginary Mother-of-the-Year halo melt down my head and neck to create a tramp-stamp on my lower back. And on a holy day! Chr*st.

And then there was the incident at library hour a few weeks ago. In a room full of mothers, babysitters and grandmothers, Lucy ran up to one of the only men in the room and yelled, "MAN!" while pointing at him and doing a little dance. The 'Man' was definitely her favorite person in the room, and she neatly ignored Miss Mary the Storyteller, all of the children, and the craft project in her quest to win the affection of 'The Man'(which she did). My Nanny noted, "She obviously sees something in that guy --- maybe you should start taking your cues from her."

Lucy 2, Nanny 2, Liv 0.

Bringing Sexy Back

2011-08-03T18:00:00.001-07:00

I've been dating the guy from, "Old Dog, New Trick?" (let's call him Jack) now for several months. He lives about 2 hours away from me, we work opposite schedules and see each other only one weekend a month. So, you can imagine, I try to make the most of that one weekend.

Jack came to visit this past weekend. I planned a homemade dinner for Sunday night with all of his favorites: filet, a rich mushroom sauce, fresh zucchini and corn on the cob. What could be nicer for a single guy that a home-cooked meal? He played with Lucy while I did the food prep. Finally, the meal was ready and we all sat down together.

Lucy loves corn, which I cut off the cob for her. She was chewing her first mouthful of corn when she decided it might be fun to stick a kernel up her nose. "Lucy," I warned, "we do not put corn up our nose!". Being almost 2 years old, that was all it took for her to not only stick the corn up her nose, but to follow it with a firm finger shove. And by then, my friends, it was too late.

The kernel of corn was wedged firmly up Lucy's right nostril and she began to cry. I'm not sure if she was crying because her airway was obstructed, or because her mother was holding her chin tightly while peering upside down into her nostril and yelling, "BLOW!". Either way, we rapidly entered into crisis mode. Lucy began crying so hard she couldn't breathe. I realized that this corn kernel was not coming down on its own and was about to enter her sinus. That meant one thing: Emergency Room visit. I took a 5-second visit down memory lane to our previous 2 ER visits over the past year. Four hour waits, exhausted baby, scared baby, crying baby, hysterical baby. Fantasies of raiding nearby cabinets for a fist full of valium. It was then I realized I could NOT endure another ER visit. Enter super hero mode.

I pick Lucy up out of her high chair and carry her to the couch. She is screaming, crying and is now hyperventilating. I pin her on the couch and suck the corn out of her nose with the only suction device available --- yes folks, that would be my mouth. Thirty seconds later the corn is out of her nose and into my mouth (yes, its gross, but I was so relieved I didn't care), the crying has quieted down to a roar, and I'm carting Lucy off to bed.

My date, Jack, has seen it all. This kind of sexy deserves a dedicated screenplay. I just hope Halle Berry plays me in the movie and not Roseanne Barr.

Deja Vu, All Over Again

2011-07-29T07:34:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my father was in town visiting and we took my daughter Lucy, 21 months, out to brunch at a casual, local eatery. Lucy was delicately placing bits of her scrambled egg with cheese in her hair when I noticed another party being seated at the table next to us.

The woman was in her mid-forties and very pregnant. I immediately wondered which drop-down option from the fertility menu had worked its charm: clomid? artificial insemination? IVF? donor egg? I also noted that she was one of these women who looked the way I always thought I'd look someday: tall, thin besides the bump, fashionably, yet simply, dressed for a photo shoot instead of Sunday brunch at a hole in the wall. She was with a daughter, who looked to be my daughter's age, her mother and her husband. I was so busy checking her out and trying to unravel her fertility and fashion secrets that I barely noticed her husband. But when I did, I did a double- and then a triple-take. He was Greg from Jdate.

I corresponded with good old Greg from JDate about 7 years ago. I remember the pictures he'd posted of himself on various adventures around the globe and his love for farmer's markets and ethnic restaurants. At the time, he was about 39 and I was 35, but I was already past the sell-by-date on his Jdate advertisement. He, of course, wanted to date a woman 26-32 - doesn't everyone? But for some masochistic reason I e-mailed him anyway and we had a nice correspondence. Then we spoke by phone. He mentioned in passing that he used to be married, and I was confused because he'd listed himself as 'single'. I asked if he was now divorced (fearing that he was still married) and he said that he prefers not to use that word when describing himself. I asked why, and the conversation went downhill from there.

A few years later a woman in my 'Single Mothers By Choice' group described a Jewish man from her meditation group I should meet because he was 'looking for a wife'. I realized we were talking about Greg, and passed the afikomen.

My father, daughter and I finished our brunch and were heading out when my father felt the need to strike up a conversation with Greg and his bride, who - by the way - definitely didn't meet the sell-by-date, but managed to squeeze out 2 kids anyway (good for her!). I stood there, holding Lucy, and wondering if this guy had any clue who I was. All signs pointed to no. From the outsider's view, it looks like he got everything he wanted on his check list. Life is interesting.

20 Years

2011-05-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

This weekend is my 20-year college reunion. Twenty freakin' years.

I remember being a senior in college when all of the 5-year alums crashed our fraternity parties. We thought they were ancient. Couldn't understand why in the hell they showed up at our parties and pretended they still fit in. We could spot them from a mile away.

A bunch of my classmates are meeting up at reunion this weekend. This past six months of no secretary, 6 temps, 2 maternity leaves, 1 maternity leave replacement, 2 trips, a pediatric ER visit, many sleepless nights and my computer crashing this week and permanently losing my inbox has really kicked my ass. I couldn't get it together to pack up baby and hoof it 3 hours to rally for reunion this weekend.

So instead I'm sitting at home thinking about those days with those people and what we all thought life would be like. It makes me look forward 20 years and wonder what the next two decades will bring, and if they'll flash by even more quickly.

Old Dog, New Trick?

2011-05-13T18:05:00.000-07:00

When I dated my high school boyfriend my biggest long-term question was: am I going to take him to prom? It wasn't until I hit about 30 that I started weighing whether every guy I dated had 'serious potential'. I blame this frankly embarrassing phenomenon on survival of the fittest, evolutionary biology, and my eggs' primal urges and hormonal output.

That was my thirties. Now I'm in my forties, I have a baby, and it's time for a new trick. My latest dog-and-pony show is, 'Can I date someone, enjoy the moment, have fun and not worry about the future.' So far, I have to say, so good.

