If I had known it was gonna be the last time I held you, I would have never let you go. If I had known it was going to be the last time I kissed you, I would have never let you go.
I still see pictures of you in my head. Memories etched like photographs.
If I could make you stay with me: rewind time and not set any alarms—five minutes after the other. Or if I could close the door and leave the shades drawn—we’d draw circles on our skin with fingers wrinkled in time; under the covers safe and warm, waiting for the rest of the world to just unravel. I would have never let you go. I would hold you in my warmth and love. You’d grow in my sunlight. You would be happy with me.
If I had known you were going to leave, I would have never let you go.
I have this dream you’d find me in a different life. Telling me, things were different. It was never the right time. You’d hold my hand—like everything was just fine.
The dream always gets cloudy, after you stare me down. I’d lose you again tonight.
I don’t think you’re meant for holding onto. Your blue eyes would always get cloudy. Like the memories in gray. I know now—I could never make you stay.
“Oh, you f*cking dirty little slut.... mhmm, yeah.... oh my god, yeah. I know you want me.”
The tv was off, light jazz playing on the speaker. Fluorescent lights drowning me in bad blue saturation. This was not romantic. He talked where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do, everything he knew. He talked a lot. This was not sweet.
I could tell by his taste he was drunk. One quick kiss and then he kept that up for the rest of the night. Or just long enough for me to get myself the hell out of there. Boy, was this a story to tell. Another terrible date in the books.
Don’t get me wrong, there were other various factors that I felt we would not meld well—like how he did not meet me at the door but sent a text message. Or how he talked about how much he made annually and where I would be when we got married. Or how he knew so much more about the things I might have known—like parenting (which is hard to do if you’re not a parent to my children). Or the simple fact that he could not respect me and what I wanted but pushed and pushed, and ultimately pushed me right out of the door.
And don’t get me wrong, I am willing to give you a chance (…or seven, if you look at my track record) but I’m tired of other people’s bullshit. And the saying goes, “when you know, you know.”
“but people are oceans, she shrugged, you cannot know them by their surface.”
-- Beau Taplin
Since being online and trying to do this “dating” thing, I’ve had a lot of trouble sticking the landing—it’s like I’m floating along the ocean of the inter web and getting ridiculously sea sick. I find myself older and looking for something to work for my life: an island to land on, a something I want to dedicate my time and energy in, without losing it. I want someone that wants the same things as me.
2 AM and I didn’t want to close my eyes, because then I would be afraid to never see you again.
The doorbell rang.
My very first date away from the five years I’ve known and I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know what to wear. I didn’t know what to expect or what I was getting myself into. After nearly a month of trying to coordinate our schedules and distribute our time— a month of shameless selfies & goofy gifs and light hearted talk, he was driving down to meet me for dinner and drinks. My heart fluttered as the bell rang. I’m not one to be nervous... but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.
He met me at my door. Took my hand as he opened his passenger car door to guide me in. We enjoyed a hot & humid summer night by the waterfront for dinner and drinks. The bar was quiet; the waitress was sweet and attentive. The lighting was warm and he was genuine and sweet. He told me his stories. How much he loved his family and friends. We had so much in common. We laughed. After putting up a fight, and putting down my card, he paid the bill.
A touch on the shoulder. A squeeze of the thigh. Supple, sweet and tender kisses…Of course, I’d find myself in this perfect situation. What a story. What an amazing date with a perfect man.
That was the problem. He was put on a pedestal. It’s hard to walk next to someone when you’re reeling in this idea of a perfect, hard-working, handsome and charismatic man when you’re learning to stand on your own two feet. It’s hard to invest when the timing isn’t right or when you're caught in the past, present and the future.
Sometimes, it just doesn’t work out for you because the stars won’t allow it to--maybe because there is something else in your plan.
Dating is now-a-days is just plain hard.
