thoughts on single motherhood

I spent the better part of my day sitting with a friend in the Clinic, first at her doc's appointment and then at her Pre-Op appointment. These were both in preparation for her surgery that's scheduled this coming Friday.

I don't see this friend often, but she is extremely dear to my heart. She's been there for me through my crazy growth and development, and has given me a sounding board to think through decisions of life and love. I really appreciate her patience as we worked together to sift through my insanity to find nuggets of truth in order to move forward with a better sense of self-determination and awareness.

She's been struggling with Endometriosis for approximately 10 years, but in the last 3 months or so, managing its symptoms has been almost impossible. Hence the surgery on Friday. It's the next step to finding out answers on how she can move forward with the life she wants to live.

She wants children.
This condition will not make it easy for her.

She's been waiting for Mr. Right.
Her heart longs for the romance, the wedding, the marriage, the new family, the happy household...

But time is ticking...
Her window to produce a healthy child and carry it to term is closing...even faster now with the ever-worsening developments of her condition in the last few months.

After we made it through the appointments (she had me sit-in with her on both of them for moral support), we talked through the last 6 to 8 months of life, which was a bit fuzzy for the both of us since we hadn't done a very good job keeping in touch. It was good to catch up. I've missed her.

I could also tell the conversation was precursory; there was something more pressing on her mind.

"What's it like being a single mom?"

I knew this was coming. She had already mentioned it a couple of times: how waiting for the right guy to share a family with didn't seem like a viable option anymore, how at least she could move forward with an important piece of that dream - if she did it now - and start a family of her own.

I didn't blame her for thinking that way. Not under her circumstances, for sure. But I really wouldn't wish single motherhood on anyone, especially my friends. Mothering is hard in a committed relationship where you have backup, never mind when you're alone.

I told her that if she was really, truly thinking about it that she needed to explore mommy-baby support groups within her local community.

I told her:

This isn't something you can (or should) do completely alone. You're going to need to have other people in your life to share the highs and lows with. And believe you me, you've no idea what highs and lows will come with motherhood until you are one. If you think you've seen dark days, just wait until you have a kid. You don't understand the meaning of dark until you're stretched beyond logic and reason to be bigger, a more selfless person than ever. But you've also never seen the sun, not until you've looked into your kid's face.

I want her to have a support group, even if that means she moves back to her home place to be close to her parents. I told her there was no point in being too worried about job loyalty when having a kid was going to challenge all loyalties within her heart for further examination.

Having kids makes you reevaluate everything.
And some things stay the same, but oh-so-many more things change.
Including yourself.

It helps to have someone outside of yourself be a witness to the change, a sounding board for the growing pains, a shoulder to cry on...

I don't doubt for an instant that she's strong enough to go it alone.
But, even strong people need support from time to time.

An opportunity to feel special

"I like feeling special."

It's what you confirmed to me while we were talking and kissing in your bed.

I like that feeling too.
There's nothing much like having an opportunity to feel special.

And even though I am pretty sure you've had many more bed partners than I have, you do a really good job of making me feel special and unique when we share bed-space.

And we should be confident that those opportunities together are truly unique, and we should revel in the special feelings, because for those moments shared, we've chosen each other. And they have been beautiful happy moments; moments of raging desire and tender snuggles.

I'm still not sure how we manage the balance between two such different perspectives of sex, the fine line of fucking and making love. And maybe it isn't a balancing act after all. Maybe, instead, it is a teeter-totter, a see-saw between the two.

Back and forth, in and out, enough that both our Id's and Ego's are satisfied with the experience.

------

Our conversation is a mix of dialogues from a porn movie and the Real World.

We covered protection last time, but I mentioned it again this time in preparation for what I hope to be: a next time.

"Next time, we'll have to use a condom. I'm having my IUD removed."

"We can get one now, if you want," you offered generously.

"Nah. Next time is will be fine enough."

I was being greedy. I wanted to feel you.

I was being generous. I wanted to give you a opportunity for mental preparation, a kind of "we'd better enjoy this, because it won't happen this exact way ever again." 

Come to think of it...
Nothing ever happens the exact way ever again.

------

Feeling you inside of me challenges me to accept new dimensions of myself. My senses are pushed to the next level; everything pulses as if about to explode.

I told you this time, "This is the stuff that magic is made of," because I couldn't figure out a way to describe it any better; and "ohh, this feeeellls soooooo goooooodddd," seemed trite and cliche.