I've been dating a guy I first met about a year and a half ago. We dated for 2 months, it didn't work out, and we didn't correspond for almost 6 months. He texted me out of the blue this past fall to say he was moving and wanted to take me to coffee before leaving. We got together a few months later for dinner and then started speaking by phone. He has now come to visit twice and is coming again in a few weeks.

Is this the guy I've always dreamed of dating? On paper, absolutely not. Is he really good to me and my daughter? Absolutely. Does he have his life completely together in every possible way. No, work in progress. Is he Mr. Right? No idea. Is he Mr. Right Now? It's really working for me at the moment. Can I truly pull off the 'casual dating' gig? That is the million dollar question. Stay tuned.

Dicks Vs. Dictations

2011-03-02T18:29:00.000-08:00

I have two vacancies: Boyfriend and Executive Secretary.

The first position has been vacant for almost a year now. Applications have been scant, interviews unimpressive, and skill sets lacking. The second position has been vacant for about 6 weeks. One applicant chewed gum through her interview, another looked like the 'before' picture in the before/after professional makeover, and I've fired two temps in the past 4 weeks.

Yesterday was a banner day in the search process for both positions. I spent 2 hours interviewing applicants, reviewing 4 new resumes, and checking references. And then I rushed home from work to spend a few hours with Lucy before putting her to bed, slapping on make up and a sexy shirt, and dashing to a speed dating event.

What's that, you say? Am I masochist?

I've never done speed dating before and had no idea what to expect. Half of the men - and half of the women - had ... let's just say, issues. The phrase that comes to mind is 'severe social awkwardness'. The other half were very nice ... just not a match in sight for me. (Favorite question of the night: "Do you mind if I ask why you waited so long to have a baby?" Thank you, 50-year old Revenge of the Nerds look alike).

As I sat at Table 11 interviewing each prospective applicant over and over and over again, I thought, "If I could choose a match today, would I pick a top boyfriend or a top secretary?". Certainly, it would be nice to have both. But at this point in time, I'd pick good dictation over good dick.

The Things People Say

2011-02-14T17:58:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny how relative strangers feel comfortable asking questions that would make your own sister blush? I guess there is comfort in anonymity.

On Sunday a guy I barely know asked me if I'm married.

"No."

And then he asked if Lucy's father is involved.

"No, it's just the two of us."

To which he responded,

"How sad ..."

before the next words rolled off his tongue, I had a million thoughts about what he'd say next. How sad that she doesn't have a Dad. How sad that she won't have a father figure to teach her to play baseball. How said that she won't have a father on Father's Day, how sad that ...

"How sad for him that he is missing out on her. She is incredible!!"

Happy Valentine's Day to me.

From the Outside Looking In

2011-01-30T16:34:00.000-08:00

Today Lucy and I were doing our early Sunday morning routine in the coffee shop and she was hanging out with the regulars, who have become her weekend uncles. I overheard one of them saying that they are Lucy's uncles because, "the kid has to have a family".

Shock. The look on my face must have been priceless. I then put 2 + 2 together. Single mom here with a baby every weekend. No wedding ring. No husband, no father. These two must have no family.

I didn't mention the doting grandparents, the aunt and her family 3 hours away, the handful of great aunts and uncles, or the scores of friends-who-are-like-family we are blessed to have in our lives. I didn't mention the neighbors who think Lucy is half theirs or our loving nanny. But it did make me remember, once again, how different the world looks when you are the outsider looking in.

Lessons in Starbucks

2011-01-25T07:18:00.001-08:00

It's another snowy day here in the Northeast and I'm sitting in Starbucks trying to work on a project deadline. One of my Starbucks friends (don't even know his name) asked how my daughter is doing, and I replied that she is doing well and getting big. This prompted him to share the following story:

"About 13 years ago I dated a woman with a beautiful 4 year old daughter. It was the 'perfect set-up' because I loved the daughter and if it worked out I knew I'd have an 'instant family'. The three of us did everything together -- shopping, sailing, playing at the park -- and I loved it. Unfortunately, the relationship with the mom didn't work out after we dated for two years and I hadn't seen her or her daughter in many years. The other day I was in the grocery store and a beautiful young woman walked by. She looked so familiar and I couldn't stop staring at her, and finally said, "Lilly?". She turned around and sure enough it was the little girl - now 17 years old! She remembered me too and we caught up for a few minutes. What a wonderful memory."

I didn't get much work done on my project this morning, but I learned a lot.

Brave New World

2011-01-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

The metamorphosis is a bit more painful than anticipated.

My office manager of 7 years had her last day on Friday. She was just my office manager, right? A colleague. We worked together. She didn't die, or move to Siberia, she just took a new job. Employees come and go. Change is good. Things happen for a reason. No sweat.

So why in the hell did I find myself crying in the bathroom stall at work at 4:15 on Friday afternoon?

I've given this a lot of thought over the weekend. Granted, I'm under a lot of stress. One employee is on maternity leave, another is going out, the maternity leave replacement wears fishnets and stillettos, I've got a major deadline this week, we've had more snow days than Frosty, and my temp secretary has a color hair not found in nature. Yes, I'm under a lot of stress.

But why am I so upset about my office manager, Staci, leaving? I thought back to 7 years ago when she started. Soon after her arrival, my cat from college died - a huge life event for me. We were in a much smaller office and one of my two other employees was just moving away. Staci helped me coordinate the move to a much bigger office and a new phase of my career. I hired 2 new employees who have now been with me for six years. I met Glenn, dated Glenn, planned to marry Glenn, and then broke up with Glenn. Staci saw the whole thing go down and covered for me when I'd go home to lie on the couch and cry. Staci was the only one who knew about my attempts to get pregnant, my miscarriages, and my attempted corrected surgeries. She was one of the first to know I was pregnant via a gestational carrier and she was my right hand woman during my maternity leave and subsequent return to the office. She came to my house and held my newborn daughter. She told me I looked great when I actually looked like I hadn't slept in 47 years and had a formula stain on my shirt. We talked about working together until we were ready to retire. That is why I'm so upset.

So tomorrow is the brave new world with the temp, who has already stored an entire case of soda in our refrigerator without invitation. I hope we make it through at least a six-pack.

Metamorphosis

2011-01-13T18:36:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago my horoscope (see, I'm still on that kick) said that I would experience a dramatic and somewhat painful metamorphosis that would change me substantially, but would carryover important lessons I learned in my previous life.