I want to be courted the old fashioned way. The less crowded, busy and instantly gratified way. I want to fall in love with the little everyday things. I want to fight and not have to worry that you’ll find someone else to fill my position as fast as a swipe to the left or to the right. I want to trust you are only looking for my attention. I want to trust that I have yours. I want to not worry about having that stupid “exclusivity” talk. I want to fall utterly in love and not have to compete with another person you could or could not be meeting up with or face-timing or sending the same selfies to. I want to be able to talk to you and to communicate with honesty and respect. I want it to work for me. I don’t want to be some shadow. I don’t want to be filler. I want to love and I want to be loved.
From the crazy dating apps, like Tinder, which is now just a hook-up app; to Bumble, which is just awkward because you just never know what to say & because I’m just the epitome of awkward sometimes; to the ghosting. Also, there are a lot of fish, pictures of dogs & puppies, and so many army or uniform pictures. It’s all so hard.
1. the appearance of a ghost or secondary image on a television or other display screen.
2. the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.
"I thought ghosting was a horrible dating habit reserved for casual flings"
Now, I will be the first to admit, I’ve done a lot of “ghosting.” I’ve always found it so difficult to simply say what I do not want or that I am just not interested. I never think it is polite to just communicate it as simply as it could be said, and if you know me, you’d know that I hate hurting people’s feelings.
There is something to be said about the complexity of this “ghosting” thing. How someone can go from talking to you everyday to nothing. You get nothing.
And maybe it was because they just knew. Because “when you know, you know.”
Yours, xo, p.
And all the days mix together on the canvas of my life. A blur like the taste of whiskey on my breath. Stains and drops all over my clothing. Reminding me of all I loved. The pictures play back in all the crevices of my brain—reminding me not to do it again. It floods in my blood stream, coursing through my body, calling me to something I’ve known. I tell myself it’s different this time. I drink another drink. I smoke a little smoke. I tell myself it’s fine. You’re so cold when you’re next to me—sometimes. There aren’t enough togethers. It feels like there aren’t enough kisses. Like I haven’t seen you enough or looked at you for long. I don’t want to feel like I might forget you. I want to get lost in your eyes. I don’t want to be found. All the days mix together. All over my clothing. I loved. Coursing through my body. It’s different this time.
Edit [feelings]: somber, lonely.
And I wanted to love you.
All the shades of all the colors.
I never did make it out of the blue.
The blue in the air that is everything.
The blue the sky turns before its black.
The blue in your eyes that made it too hard to have.
The calm of the ocean blue in your eyes.
The deepest blue of the darkest depths of the sea.
The only blue that stares back at me (like nothing).
The royal and stoic of blues.
The feeling of never actually having you.
I never could love you in all of the colors.
I never could have you with my rainbow of wonders.
And I’ve always loved you like waves,
Crashing onto the shore.
I kept telling myself,
I can’t love you like that anymore.
The smell of you lingers;
Covering my clothes;
Pouring out of my pores.
Hanging on my heart,
Like a car freshener.
Rooted like a tree.
Consuming all of me.
The taste of your tongue--
Is etched in my buds.
Drooling for more,
Of this unwanted love.
“Fall in love with a writer,” they said,
And you’ll live forever.
Written on paper.
Compostable like never.
Your words don’t mean a thing.
Green eyes—like I’ve never seen;
Full, when they look into me.
Stubble across your face;
Smile—melts me right in place.
Your wet kiss makes me feel:
I want your skin right here.
Swept up in this love,
Like take all of my heart.
All yours for the taking--
But I’m so good at loving.
The damn guys that just cannot take a hint. Seriously, have absolutely NO CLUE. They follow you around; they know your entire schedule; they text you hourly...the ones who consistently, without-too-long-a-period-inbetween-communication-methods, make it known they are trying to fuck you. They slide right into your messages & automatically assume YOU want to date them. These guys have OBVIOUSLY never been fishing ... put the bait out there in a timely manner & wait. If she bites, you’ll have her hooked.
To avoid this: don’t always text first. One word responses are generally a red light. As my son says, “mama, when you say maybe, it always means no.” He is absolutely already smoother than most of the guys in the dating scene.
2. Mr. Honesty Policy
Yup. He’s a liar. Probably a cheat. He wants and expects you to be completely open and honest to him, at his beck & call, but fails to mention he’s married with two kids.
