I don’t know if the title of this post has anything to do with anything, but it feels like a theme in my life right now, so I’ll go with it.
The universe makes me laugh. As soon as I said I was surrendering the NEED to have a guy in my life, it started raining men. I literally have been contacted by more guys than I have the time or inclination to meet or even call back. I never cease to be amazed at how that happens.
This past Friday, Sami went to his father’s for the night, for the first time in just about exactly a year.
I did go out with one of the boys that night. I made it clear to him from the outset that I did not have time for a traditional relationship, but I did want someone to go out with on my nights off from parenting. He’s bright, charming, funny, and very good looking, a few years younger than me. We’d gone out a few times prior, and I enjoyed his company.
Honestly, I had no intention of bringing him home. None. We were all set to go out to go dancing, when my new housemate called at about 10 pm to say that she’d locked herself out of the house. I felt like the only decent thing to do was to go home and let her in. Before I knew it, the boy and I were idling in my driveway and I was inviting him in. He was talented and very attentive, and I haven’t experienced anything like that in a very long time.
After it was over, he wanted to cuddle and stay the night with me. But I could not bear the idea of sleeping (as in literally, being asleep) with him beside me. It was nothing about him in particular, but there was something in me which could not bear that level of intimacy. You’re very vulnerable when you are asleep next to someone, and that scared me, apparently.
So I told him that I wanted to go out, which was true, and we did go out dancing for the few remaining hours that the venue was open, after which I conveniently gave him a ride home. (He does not have a car.) At this point, he again stated that he would love to spend the rest of the night with me, and I was too tired to even come up with a good excuse as to why not. I felt a twinge of guilt for my behavior, which probably stung a bit, but I had to be true to myself. I never promised him anything. Frankly, I felt relieved to be home in my own bed. I slept until noon that day. It was literally the most sleep I’ve had in a year, and I desperately needed it.
I feel like this past Friday marked some kind of a turning point, where Sami and I are leading these lives that are secret from one another. He is having all these experience at his dad’s which I know very little about. Honestly I do not know if I want to know what goes on there. I know it’s nothing scary or dangerous, so I don’t need to know the details. Sami’s still too young to really let me know much about what’s going on. He would say something if he was unhappy, though, so I trust that he is OK. He did mention the new wife’s name after I picked him up. It was the first time he had done that. His father said it went very well - Sami even slept through the night, did lots of pee-pees on the potty, and seemed completely happy and fine.
And now I am leading this Friday night/Saturday life that feels kind of surreptitious, a little bit bad, my chance to fully be some other-than-mommy self. What will I do with that chance, on a weekly basis, or as long as this lasts? I don’t know.
What I do know is that I am terribly confused about real intimacy. I can engage in some of the most intimate physical acts possible with someone, but I can’t bear to let him hold me afterwards? There is a tremendous conflict between the part of me that wants an authentic love in her life, and the part of me that just wants to feel that high of sexual conquest. Yet there must be a clue in the numbness I felt afterwards.
So I sit with all these contradictions having a full-on dance party inside of me, and I continue to commit to understanding what the hell is going on on that dance floor. Right now it’s mighty dark in there, and the music is quite loud.
Welcome to this blog - my chronicle of the illuminating, character-building path of single parenthood. I'm making this up as I go along. My life is my practice, and my five year-old son is my greatest teacher.