My thoughts on the matter: metamorphosis. Caterpillar to beautiful butterfly. Maybe I'll miraculously lose 7 lbs, shake the dark circles under my eyes, and strut the MILF walk. Bring my sexy back.

My life did change dramatically within days of receiving this horoscope, although not in the ways I'd anticipated. My friend's wife was diagnosed with colon cancer at age 39. My office manager of 7 years resigned. One of my employees went into pre-term labor while another was only 6 weeks into her maternity leave and our temporary worker was floundering. This is not what I had in mind during my emergence from the cocoon.

Perhaps mine has been a reverse metamorphosis so far - butterfly to caterpillar. My professional and personal lives were sailing along on smooth waters when BOOM! here comes a tsunami.

I'm still hopeful that the hurricane is winding down, that a rainbow is about to break through the clouds, and that the freshly washed landscape will be more bold and beautiful than ever.

(And if the Jack Handy greeting card is asking too much, can I at least strut the MILF walk?)

Lessons from a High School Boyfriend

2011-01-08T19:27:00.001-08:00

I started dating my first real boyfriend in the summer between junior and senior years of high school. Our sisters were on the same softball team and our families had known each other for several years; perhaps this made the 4 year age difference between us a bit easier on my parents (but probably not). I learned many things from this boyfriend (fill in the blanks here) ... but seriously, many of those lessons have stayed with me for 20+ years.

This guy - let's call him Jake - did not want to be sucked into the family business. But it was really all he knew and where he'd worked since he was a teenager. He went to college and aspired to go to business school, but didn't make it happen. He therefore moved home by necessity and started working for the family business. He once said to me, "Choose your life before it chooses you." I ran into him many years later and asked how his life was -- his answer, "The same".

Jake actually married a lovely woman who seems like a great match for him and I hope he has a happy and fulfilling life. But the point that always stayed with me is that you have to create your own life or, like a kayak on a river, you'll just be moved along with the current.

I've tried to embrace my own ability to change and shape my life. Even if it means taking a few minutes a week to work toward a goal, I'll do it. But certain things (relationships, fertility, health) are sometimes outside our control and cannot be chiseled, corralled, or shaped. Some of it is left to happenstance or luck. And perhaps then the only variable is how you paddle when your kayak is headed into rough waters.

When the Going Gets Tough ...

2011-01-06T18:58:00.001-08:00

I turn to horoscopes

Wack, I know. And not a fact I'm particularly proud of, especially since I consider myself a practical, scientifically-minded rational person. But this is what I do when many elements in my life are spinning out of control and I like to pretend I have some tiny bit of control over the future. When the going gets particularly tough I've been known to visit a psychic.

My work life is tumultuous these days, a close friend's spouse was recently diagnosed with cancer, and my daughter and I are still recovering from jet lag and sleep deprivation --- so I took a hit on my old friend, the astrology pipe. Reading my weekly on-line wasn't enough so, yes, I turned to the $6 year-ahead predictions on-line.

What did I learn during this dirty little prediction call? Well, I heard lots of things --- some pretty far out, and some fairly mundane. But the overriding theme was that I will redefine the nature of my lifetime dreams in the coming months.

Deep, huh? and kind of Freaky.

Airport Screening

2011-01-02T16:45:00.000-08:00

No, I don't mean the rather personal new pat-downs at security check points (I got one, and then smoked a cigarette).

I mean instead that I've discovered a great new 'true' personality test --- better than seeing how a person treats the waitstaff in a restaurant or how they treat their mother (c'mon, they know you're watching). Stick a person in a busy airport and see if they offer to help a single mom traveling alone with a baby. Anyone who does -- male, female, short, fat, bald, toothless, or hirsute -- scores big points for me in attractiveness.

I'm just back from an overseas trip with my 15-month old daughter and I was amazed to see who would help a single mom obviously in need of major assistance, and who would glance at their iPhone pretending not to see us. Amazed. Seriously, what the hell else do you have to do while you're waiting for your plane????

Here is my business plan: I will secretly videotape a person going through an airport and sell the raw footage to their prospective dates on match.com for a hefty price. Airport screening at its best.

Urban Myth vs. Reality

2010-12-25T09:33:00.001-08:00

I have several single female friends who are also forty-something. They each live in different cities and I can honestly say that each is attractive, smart, funny and a great catch. Each of these women has the same take on dating, esp. dating after 40, and it goes a little something like this:

"There are no good men out there. Everyone left at this age has some major issue (crazy, mean, won't commit, lazy, socially inept, etc.) and that is why they are single."

After going on approximately 10,407 bad dates myself, I sometimes buy into this philosophy. You know, it's too late. All of the good ones are taken. Only the crazies are left.

But common sense tells me that some guys our age are going through divorces of marriages that just didn't work. Some are widowers. Some found out a spouse was gay. Some have been engrossed in school and career (like some other people we know) for the past 20 years and are just now coming up for breath.

Perhaps the biggest reminder that it DOES work for some women over 35 is a sampling of the single mom blogs out there. Every single mom blog I follow has one thing in common ... NONE of these women is single any more. Not one. And they all seem happy in their new relationships. In fact, they seem thrilled.

And so the search for truth continues ... and perhaps part of that truth is the reality you create in your own mind.

Re-thinking Happiness

2010-09-05T16:40:00.000-07:00

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,

2010-09-05T16:33:00.000-07:00

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.

$40 Well-spent? or Down the Crapper?

2010-08-17T18:41:00.000-07:00

So, Mr. Wonderful from jdate didn't write me back, although I could see that he did read my message (don't you just love technology?). Perhaps he is not ready to be back out in the dating world. Perhaps he just wasn't that into me. Or, perhaps he is rather dick-ish. Likely, my friends, the world shall never know.

And so I am left to ask the age old question philosophers have been pondering for centuries, "Were these 40 jdate bucks well spent, or more money down the kosher crapper?".

Like Plato, Socrates, Kant and others who have come before me, I'm left to muse over this deep philosophical issue. After deep thought and meditation, I have to say that the money was well spent. It is rare to find even a profile that peaks my interest. Better to have blown money for lunch, a movie and a giant pack of Twizzlers to see if Mr. Wonderful was really wonderful than to invest the money in a failing stock market and always wonder. Asked and answered.

Minutiae Dump

2010-08-16T08:48:00.000-07:00

My life backpack is a little heavy these days, so I've decided to dump the minutiae. Although every piece of minutiae is miniscule by itself, it sure adds up.