3. The Joke
This guy makes everything a joke. Everything is fair game to be poked at and prodded at your expense. It’s all funny. It’s all middle school. It’s all: “I’m never gonna take anything seriously because I don’t want to get hurt like I was before because everyone hurts me in the end and I’ve never learned how to deal with serious or personal feelings... what even are emotions? Can you prove them?” It’s all sarcastic humor, hiding trauma and an emotionally unstable history that he hasn’t been able to deal with or find closure with.
Or he suffers from Aspergers.
4. Prince Charming
....but damn girl, you can’t even get a text back. He’s plaaaaaying you but you think he’s so perfect, that it doesn’t even matter.
Use me, baby, let me love you.
Obviously, the boy—yes, the youngin’ that lays you a good one & you can text anytime you want to come over. Hell no, this isn’t gonna work. Hell yeah, you’re gonna catch feelings. But guuuurl, it’s not worth it.
Okay, maybe just for tonight....
Now the difference between a FUCKBOY & Prince Charming is the idea of “marriage.” A FUCKBOY is someone you develop feelings for because of the orgasms he’s giving you & you’re experiencing a drug-like high. My friend calls it “dickmatized.” Basically sex addiction. A Prince Charming is someone that alludes you with an idea of “happily ever after.” He plays you when it’s convenient and it’s sooo damn convincing. Basically a sociopath.
“Good morning beautiful.”
“How was your day?”
“Sweet dreams, sleep well.”
“Hope you have a great day!”
“You can get any guy you want...”
“Let me take you out?”
“I can treat you right.”
“Thinking about you.”
“You’re so pretty.”
....you get it, right? I fucking hate honey.
These are the ones from your past. The friends, the hookups, the ex’s—all the ones you’ve had history with. The unfinished business that didn’t play out or work out. Yeah, they’re here to haunt you now.
The term “Ghosts” also work for those dudes who are talking to you, trying to date you, seeing you, fill-in-the-blank with you—but aren’t actually WITH you. Because they’re just shells without souls & you can’t really SEE them. The ones with their exes on their minds or profiles. The ones who cannot see the YOU in front of them. You know what I mean. And it hurts.
8. The Nice Guy
....well, that speaks for itself.
You went out—he’s sweet, but not aggressively. He’s a great catch with a really good job. He’s nice, witty, interesting, respectful, stable... and you just friend-zoned him because “nice guys ALWAYS finish last.” He’s your friend now. You guys send memes to each other. You “hang out.” You broke his heart when you said, “I just think we’d make better friends.” Then he goes & turns into a Ghost. Please see 7 for reference.
9. The one you want to keep.
You give a little. He gives a little. You text first. He texts first. Share time. Share memes. Share substantial conversation. Share laughs. Share a possible future. You meet someone you want to keep & you think he’s just perfect.
Yeah, hope that works out for you. Please see numbers 4 & 5 for reference.
DISCLAIMER: IN CASE YOU’RE FEELING SENSITIVE & DIDN’T KNOW, THIS IS MEANT FOR HUMOR PURPOSES ONLY.
Reach out! Let me know if I missed someone!
IG 📷: @tuywithme & I’m not perfect, I’m definitely on the list, too!
Sending love—xo, p.
I don’t want the warmth of the sun to tell me I’m loved.
I want the moon & all its stars, to hold me in its shadows.
I want the darkness to put me to bed.
In its silence, where everything feels already said.
The cold of the night, and the glistening moonlight,
on the tides pulling me in, just to wash me away again.
I want you—And I want me—To be forever,
He's forgotten his keys again, so we opt to walk. The moon blowing a cool in the air and you can hear people in the bars laughing in the distance. It was still early--20 minutes to last call. It had rained, the sidewalks dark with light reflection.
He steps up on the curbs of the pathway, intertwining steps, up on the stoop and down on the walk, up on the stoop and back down again. His arms soaring at his aid, zooming like a plane, keeping balance. I brace my sweater acknowledging how summer feels really over, the nights cooler than ever. His wobbly legs, drunk over to me, stopping me where I stand.
