Summer Loving

I've gone on many dates this summer. With several different kind, intelligent, unique, beautiful men.

Yes, men. No women. Why? No reason. No women wrote me back on the online dating sites. Disappointing, but out of my control.

With the first days of September already passing by, and Gumball with all of 12 hours of pre-pre-school under her tiny, little belt, I feel like summer is over. And with it, my carefree summer days and nights of hand-holding, first kisses, dirty texts, getting to know each other, long emails, and late night phone calls.

I met two particularly lovely men. Each with gorgeous souls. Each one perfect on his own. If I could combine them, I would have the perfect man for me. I think. Perfect. The one: tender, arrogant, wide-eyed, childish, impractical, obstinate, selfish, thoughtless, loving, filled with curiosity and wonder. He smells like sunshine, and his kisses make me melt. He doesn't want to date, just wants to be with whomever he chooses. And apparently, he chooses a lot. The other: considerate, kind, thoughtful, raw, messy, playful, giving, funny, hurting, lovely... and the best daddy-figure I've seen. Yes, daddy-ness factors in, somehow, some where. I don't know what weight to give it, or how to think of it, but I know that I want my Gumball to have a mom who is happy and fulfilled in a relationship, and I want her to have a father-figure someday. Shouldn't I be the one to provide her with the best life possible? Doesn't that include two parents? He wants to date me, and brings me flowers and beer. He writes me poems, and rubs my feet. But he is still a mess about his ruined marriage, and I feel like if I leaned on him, he would collapse. And yet...

At this point, I feel unsure about what it is that I want. Unsure about how to proceed.

God, somedays I feel like a failure as a parent, and a failure as a person.

I know what I would do if I was 25 and child free. I think know what I'd do if I were 45. But now? I don't know what to do. I'm scared that I've met the most perfect man for me, and may be about to let him go. Or not? I don't know.

He said, I Said, He Said

Hey.

Remember how I said I wasn't going to write another word about Gumball's dad? Yeah. Well, I presumed that the mean (true) and nasty (entirely true) text message I sent him would shut him up. I was wrong. It apparently made him feel loved or some such bullshit, bc he's been sending me text messages.

He said this:

You were a beautiful, wonderful wife, and my best friend.  I have no doubt that you are now a great mom.  I hope you and Gumball are doing well.  My life has been filled with tough decisions and poor choices.  I hope that you guys don't hate me forever.

His misery is palatable, no? The message made me sad. Really, really sad. I cried. But didn't respond. Then, last night he wrote again. How are you? And it made me so furious. He doesn't get to come back into my life. How am I? Well shit, where should I start? Alone, depressed, tired, determined, fighting to maintain a sense of normal every day. Bored, lost, and lonely? Yeah. Fuck you. So I wrote the following:

I don't know what you want from me or what sort of response you're expecting. I loved you. I was proud to be your wife and I fully expected to spend my life with you. You left. I cried every day. My hair fell out. If you can even comprehend another person's suffering; believe me. I suffered. I wanted to die. Every single day. I loved you and gave you everything: my heart, soul, body, home, life. I wasn't perfect. I begged you to go to therapy. But you left. You took away my stepsons and my daughter's father. You got that whore pregnant. Don't write me again unless it has to do with Gumball. I'm not your friend. I don't love you anymore. I hope you seek professional help- clearly you need it. I don't mean that in a snotty way. I think you might be able to find peace that way. I sincerely hope you do. Any pain you're feeling now is a small fragment of what I felt, and you deserve it. Stop running from real life and from problems. Work on the relationship you're in. Be a dad to the kids you're with. Just please, please leave me alone. I'm not like you guys. I feel pain and I'm fragile and maybe crazy as you so often liked to say. I bitterly miss the person I thought you were. That guy was my soul mate. You are not him and will never be. The only way I will ever relate to you again is as Gumball's dad. And the second you fuck that up, I'm done with you all together. You picked this. You picked it.