Case in point: dating minutiae. I decided to join jdate for a month and e-mail the 'Wow' guy previously mentioned. Before I got around to joining, I noted that he pulled his match.com account and had taken his jdate account off of the searchable mode. This made me question whether he has decided he isn't really ready to date, or if his inbox was simply flooded with Jersey jdate chicks who were hot for a widower making more than $100k per year.

The dilemma - to e-mail or not to e-mail? if he is non-searchable, will he find it stalkeresque that I had saved his profile to Favorites and am just e-mailing him now? Should I e-mail him now, or wait a few days so he can potentially stumble across my profile himself? Would he prefer making the first contact, or find it flattering that I took the initiative? Are the pictures in my profile representative? Should I take a few more? Which should I lead with? What should my e-mail to him say? How should I sign it? At what time of day should I ......... ENOUGH. THE ANSWER IS: WHO THE FUCK CARES???????.

Honestly, people -- enough. It really just doesn't matter.

If he likes me, and I like him, it really doesn't matter. And it won't matter if I wear a black shirt or a gray shirt on the date. Jeans or khakis. Heels or flats. If its there, its there. If its not, its not. Done.

This is really very freeing; I wish I'd come to this truth about 10 years ago. It would have freed up enough room in my lifepack for a sleeping bag.

Please Don't Step Away from the Couch ....

2010-08-09T18:01:00.001-07:00

I met with my therapist last week and told her I thought it might be time for us to break-up. I mean, let's face it --- I've survived a broken engagement, the decision to have a baby on my own, the trauma of realizing I needed to use a gestational carrier, and the first 10 months of raising a baby on my own. At this point, what else is there to talk about ????

I told my therapist last week that I'm sick of Dating. Sick of talking about dating, sick of looking for people to date, sick of analyzing why its difficult to find someone to date, and most certainly sick of the actual act of Dating. Enough already.

I told her that I wanted to transition my dating approach to the approach I used to find my new home. Namely, I never thought I'd live in my old home forever; but, I was certainly happy enough there and never gave finding a new home much thought. And then, in the midst of my parents pseudo-divorce when I was looking for a place for my mom, I literally stumbled across my current home when I was meeting my real estate agent at an open house. I walked in, looked around, and said, 'Wow'. Took two more steps and repeated the prophetic, 'Wow'. Looked out the window and repeated, "Wow'. My real estate agent said, "Maybe you should buy this place for yourself, and your mom can have your place." Ding, ding, ding! And right there the decision was made.

I explained to my therapist that this is my newest approach to the big D word. I'm happy where I am, but I'd never pass up a good deal if I stumbled upon it.

And so, just a few days later, those words still lingering over her therapy couch, I was trolling the dating sites and ... Wow. There is a profile that resonated with me (that makes 1 in approximately 25,000). And I find myself acting like a nutball. This is a short sampling of my thoughts:

He just joined this site, he is being swamped with e-mails from single women. I'm not writing to him.
He says he'd date women in my age range, but he really wants to date a 32 year old.
He is probably a jerk.
I've got a good gig with my baby, my home and my friends --- why screw this up?
I'll probably plunk $39 down for a month membership and he won't reply to my g.d. e-mail.
Shit, I think I could like this guy.

And so, it appears that I will not be breaking up with my therapist any time soon.

Party of One

2010-07-08T18:23:00.000-07:00

Last night Lucy and I went to a meetup event for new moms. I would really like to meet other moms and kids in my town, and this group seemed progressive and interesting. What the hell?

The meetup was a picnic at a beach less than a mile from my house. Although it was literally 90 degrees in the shade, and I'd had kind of a long day at work, I slapped Lucy into her carseat and off we went.

The other moms were really nice. Friendly, welcoming - very nice. But also at least 10 years younger than I am. And stay at home moms. And each had at least 2 or 3 children. And, of course, they were all married. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Okay, I didn't expect a group of clones. And I certainly don't expect anyone to have exactly the same story as me. But its a little tough relating to people who are so different on every possible level.

I'm not sure if Lucy and I will attend another event. Maybe, maybe not. But somewhere out there, there has to be a few people with some elements in common. Damn, this is like another form of dating.

Beauty Treatment

2010-06-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

When I was in college I opened a fortune cookie that read, "The greatest cosmetic for beauty is happiness". I kept this fortune in my jewelry box for years and years (and still stocked up on Clinique bonuses in the meantime).

I'm now a true believer in this fortune. Happiness - and confidence - are keys to beauty.

I've always been tough on my own appearance. Like too many women, I hate having my picture taken and hate looking at those pictures. I've wasted countless hours, days, weeks anguishing over my weight, my skin, my nose, my hair, and just about every mundane body issue you can imagine.

And now I'm a new mother, with less sleep and time to myself. My appearance has fallen low on my to-do list. Add dark circles, eyebrows that need plucking, and a body with less than the desired amount of exercise to the equation -- you get the picture.

Yet, this weekend I asked a stranger to take picture of my daughter and me in the swimming pool. Yes, I was wearing a bathing suit. Why, you ask? Because my desire to capture these moments on film outweighs my insecurity regarding my appearance.

The pictures showed me with wet hair, slicked into an Eddie Munster 'do. White skin. And did I mention I was wearing a bathing suit? And yet, they ain't bad. Why? Because I'm holding my daughter in these pictures and she is happy and having a great time. I feel fulfilled and I think it shows

But fulfillment isn't the only beauty secret here. I feel proud of myself. I didn't let a biological clock, a late- or never- entrance of Mr. Right, or fear stop me from making my own dream come true. It wasn't an easy decision to make, it wasn't easy to get her here, and it isn't easy to do on my own --- but I did it anyway and I continue to do it every day. And that day-by-day accomplishment not only feels good, I think it looks good.

The Gold Prom Dress

2010-06-18T19:42:00.001-07:00

When I was a senior in high school I was absolutely, positively determined to have the coolest prom dress on the planet.

I didn't want the typical dress from the local mall that every other girl would be wearing. I wanted something unique, different, a stand out. It was my mission --- and you know that nothing stands between a 17 year old girl and her mission.

My family and I were going on spring vacation to Florida and this seemed like the perfect place to find my dress. Although I am not a shopper, I dragged my entire family to many, many malls that vacation. I tried on short dresses, long gowns, Madonna-inspired creations (it was the 80s), and Jessica McClintock Cinderella frocks. None of them worked.

I tried on shiny gowns, black gowns, fluorescent gowns (again, it was the 80s). Nada.