"It's beautiful," he says, his lips meeting mine, "you're my beautiful." The softness and the smoke left over his lips sweep me into his arms, the embrace warming me instantly.
He pulls away, his eyes widening like an owl's. "Come here," rising excitement in his voice. He grabs at my arm and tugs me over to a darken storefront. The shadows of neon lights saying "Arcade" and "Tokens" through the glass.
He's moving swift with his hands, checking and emptying his pockets.
"Yes," he excites, putting coins in the little red box and turns the key. The chains creak and the bouncing of plastic down shoot. He opens the door and pops out a little plastic bubble. Throwing the plastic on the ground, he sets his knee beside them.
I stand silently--no thoughts in my head, no words come to mind. I look at his hands and then look back at mine. A metal band over the ring of my left finger, a Tinker bell right in the center.
And he is mine.
The sight of the black stubble across his cheeks, down to his chin, his pale, thin lips curved right at the ends. Wrinkles like arrows pointing right into his eyes; dark blue when he tells me he loves me. The taste of dry smoke on his breath, as crisp and cold as winter air.
I had never imagined a love like this.
His calloused hands, up and down my sides, grabbing hold of me tightly. I want him even closer. I want his skin to cover mine. His gentle lips making way across every little inch of me. On my skin. Softly. Surely. I want him even tighter. I want him to hold me so tight, I feel him in my bones. I want him even tighter--enough to massage my soul.
He pulls my black cami overhead; his hands, largely covering my breasts, sprinkling them with kisses. Wet. I tilt my head forward, look back down into the blue. My hips sway and grind, dancing against him with want. With love. Another kiss. A slip of the tongue. I sink into him, kiss after kiss and our breath become one.
I am his, and I have never been more certain of anything like this.
He thinks so deeply. I am lost within him. In the soul of his brain--I am a muse to the past of all we've shared; the presence of him here; the everything that is still so close and yet to come. The thoughts in his head, whispering of nothing more right than this now. Than home. Than love. Than us. There needs to be nothing more to think but the perfection of our soul.
I feel so vastly. I feel him at my every move. I feel him in all emotion, at every emotion. I feel so certain. I feel his soul intertwined in mine. The fit of his love, his caress, his eternally loving breath. An unconditional knowing. He frees my heart and me in feeling.
And just like that he was gone.
And my heart aches. Pain demanding it's presence.
The wind began to pick up and more than anything it was too cold for September. Empty winds blowing goodbye breezes against my face and my spirit too burnt for any tears.
Loneliness wasn't a terrible feeling. There is enough to keep me busy. Too much to do and no time to think. Life moves on even through heart break. Whether it be a day, a week, a month or a year. You learn, sometimes you're alone. You entertain yourself. Dinner for one. One six pack. You learn to budget. Order netflix. Read another poem. That's okay. You learn to trust yourself, by yourself, with yourself, be yourself.
Goodbyes are often followed by hellos. New chances, new opportunities, new people...and the people you never had time for. Best friends became new again. Old friends sometimes became strangers--hitting on you through times where comfort is needed. All these things shine in a totally new light. Because it is new again. You are changed forever. You are a new you.
Maybe we loved each other more than we should have. Maybe we drowned in passion and chaos. Maybe we said goodbye before our time. Maybe it just wasn't the right time. Maybe it wouldn't have worked anyway. Maybe if was meant to be. Maybe it will all be okay. Maybe you just fucked up.
I loved you. I will always love you. I begged you to stay. I wanted more than anything for you to not be making a mistake. But I can't tell you how to live your life. And in this, moving forward is the only next step. No more questions, no what ifs, what could'ves, no more pasts passing through my thoughts. Its what now?
Find someone you love so much that no other person will do. Find someone who makes you feel and fly and laugh at the dust specks in the sky. Find someone whose arms feel like home and whose breath fills your lungs. A love deeper and fuller than all the oceans. Find yourself. Find love. Find simplicity. Find your future. Find your life.
You once said: "but darlin' all you need to know--in you my presence lies." But you're not here. You left me long ago. When you made the choice to leave. No one seems to understand every choice we makes ripples waves in our lives and impacts the boats sprinkling and floating peacefully on the lake. Stop rocking the boat. Promises don't mean shit.
