When I was pregnant with Xyla, I wasn’t nervous about
pregnancy, I wasn’t nervous about being a single mom. I was nervous about how
the baby gets from one place to the other. It was the most grueling experience
of my life recovering from a c-section. I am telling you, if you can survive
that – you can survive anything.
I am facing dating again and I have to admit, it isn’t the
dating that makes me nervous. It isn’t the idea that I could one day get
married. I am nervous about how I am supposed to get from one to the other.
You can read a thousand articles titled “How to get a man to
marry you” and you will either see the same advice in 3, 5, 7 and 10 ways
varieties or you will see things that will only apply to a very select
population of men. I . . . have tried nearly every way. (See how I am leaving
room for there to be that one key piece that I don’t ever get because I don’t
go to the 31st page of results or further?)
Someone looked at me and said, “You are hot, you are
educated, you are nice . . . how are you still single?” Eventually, he’s going
to figure out that reason and will likely keep it to himself to spare my
feelings and I will never get to know. Same way I have lost out on loving and
knowing a variety of nice guys.
I just had a date cancel on me last night. He hadn’t even
met me yet and he just knew I was going to be the one. Wisking me off to Vegas.
Taking a year off with me to travel around the world . . . we’d go to the
opera, listen to Enya with a bottle of wine in the woods, and fall madly and
deeply in love. I’d better not call and cancel on him because he was my “one”.
When I told him I would have to check with my babysitter to
make sure I wasn’t interfering with her plans to be able to give him a time to
meet for the date . . . hmmmm. Sure as life, I got a text that said, “I just
got off work, I am super tired and I am going to need a rain check.” Pretty sure I won't hear from him again.
Sorry. My “one” wouldn’t do that. And then it occurred to
me.
They don’t ask. None of them have ever asked. They decide I
want or need something they can’t be or provide and they run away. They don’t
ever let me speak for myself about what it is I want or need. So I guess, in my
mind, the ideal man is the one who lets me participate in the relationship.
Seems simple enough . . .
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