I tried on skinny dresses, big poofy dresses ---- no dice.

My family was beginning to revolt. It looked like we would leave the Sunshine State without my prom dress. As my mother put it, "You're going to look pretty funny at your prom in your birthday suit." (Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom). And then we went into the last store.

There it was. A gold lame (reminder: it was the 80s) creation that was tight in the right places, poofy in the right places, and completely unique and original. It was worth the wait.

Thinking back on this dress has reminded me of many things in life I had to work extra hard to get. My education and subsequent career, my daughter, and yes, that gold prom dress. And although along the way it seemed in all of these situations like I might never make it to the finish line, I did. And the reward was greater than if it had come to me easily.

Check, please!

2010-06-10T18:38:00.000-07:00

I stole away from work yesterday to go on a lunch date. (Yes, I told my office manager that I had a meeting at another office --- is there anything wrong with that????)

This guy caught my attention because he is both funny and smart - a rare combination. I showed up at the designated restaurant right on time, and he was already there and seated -- bonus points! He was attractive in an alternative, metal earring sort of way -- definitely not my normal gig, but I was willing to be open-minded. The conversation was easy, candid and entertaining and he actually asked questions about me and my life -- what a novel concept.

I liked him. I wasn't sure that I liked him, but I was having a good time and was entertained by his stories about parenting his teenage kids. While talking to him I was asking myself if I'd go out with him again, and then the check came. Keep in mind that he invited me to lunch (we'd originally planned on coffee) and that the total bill was $25. He got out his credit card and I gestured toward my wallet when he said, and I quote,

"I can just buy the whole lunch if you want me to."

Wow. Sounds like a line that would fly out of Humphrey Bogart's mouth ... not.

For a moment I was really surprised. And then I recovered and said, "Oh thanks, but I'll pay half," and I did. I walked back to my office assuming that he too realized that we weren't 'a match' and this was his not-so-subtle way of imparting this verdict to me.

Wasn't I surprised to get a text that evening thanking me for lunch (or for paying my half?) and saying he hoped we could do it again soon. ???????? !!!!!!!!!!!. This morning he sent me an e-mail with the same sentiment.

Does this mean he likes me, but truly didn't want to pay for my lunch ???? I'm sorry, I am a feminist and a working woman, but when you invite someone out for lunch, pay the damn bill. If she makes a move for her wallet, be a man and say, "No, please allow me." If you don't, it sends a strong message that you are either not interested, have poor manners or have no balls.

Time Share

2010-06-05T19:16:00.001-07:00

Molly and I were out to dinner tonight, hashing out our latest relationship follies. The guy she liked so much a week ago is now texting, calling and annoying her to the point of no return. We discussed the problem we both share: Yes, we'd like to be dating someone, but No, we cannot and will not drop our entire lives to be with that person. We have jobs, homes, friends, our own interests. We need oxygen.

And then we stumbled across a brilliant idea ... what we really need is a Time Share Man. We could each have him for 2 nights a week, max. He can spend the remaining three nights working out, missing us, and doing odd jobs around our homes.

Yes, this does sound like an episode of that Mormon HBO show. Okay, I'll accept that. No, we won't wear their clothes or hair styles.

Pillow Talk vs. Pillow

2010-05-28T07:39:00.000-07:00

I'm going on a date tonight. The guy seems fine - smart, normal, fit, and he hasn't sent me pictures of his unclothed body (bonus points). He hasn't stalked me, played games, suggested I meet him 120 miles away, or asked me to marry him, have his baby, or perform lude sex acts in his car. I'm sure I should really be revved up for this date.

But honestly, I'm not. I so didn't want to be the woman saying this, but .... 51% of me would rather just stay home, clean my bathtub and go to bed early. Yes, I said it. Not very Milfshake-ish of me, I know.

My inner voice tells me that I should keep my options open, keep myself in the game, keep my heart open for love. But my outer voice, and the rest of my body, tells me that keeping my eyes open past 9pm is a bit of challenge.

Elmer Analysis

2010-05-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

About 6 or 7 years ago a close colleague/friend of mine set me up with her cousin-in-law, whom we'll call Elmer.

This was one of those set-ups that you glance back on and analyze for years (obviously, I'm still at it). I've concluded that its simply 'I know these two people, they're both single, let's put them in a room and see what happens', rather than, 'Wow! These two were made for each other!'. At least I prefer to choose the former.

I knew I was in trouble with Elmer just by his name. But how shallow can you be? Of course, give the guy a chance! And he was well-educated with a great job and a good cousin-in-law. Elmer asked me to choose the venue, and I picked an inexpensive, funky bar and pizza place downtown.

As I walked from my car to the restaurant, I saw a middle-aged man with a backpack squinting up at the sign. I had one of those, 'Dear God, please don't let this be my date' kind of moments. Of course, this was my date. I knew I was in deep trouble when we were shown to a table and he asked to be relocated due to the proximity of the overhead speaker to our table, and then asked me if we could leave the place entirely and go elsewhere (why did you ask me to choose the venue???).

We arrived at the second restaurant and he fussed around like a Siamese cat for 10 minutes before picking a g.d. table. Fine. And then after an hour of discussion he said, "May I share an insight after knowing you for an hour?".

J.C. Fine, go for it.

"You seem like a very smart, accomplished woman who works for and gets the things she wants. But you've reached the age of 34 and you're still not married. This probably means that you don't want to get married."

The date with Elmer came to a screeching halt and we never spoke again. But this statement has haunted me for years.

Was he right? There are certain things in my life that were do or die. Like having a baby. Even if it meant having her on my own. With a gestational carrier. Do or die.

We all know some women who are hell bent to get married. Or have a big wedding. Or both. And they do. If I were hell bent to get married, wouldn't I have done it by now?

I'd like to think that the answer is that I only want to marry the right guy for me and he hasn't come along yet. Sometimes I wonder if I'm subconsciously happier being alone, but having a hard time letting go of that deep-set habit of trying to find a mate. I guess the jury is still out. Let's hope Elmer is not the Judge.

Milfshake

2010-05-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article in the NYTimes the other day about google banning Cougar dating sites. I didn't realize that Cougar dating sites existed ... so, of course, I clicked one of the links.

Wow. I think I'm so hip and edgy, but really I'm Laura Ingalls wearing a prairie skirt and a matching bonnet. And I thought I couldn't get shocked after seeing collarme.com

It appears that these Cougar Cubs put it all out there. And, can you believe it?, they all dig older women. Are they imagining Carol Brady or Demi Moore? Well, what do you think.