And now you want me back.
Trying to stitch up pieces of a broken me, saying we can go back and be happier ever after. As if it was ever that easy.
The years pass quicker than ever now. 25 years old and dying everyday. One step nearer, but not closer to the simple life I want. More than late night drinks, all night sex, light reading, blunts to the face, laughing and being nothingness. I need more than being. I want living.
The smell of waffles and coffee in the kitchen, Sunday morning, music dancing and swooning, laughter, light, living, loving. Life.
Dearest beautiful. You deserve love. You are capable.
Wallow. Cry and snuggle with slippers, extra blankets, a messy bun, romcoms and turn off your phone, shut down your social media (for real! deactivate it, do not resort to it, it will NOT make you feel better) and read a book (a book...with real ideas and real substance--not People magazine). And if you really need a donut, hell, no one is judging you. Eat it.
Remember, you're you. There is something special about the you that you are, and don't lose sight of that. You deserve love. You are capable of love. You will find it again. Losing someone on a level you knew almost as much as you know yourself is a hard thing. Or maybe, you hardly knew the person they were becoming. People will change because people will always be growing and developing. As are you, dear one. They learn and our brains are always taking in something new. Be thankful to have opened your heart up like that, enough to let them in and be proud that you were there, that the both of you shared something special on a completely intimate level.
Remember that your relationship does not define you. So what, if you are use to making coffee for two. So what, if the place you always go to get take out assumes your full order by your caller ID. So what, if the socks and boxer-briefs are on sale or you know that he's gonna need deodorant. So what if you can't reach that spot in between your shoulders--let it itch. So what.
Remember, the world doesn't end or stop because you're sad and angry. There are no "broken heart" paid days off. Remember the world is still rotating and time is still passing. You still have a kick boxing class at 2 and a date with your best friends on Friday night to see that new Ryan Gosling movie. Just remember, time ticks--"this too will pass"--either wallow in its pain, suffering at the heartache. Or get up, go to the gym, take a long steamy shower, sign up for a new art class, flirt shamelessly with the barista you didn't notice before...put yourself out there. Feel!!!!!! something else.
Remember the good times and let there be other good times to come, too.
You're not broken just because your heart feels it.
Broken hearts will mend. We will grow. We will learn. We will.
Key inspiring Thomas Wolfe quote about life:
Oh, runaway man;
You got living to do,
People to meet--
Runaway man, you've got
no explaining to do.
Happiness will find you.
What have you here?
East coast sands at your feet,
Stale salty Atlantic Ocean,
Sunrises and spent of surprises.
Nothing waits for you here.
It's all used and washed up.
Runaway man, live.
Live things to be live.
New feelings to arise.
Runaway man, find.
Find what you seek,
To feel less empty.
Runaway man, float.
Sail away in winds unknown--
Just be kind to those
you use to call home.
Dedicated to the one man running.