I probably should have edited it down, but it felt good to say that. And even though I do still love the asshole, in some weird and stupid way, I know that he can bring nothing good to my life, or to my daughter's life. I recognize that she deserves a lot better, and hope to someday internalize that I too deserve better.

And then he responded. He probably shouldn't have. His response is so full of self-pity and weakness that it made me sick. I'm not scared of weakness or repulsed by it. I can be weak. But wallowing in it, and indulging in this blatant "woe is me" crap just doesn't cut it with me these days. I haven't indulged myself in such a long time, that his text made me queasy. Have some ownership, and agency, for fuck's sake.

Who exactly did you think I was? As far as I know I haven't changed since I was 5 years old.  When you met me I was a poor, uneducated truck driver with too many kids.  You loved me anyway.  The way I left our relationship was wrong, but not completely unprovoked.  I do love you.  I've missed you every day.  I sincerely hope that one day we can at least be on speaking terms again.  Per your request I won't message you again unless you tell me too.  I'm still unsure of how you expect me to be a part of Gumball's life when you guys live in northern Vt.  I am open to suggestions.    

Idiot.

Planning II

And today I decided to stockpile baby Ibuprofen and baby Tylenol. Yup. Just that crazy. Bought two boxes of each. Heaven forbid Gumball might need some late one night.

Planning

There are many aspects of single motherhood that I was not prepared for. Actually, I wasn't prepared for any of it. That said, there are specific experiences that, so far, have defined this crazy trip for me. A big one is planning. The thing is, when you're a single mom, planning becomes essential. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I am kind of a planner/hoarder/type A sort of person. Something about being a single mom brings these characteristics out in full force. I live in terror that I won't have something I need. No, not something I need... something the baby needs. What could I possibly need? Food, I have. Clothing too. But the baby? Her needs are much more urgent.

Just to share a few of the necessities. Diapers? I have a case. Wipes? A case. The special, seasonal Earth's Best that she will eat 8oz of for dinner and sleep 6 or 8 hours without waking (Turkey/Cran, in case you were wondering.) I have 40 jars. Pedialyte? Got it. Baby tylenol, advil, butt cream. Yup. And if I forget to buy more, well, I joined Amazon Mom AND Amazon Subscribe and Save to get 30% off diapers and butt cream, so even if I were to forget, or to somehow become incapacitated, diapers and cream will continue to be delivered to my house every 2 months.

The thing is, I hate asking for help. And I've had to do it pretty much constantly for the past 8 months. My mom has saved my life over and over. While dealing with a messed up thyroid. My friends D and S wrote me emails almost every single night when things were the roughest. And they continue to support me in many different ways. J demanded that I get off my exhausted ass and start to feel better, even though it was literally the last thing I could imagine doing. My lovely ex-neighbor J cooked for me, went to doctors appointments with me and the baby, held the baby so I could nap, helped me move. My aunt C came out of no where to help us get by. God, so many people, so much help. I detest being this vulnerable. I don't know if having a partner would change this feeling, but without one, I feel like it is me against the world. And a stockpile of diapers and wipes and Turkey/Cran eases my anxiety. Somewhat.

Photos

I just started working on my second photo album for the baby. Its about half done. She's not yet 9 months old. And I've documented approximately 300 good photos worth of her experiences. Which is, ahem, more days than she's been living. Yup. This doesn't come close to the thousands of photos I didn't print, or the countless (close to 90) videos I've uploaded to our youtube channel.

At first, I took photos because I wanted to document Gumball's happy infancy. I was heartbroken and defeated, but I wanted to make it seem like we were having nonstop fun. Now I'm just obsessed with how adorable she is. I can't stop. Every moment with her seems so precious, and fleeting. Its just so weird to me. I long for a break. I imagine a night in a hotel, alone, watching tv and eating take out and mostly just sleeping for hours and hours and not worrying. But even now, in the precious few hours while she sleeps, I miss her. I never imagined how I could love someone so much, and at the same time, be so utterly exhausted. Long with every fiber for a break, but miss her in the moments we're apart. She is the most special and unique person I've ever experienced. Funny, and brave, and determined. Intense yet delicate. I love her so much.