So, just because I had to, I created a profile. No picture, mind you, but a headline that appears to be quite popular --- Milfshake.

My inbox is flooded with e-mails from Cubs who weren't yet embryos when I graduated from college. With pictures to boot. But they aren't wearing boots in these pictures - or anything else.

I may have to call their mothers.

100 Points of Right

2010-05-18T10:45:00.000-07:00

I've spent the past decade of my life trying to be 'flexible', because I'm 'too picky', don't give guys a 'chance', and put 'too many things in quotations' (had to throw that in there). Seriously, this has been my mission for 10 damn years.

The Flexible Years are now officially over. I'm now all about the 100 Points of Right.

What does this mean, you ask? Well, its kind of like a vision board. You make a list of the top 100 things you're looking for in a guy. Ideally, the majority of these points would be substantive (e.g. smart, honest, kind). But with 100 points, there is also plenty of room for the more frivolous (e.g. strong hands, good gardener, quiet sleeper). You make the list and the guy appears in your life. Its that easy. Like amazon.com, only no shipping charges.

So I've scratched out the first 95 points on the back of my old vision board. This is the vision board I created a few years ago whose biggest picture is of a mother washing her baby in the kitchen sink. The next biggest picture is of a bright, white kitchen. After I created this vision board, I asked myself what the kitchen was all about. After all, I had no plans of moving or buying a new property. And yet here I am, just a few years later, washing my baby in the sink of my brand new white kitchen.

We'll see.

One Vote Wins

2010-05-11T18:12:00.001-07:00

I was recently dating a nice guy who had a lot of opinions about parenting. Granted, it was nice to be dating a nice guy. And a guy who thought it was great that I'd had a daughter on my own. And a guy who cared enough to have opinions. Acknowledged.

But this guy had some opinions about parenting that didn't necessarily jive with mine. Private schools, preferably boarding schools, are the only way to go. Its great for parents to take small children out to late dinners in nice restaurants. Spoiling children with expensive toys is okay. All legit opinions, but just not mine.

I found myself listening to his opinions in a state of total calm. I didn't argue with him. I didn't get worked up. Ya know why? Because I knew his opinions didn't matter. It was bliss !!!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong, I still believe that it would be great to be in a healthy, strong relationship with a fantastic guy. Who helps around the house. And is great in bed. And is a quiet sleeper. And does dishes. Yes, I'm still a believer.

But at the moment, every decision I make - about my daughter, and everything else - is unanimous and final. No discussions, no compromises, no conflicts. I win every time. I have to tell you .... it works for me.

So, until a pretty damn good match comes along, I vote that being a single parent is working for me -- and one vote wins.

Knowing.

2010-05-01T18:47:00.000-07:00

Last Friday morning at 3:30am I was sitting up and holding my inconsolably crying baby, wondering if it was teething, an ear infection or something I'd rather not even imagine. I finally got her to settle down and was having a much needed quiet moment holding her against my chest when I realized .... it's my birthday.

I flashed back to one year ago. This house was under construction, covered in a thick film of dust and looking like a bad scene from The Money Pit. Vanessa was pregnant with my daughter and I had told few people. I was turning 40, moving, having a baby on my own and knew that my entire life was changing. My nice, neat, controlled, predictable life was about to change -- radically and forever.

I thought back over the past year. The stress of a surrogate pregnancy, my daughter being born a month early under medical duress, the first three months of raising a tiny baby on my own while still working part time, the transition back to full-time work while managing a nanny. Sleepless nights, exhaustion, laughter, wonderment, tears, happiness, fear. What a blur of white-hot emotions.

And in that moment, in the middle of the night ... exhausted, worried, frustrated, and worth stating again, exhausted ... my main emotions were relief and joy. Relief that my daughter and I are finally together. Joy for the same reason.

When You Least Expect It

2010-03-11T19:29:00.000-08:00

My father came to visit Valentine's Day weekend. Several weeks before his visit, he prepped me for the fact that he wanted to babysit for his granddaughter by himself. He started in by saying things like, "You can go shopping, you can run errands, you can go on a date. I will babysit for the afternoon, the evening, or both."

At the time I remember wondering, "Who in the hell am I going to go on a date with? I barely have time to shave my legs, let along troll the streets for a date."

Little did I know the planets would align and I would met a guy on-line about 10 days before my father arrived. We corresponded, he appeared witty and smart, and we decided to meet for coffee the weekend I had 24 hour babysitter coverage.

This guy was the last guy I would have expected to date. English was not his first language -- and was, in fact, his fourth. He was not born in the U.S., and is not from my area originally, He is a bit younger, has different hobbies, and an entirely different family and personal background.

And yet we met for coffee and hit it off. And then we met for dinner the next day - Valentine's Day. We spoke, saw each other, or both every day for the next several weeks.

I liked him enough to introduce him to my daughter -- a huge leap. And I liked him enough to show him the real me. And, although I had feared that all men would view my single motherhood situation as a 21st century leprosy, he viewed it as courageous, brave and beautiful.

Sadly, we both agreed this relationship can go no further for reasons that are both complex and quite simple. But I will take from this experience that love can fall into your lap when you least expect it. And, there are some real men out there who can see beauty and bravery in carving out a dream for yourself.

Through the Looking Glass ...

2010-02-03T18:17:00.000-08:00

A close friend of mine, Molly, is 43 and single.

Molly is very attractive. Smart. Funny. Kind and thoughtful. Reliable and trustworthy. She is well-educated, has a good job, and hosts great dinner parties. She lives in a chic, funky beach cottage she renovated and decorated herself. In summary: Molly rocks.

Molly went on a date last Saturday with a guy she met on jdate. He is 49, seemed very nice via e-mails, is divorced and .... had just one picture posted. (I've decided that the one-picture posters must be approached with caution.)

When Molly opened the door to meet Mr. Jdate, she was immediately disappointed. He was older and puffier than he looked in his picture. Very nice mind you, but not as advertised (Why, oh why, do people do this???? You are not doing yourself any favors!).

Molly and Mr. Jdate went out to dinner and the evening was fine. C+. No sparks for Molly.

Molly called me the minute he left for the post-date play-by-play. Bottom line, she wasn't into him. But he seemed like a good guy. It's hard to find good guys. Maybe she should give him another shot. Maybe one more date.

