Glancing Back, Moving Forward

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? What?"

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

The needle on the record screeched to a halt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I am sorry to hear that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet Surprises

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

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

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

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

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

New Digs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billboards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair Fit

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

With the notable exception of the Hair Fit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful kidneys.

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

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

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

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

22 more weeks and counting.

Well, shit.

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