June 23, 2014
I am a woman. I am beautifully imperfect and oh, so flawless. I feel and speak before I have one second to process or to think. I cry over commercials and compare cereal brands. I walk up and down the Stop & Shop aisles. All of them. I drink too much tea and constantly need coffee. One bottle of wine is never enough. I drink too much. I'll tell you no matter what--I weight too much. I'd buy every shoe and things that remind me of you. I care for children that aren't mine. I am always a mother. And love like you can't imagine. So much--you literally cannot fathom. I am scared. I am always scared. The AC makes me chilly. I am always too cold. I'll turn into my mother, fearing getting old. I love little black dresses and most things pink. I think doves fly when I sing. I sing to every song on the radio, good or bad, with a beat always stuck in my head. But I suck at karaoke. I flinch at bees and won't kill a spider. And I'll cry some more. I cannot commit to whatever it is I want for dinner. Thai, Chipotle, fast food or vegetarian-ism. I've definitely been too tired and faked an orgasm. I collect pretty adorable stationary notes, feed the ducks and laugh at my own jokes. My stories ramble without some sense. I breathe in deep and sometimes, I'll forget too pay rent. I talk entirely too fast. I make lists on pieces of paper I'll lose. I'll regret my decision as soon as I choose. I obsess if I am not quickly distracted. I'm so easily lost and distracted. I loathe Hello Kitty. I crave a good old fashion mystery. I hate that I love a surprise. There will never be enough chocolate or "only one fry." I hold on to old clothes that don't fit. Until clean-up day, when I go to donate it. I thoroughly enjoy the rewards of community service, but I hate the announcement when others publicize it. I do not Instagram--but take a pretty mean selfie. I like getting news before others have a chance. I am prone to silly random acts of dance. (It's not good.) I fall under episodes of insomnia. I walk with clumsy grace--my head held high and the biggest smile on my face. I'm too stubborn to know any better. I need the last word to forever. I passionately feel like the oceans: in repetitive waves of powerful grace. Talking about sex is certainly in my place. I am sexy. I am free. I am comfortable in my own sexuality. Learn to love me, or baby, leave me. I can make you feel entirely alive--dancing carelessly wild. I have red hot cinnamon passion, hate marshmallows and need romancing. Prince Charming is Mr. Darcy. I don't know a thing about stick shift, will someone teach me? I don't have too much pride to change a tire. Or push my own car out of the snow. Whoops, here I go... I know nothing about bourbon, scotch or whiskey--but I know tequila makes me very frisky. I breathe too loudly at night and will hog all the covers. Sometimes I lack common sense. I believe happiness is the warmth of sunshine on your face. My eyes burn bright brown in the light. I don't believe in giving up, without one hell of a fight. I'm tougher than I get credit for. I'm so hard to read--but baby, you see right through me. I am everything. I live in utter madness. I thrive in chaos. I am always under some stress. I care too much--you have no idea. I am terribly insecure but I've never been so sure: I am woman.
A field of fresh flowers remind me of the beauty between us. Blossoming free and growing wild. Wind blowing the scent now lingering in our memories of this moment. This moment and forever. And my love, we'll never let this love die. You got sunshine to warm even the coldest buds and enough of your shine to light up all of the dark. And I'll collect seeds, along with my memories, to grow us and plant us and we'll soar so high, we're laughing with the skies. Our scent will free us and fall upon the noses of others. I'll remember to water with tears of joy. We'll grow. We'll root. We'll reproduce. We'll bloom forever. People will bunch us up and give us away and we'll make each of them smile--the way you make me smile. Our garden blooms so much love and happiness. Our hearts will grow like a garden of wild flowers thriving through seasons--always coming back for more.
this is not happy. this is not a cry for help. this is a rant.
sometimes i never want to leave the coccoon of blankets and pillows in my bed
sometimes i get so lonely, I get lost and confused in my own head
sometimes people just dont understand;
it's not always happiness and sunshine on command
sometimes i take pretty long showers
and the salt on the drops make me want to forget the hours.
the hot water cascading and washing away
feels like I'm starting over today.
sometimes i want to open up wide
and drink all the water coming inside
sometimes i feel like im drowning and there is no water
choking and broken.
sometimes when i get out, i blame it on the soap in my eyes,
I try and pretend i'm not dying inside
sometimes i can't make out the shapes,
because the steam is so cloudy and hides all the fakes
sometimes you get kicked down so many times
and you try to look up, but there's no one around
sometimes you really do forget to eat
it just seems like something is eating up at you
sometimes i feel like i'm reverting to pasts
like all the times spent was just a waste of gas
you think you've made it far, kid
until you're drowning in waters too deep
until you're falling without feet
until you're crying defeat
until you lock yourself in
and throw away the key
because no one can save you
when you're lost
when you're gone
sometimes you think you've got it all right
and then you realize it's all in the fight
but youre tired and broken and used and abused
and you're done with the action, because you have nothing to lose.
Things have changed since Teen Mom became a "fad." Single, young mothers now are all along the map and hiding in all the nooks and all the crannies of the dating scene. Chances are you know a few single, young, amazing mothers out there--juggling so much work it's unbelievable and playing good, young, fun and wild.