I went along with the one more date plan. Fine, one more date. But in reality (and I hate to say this), you know after the first date. You really do. We all like to think that maybe you don't, maybe you're nervous, maybe he is nervous. We all know the woman who wasn't that into the guy on the first date and then he grew on her, and now they're married and living in White Plains with 3 children and couldn't be happier. But most of the time, you just know after the first date. Sorry, you just do, at least when it's all wrong.

Molly called me last night, tortured. Mr. Jdate has e-mailed her, called her, and reprimanded her for not getting back to her sooner (yesterday was Tuesday, mind you). Molly was pissed at him for being pissed. She doesn't want to see him again. But she thinks maybe it's her: She doesn't give people a chance. She is too picky. She is hard on people. She is unrealistic about who is out there. The list goes on and on ....

But through the looking glass from 20 feet away, it was so perfectly clear to me. She just doesn't like this guy. Period. It wasn't just that he was puffy and older than advertised. She just didn't like him. She isn't too picky, too hard to people, unrealistic, etc etc... she just doesn't like this guy. It's really that simple.

It's hard to pick a piece of chewed gum off of the bottom of your sneaker and form it into a sculpture worthy of display at MOMA. Sorry, it just doesn't work.

I'll have to keep this story in mind the next time I reprimand myself for the very same things. Life is so much more clear when it's someone else's.

The Pendulum

2010-01-26T18:56:00.000-08:00

It would be so nice to go out on date with someone and have instant chemistry that lasts. Even nicer if that someone is a good guy and doesn't have a criminal record. Icing on the cake ? --- he is emotionally, physically and financially in good shape. Did I mention not married? or incapable of making decisions? or a player?

(Do you see how this gets exhausting?)

Yes, I'm back in the dating world. I know it's good for me to expand my horizons beyond the roles of 'Mommy' and 'Employee'. Albeit exhausting to schedule a babysitter, wipe dried formula off my cheek, and apply make-up -- it's still good for me.

In the pre-baby months, you may remember that I suffered some sort of hormonally-induced mania that inspired me to have a short, torrid relationship with a bookclubber's brother. Although hot (in a very bad boy, jailhouse tattoo, ex-con sort of way), he was not for me. The pendulum swung so far to the left on that one that it hit me in the head and gave me a temporary, mood-altering concussion.

The pendulum has now swung severely in the other direction. Last night I went out on a 3rd date with a really nice guy. A really nice guy who is so painfully shy that conversation with him is akin to pulling teeth. Wisdom teeth. And not loose ones. I get the feeling that he is a high quality human being with great potential. But do I have it in me to wait out this potential and sift through a quarry of small rocks looking for a tiny piece of gold? Keep in mind that I have a hard time waiting my turn in line at the grocery store. It doesn't look good.

And so the quest continues. The irony is that dating on this side of the single mother/fertility quest/gestational carrier gig is 100% easier than on the pre-baby side. Now I'm just another single mom. A MILF, by some standards. Still in search of a FILF (as opposed to FILTH - get your mind out of the gutter).

Off the Clock

2010-01-16T19:02:00.000-08:00

I hate women who go out on dates with guys and immediately start analyzing whether they have long-term potential, would be good husbands, and have a high enough sperm count to push out X number of kids in X number of years. I hate these women, and yet I must admit that I have been one of these women for the past decade.

I can honestly say that I haven't been on a date in the past ten years without summing up the poor sap sitting across from me within 2.5 minutes and deciphering how he would rate on all of the above. And I must admit that my analytical skills in this area were dead on. I often talked myself out of the information right in front of me in order to 'be open-minded', but the cards were on the table.

Now I'm off the clock. I have a daughter and I don't need a man. At least not in traditional terms.

But can I really pull it off? Can I date someone with whom there is little or no chance of a future, but with whom I might have some fun? (And I don't mean a 4-week fling before the ex-con has to return to work camp.)

Such a relationship might actually be ideal for me at this stage of the game. I have a new baby, a full-time job, a home I love --- I'm not sure that I want, need or have time to pull off a traditional relationship. Maybe a friend with benefits is the new black.

The Year in Review

2009-12-30T19:28:00.000-08:00

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.

The Mile High Club

2009-12-25T20:38:00.000-08:00

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.

The High Cost of Hope

2009-12-15T18:54:00.000-08:00

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 ...

Clean Up in Aisle 7

2009-12-13T19:29:00.000-08:00

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.

M.I.L.F.

2009-12-05T19:21:00.000-08:00

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?"

Sammy Davis Jr.

2009-11-18T10:57:00.000-08:00

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.

Fake & Bake

2009-11-10T15:50:00.000-08:00

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.

Baby Bait

2009-10-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Diaper Dating

2009-10-07T20:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Sperm in a Latte Cup

2009-10-05T15:25:00.000-07:00

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.

Happy Hour, reworked

2009-10-04T20:15:00.000-07:00

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.

One Night Love Affair

2009-09-08T18:47:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2009-09-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

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.

The Road Not Taken

2009-09-01T18:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Substitutions

2009-08-30T18:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Solo

2009-08-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Nine

2009-08-19T19:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Client Meeting

2009-08-17T18:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Worth Every Penny

2009-08-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Birth Plan

2009-08-12T19:12:00.000-07:00

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?

Copulence

2009-08-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

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...

Watermelon Ceiling

2009-07-31T16:14:00.000-07:00

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.

Slow burn

2009-07-29T18:43:00.000-07:00

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.

The Blender

2009-07-27T17:14:00.000-07:00

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.

A Vacation from Myself

2009-07-23T17:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Conjugal visits

2009-07-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Blink

2009-07-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Trolling for Mr. Rhythm

2009-07-06T09:10:00.001-07:00

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.

Glancing Back, Moving Forward

2009-06-26T07:18:00.000-07:00

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.

Sweet Surprises

2009-06-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

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.

New Digs

2009-06-18T17:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Billboards

2009-05-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Hair Fit

2009-05-23T15:59:00.001-07:00

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.

Beautiful kidneys.

2009-05-21T18:46:00.001-07:00

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.

Well, shit.

2009-05-19T18:54:00.000-07:00

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.

These Walls

2009-05-15T19:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Party of One

2009-05-11T18:50:00.001-07:00

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.

Mother's Day

2009-05-09T17:59:00.000-07:00

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.

That's My Girl

2009-05-05T18:48:00.001-07:00

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.

Turning in the keys

2009-05-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Off the Clock

2009-05-02T19:37:00.001-07:00

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?

40

2009-04-26T19:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Labels

2009-04-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

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.

Eruption

2009-04-05T18:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Bad Week

2009-04-03T19:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Dream weaver

2009-03-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

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.

Destiny, schmestiny

2009-03-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Full

2009-02-24T18:45:00.000-08:00

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...

The Angry Cupid

2009-02-15T18:48:00.000-08:00

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.

The Tear Down

2009-02-13T07:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Rational Thought Has Left The Building

2009-02-10T18:44:00.000-08:00

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."

The Planets Align

2009-02-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Landmarks

2009-02-01T10:39:00.000-08:00

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.

The Problem with Friends

2009-01-31T19:22:00.000-08:00

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.

Kinahurra

2009-01-15T19:36:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-15T19:09:00.000-08:00

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.

Red 22

2009-01-03T18:35:00.001-08:00

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.

Skeleton in the Closet

2008-12-15T18:56:00.000-08:00

I've been on many a date with a guy who pulls a skeleton out of the closet that knocks my socks off. This usually occurs at precisely the moment when I'm thinking, "Wow, this guy seems really normal." It is right then that the floor is pulled out from under me and I end up in the dunking booth. Again.

I've heard everything. Guys who claimed to be single admit they're divorced. Guys who suddenly remember to mention that they have a 12 year old daughter. Guys who find this the opportune time to tell me they're married (after kissing me on the mouth). Guys with ultra funky penchants for demonstrating how far certain bodily fluids can fly (no, not kidding). Oh yes, my friends, I've met more skeletons than you'll see at on Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean.

And now Ladies and Gentlemen, stand aside, for a delicious twist of irony: I've got the biggest skeleton in the graveyard. Try these bones on for size: I'm trying to have a baby on my own. And I'm using a surrogate.

Insert deafening silence here.

I pulled this bag of bones out of the closet this spring after dating a guy for about 2 months. He was 41, said he wanted children and a serious relationship, and had dated women with children in the past. So, I said to myself, if anyone can handle this, its this guy.

After telling him the news, he was shocked. I know this because he kept repeating, "Wow, I'm shocked." He took the time to have an extended make out session with me (more on that later) before burning rubber out of my parking lot.

He took two weeks to 'think about' how he felt about my situation before calling to say it was over. He explained that although he was 41 and dating a 39 year old woman, wanted to have children someday, didn't mind dating women with children, and would welcome dating a 'single mom by choice' - my situation was too much, too soon. Okay, fair enough.

He shared that he wants to date a woman for several years before having children. I pointed out that if he wants to subscribe to this action plan with any woman over the age of 32, he had better select someone who flunked biology.

As soon as we got off the phone I realized that this relationship was never meant to be. Nice guy, but I can only talk about American Idol and plasma televisions for 12 minutes before slipping into a coma.

Its never fun to get dumped, but I must admit it was truly amusing to be the person hauling a deep secret out of my closet. Can you imagine how fun it must have been for him to tell THIS story to his buddies? My skeleton wins. Rock on.

White Bean Soup

2008-12-14T16:16:00.000-08:00

I'm not a man-hater. Or a man-eater (although I must admit I really do love that song, esp. when my instructor plays it in spin class).

In fact, I like men. Not all men, but a lot of men. Then why have I made it to age 39 without marrying one of them? Well, thats a long story (which is another way of saying, "I have no idea").

I was talking on the phone to my mother today and saying that I'm grateful to be going through this fertility journey solo, rather than married to my 'Close Call' -- who we'll call Glenn (get it?). I explained that Glenn would not have been supportive and would have made me feel defunct because I can't carry a pregnancy to term. "And that", said my mother, "is exactly why you're not married to Glenn." Mom always comes up with the good points.

A few weeks ago I was at the Farmer's Market sampling an organic apple when suddenly I heard someone call my name. I turned around, with my mouth full, to see a guy who used to date an old friend of mine. They broke up after dating for 10 years and she moved away and married someone else. And divorced. And remarried. He also married someone else. And is now getting divorced. It was clear that he was going through a hard time and needed to speak to an old friend ... so we went out for a drink.

I spent several hours listening to the intimate details of his relationship, marriage, and break-up. Like most stories of this ilk, it was painful. He paid for my drink, walked me to my car, and we promised to get together again soon. As friends. I drove home thinking how nice it is to have a male friend with no strings.

A few weeks later I got an e-mail from him on a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon inviting me over to his house that night. To eat white bean soup. In front of a fire. Saturday night + homemade soup + fire = could it be?

No. Of course not. I'm imagining this. I called my friend Debbie to get her read. She hummed the theme song from a generic porno film. This is not a good sign. She then asked her husband who said something like, "Yeah, he wants sex".

Ah, transition sex. An understandable desire, but not one I can grant at the moment. It would be one thing if he was serving lobster bisque, but I certainly don't put out for white bean soup. A girl has to have standards.

Prom Queen

2008-12-12T19:37:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking about my life a lot lately. Maybe its the holidays. Maybe its because I'll turn 40 next year. Maybe I've been reading too many O magazines.

What I've realized is that up until the last few years, I've been living on easy street. I wasn't the prom queen, but a lot of things were handed to me on a silver platter: loving parents, a close family, plenty of money, good health, good grades, good friends. I always fit in, made the cheerleading team, had a boyfriend and a date to the prom, and got into a good college. I got good grades, had good times, found my calling, went to graduate school, and landed a job in my field. Of course, at the time I thought I had all sorts of problems; but in retrospect, I had it much easier than many of my peers.

A few years ago I dated a guy who never wanted to see his relatives or friends from the past. He hated the holidays, family gatherings, and most of all --- answering questions. I didn't get it at the time, but looking back I realize that he wasn't happy with himself or his life. This made updating people on his progress thus far pure torture.

Now I kind of get it. Its harder to speak to old friends and acquaintances when the newsflash is that you're parents have separated, Mr. Right turned out to be Mr. Wrong, you're trying to have a baby on your own and are even struggling with that.

And so, many of us answer the question, "What's new?" with the much easier and less honest, "Not much."

When I was in high school I thrived on rebellion and irony. I wore hiking boots to school with my cheerleading uniform, ripped the label off my Guess jeans once the brand became popular, and ate lunch at the counter of Woolworth's with my friend in hopes that someone would see us and think it was zany. I need to channel my 17 year old rebel self and find the strength to view the path less traveled as unique and beautiful. I need to be the Prom Queen with a nose ring and a smile.