Beware! I tell ya! We're in a class all our own.
Single, young mothers and dating:
1. The club and the whole bar scene is jaded and kinda tacky.
We moms are extremely familiar with a life different than the other 24 year old targets in skimpy tops, bellies without "stripes," too much makeup on and 6 inch heels with unnecessary straps. However, just because I am a single mother doesn't mean I don't want to feel and be sexy, too. We moms look for someone that can make us unreservedly happy. And someone who could possibly be important to our child(ren). We're the dater looking for dates for our children, really. So who is truly looking for a possible father/mother figure out at the clubs and bars? Exactly. Yeah, I'm all about having a good time, living free and being crazy-wild; BUT I have too much to live for, to die. I'm a responsible mother who wants, who needs and who is capable of so much more.
2. When to bring up "motherhood" in conversation:
You meet someone that just so happens to be a complete stranger, maybe even an old friend, just someone that is oblivious to your child(ren)--they spark your interest and you hit it off really well... There comes a point when you're going to need to talk about the true love of your life. For all the readers in the world, there is no right or wrong way to start out this subject.
Some mothers will tell you RIGHT AWAY--here I am, love me or leave me alone, mamas. Some are sluggish at the base--oh, you did know? I'm a mom... Some are like me--I am me and I am amazing and I am a-mama-zing.
It doesn't matter how the conversation erupts, it just has to. And in that instant you are putting yourself out there, to be judged and profiled as someone's preference or an option. That's some heavy stuff.
3. When you both establish a bond, or a routine, or a rhythm. When you both realize that this guy could be worth a try into something deeper. When it's time you both want and decide to take the next step. "Facebook-official" shit. The boyfriend & girlfriend talk. You know that middle school flirting. And "check yes or no" notes. All that jazz.
4. This chapter is strictly an optional precaution. At this point, depending on the relationship you have with your child's father, you both agree that this new man in YOUR life is appropriate for being a man in YOUR child's life.
5. The meeting and lesson. (Meeting the family, the parents, the friends--everyone first degree in your life so they can make judgments of character you were too lovestruck to see.)
6. The final exam: the moment and the time spent together has brought you here. The day/event you plan an introduction between the two halves of your heart. It's easy for children to open so freely and love so vulnerably. But this is important because this is for you. This marks the step between winter or just a stroke of wind.
7. Love! When it gets to the point of love and wholehearted, unconditional love. That's the moment when you know he is capable of loving your child with all that he loves you with.
Things you should know about dating and a single, young mother:
1. We like to be and feel sexy, too. Compliment away. Flattery will get you far.
2. You will always only be second best. Just because she doesn't tell you that, doesn't mean it's not true. Yeah, you do make her incredibly happy. And yeah, she loves you. But you have to be alright being number two.
3. Her time is limited. There are always a million things to get done and she has to juggle it all--baby, work, errands, sports and rec, friends, family, you. When do you think she get a minute to herself?
4. We never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever times infinity, want to hear things like:
"We'd be perfect together--too bad you have a son."
"It's too bad you have a son, or I'd ask you out myself."
"In and outed her, too bad she has a son..."
"Chick has a kid, I'm not about to get all into that."
"Did you breast-feed?"
"Your boobs are so soft."
"Are your boobs shrinking?"
"You're boobs are still amazing after breast-feeding."
"Did you tear?" (EXCUSE ME?)
"I didn't know you were a milf."
"You're a milf."
...or anything with "milf" in the sentence.
"You can have my baby..."
"We'd make a beautiful baby."
"Can you get a babysitter tonight?" (Any time after midnight.)
5. Not all of us are a horrific episode of Teen Mom, kind of train wreck.
6. There is a reason why we're not with the baby's father. Don't think you already know what it is.
7. We. Are. NOT. Easy.
8. We still have dreams and goals and beautiful, amazing things we want to see and do. Don't judge us for expressing these things to you.
9. Some of us try really hard to NOT use our baby voice/talk in bed ;)
10. We are capable of loving so amazingly, to a point you have yet to see, because we're aware of the love we have for our children.