------

I went all-girl on you and cried.
I didn't mean to.
And I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable.
I didn't want it to.
But I couldn't help myself.
Somewhere along the way...

with all the pressures of real life,
with all the insecurities of being me,
with all the unknowns of my future,
with all the denials of my real feelings,
with all the past rejections of my heart,

our shared moment called me out;
and I gave into...

the beauty of confidence,
the pain of your aggression,
the sensual nature of my womanhood,
the hunger for your body,
the pleasure of our union,
the comfort of being held,
the tenderness of our relation to each other.

I was tapped.
And the tears came.
And I wasn't sure what to do.
And I didn't think you would mind,
But I was still scared that you would.

My vulnerability had been stripped bare.
I had nothing left.

And I was overwhelmed by the raw-glory of the moment.

(and I was happy to share it with you -- it's easy to feel that way when I feel sure that I'm wanted)

------

I am heading to the doctor this week to take care of that damned IUD.

I was surprised to get one so quickly, but it most certainly needs to happen. I'm not sure whether I should worry about coming up with a story explaining the bruises you left on my thighs; or, if I should just...not worry about it.

She may decide to commit me, if I told her they make me feel special.

Tom Kha Smiles

Restaurant: Anna’s Thai Cafe in Burlington, NC

Oh, I hate mushrooms, but I love this soup! If you haven’t tried Tom Kha, I would high recommend it.

Tom Kha is a traditional Thai soup that uses coconut milk and lemongrass as predominate ingredients. There are others that come-and-go based on the specific flavor you’re going after. It’s spicy, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, it’s just about perfect if you’re congested from a cold or a killer case of allergies.

I had forgotten that Tom Kha at Anna’s was served with big fat mushroom chunks. The rich earthy flavor of mushrooms is a treasure and I accept that readily; but their texture still gets the better of me.
I looked at my friends, looked down at my soup and started fishing around.

“What are you doing?” one asked quizzically.

“You’ll see,” I answered with a playful gleam in my eye.

A few quick adjustments and I was done.

“Viola!” I said with flourish.

The two successful, thirty-something women across the table from me looked at me incredulously and then giggled. I had just successfully tackled their serious sense of decorum and propriety, and reminded them how much fun it was to play with their food.

Then I offered-up my now-famous mushrooms to my hungry friends (just because I don’t like to eat mushrooms doesn’t mean they should go to waste) and got down to business.

Tom Kha is smooth and creamy soup – a little bit of a paradox because it’s creamy and tart all at the same time (thanks to the lemongrass). As I mentioned before, expect the spices to hit your sinuses more than anything else.

By default, Anna’s serves the soup with cubed tofu, which I personally think is the perfect addition. You can order chicken and it would go along splendidly with the flavors, but the tofu supports the “lightness” of the soup.

If you’re hungry, get the chicken. It’s not going to hurt a thing.
And enjoy! Tell Anna I sent you.

sitting in a non-moment

We were snuggled on the couch; two people suspended in a happy-quicksand moment of beer and live music, and shared company.

I was soaking in your warmth, the solid feeling of your body so close to mine, the acceptance that comes along with being familiarly close with someone I appreciate and who I believe appreciates me.

It was a moment of peace. 
A moment of being absolutely 100% in the present...and happy.

We have a history, but it is left mostly untouched.
There's no reliving the moment, only tentative comments from both us every now and then.

As if we're asking each other, "Did that really happen? Did we really do that?"

And the answer is yes.
But, we don't explore much past the affirmative.

We journey forward in a friendly manner.
Supporting each other as best we can from our different places in life.
It's a kind caring; a mutual kind of encouragement for each other.

A very human love.

------

"Aw, you guys are so cute together."

She was loud, brash...and drunk.
She invaded our space with her assumption, with her challenge.

"Um, we're not actually together."

Maybe, that's not what I should have said.
She became angry, almost insulted that I had denied such an obvious fact.

"What do you mean you're not together?! Why not? I can tell that you like him."

I didn't realize that my "we're not together" could be translated into "I don't like him." I reminded myself she was drunk. I reminded myself that it didn't matter what she thought.

"You're a fucking coward."

Oh. Well. That is true on so many levels, but I decided it wasn't really prudent to start down that path of conversation with a drunk woman who just seemed to want the fairy tale to make sense in her head.

I couldn't blame her for that.
We all want the fairy tale to make sense in our heads.

------

Unfortunately, reality isn't the fairy tale we want for our lives.

It doesn't really give us the neatly tied package of happily ever after. It gives us struggle after struggle to battle, to do our best to overcome.

Our happily ever after, should we choose to accept it, is an endless process of fight-and-win.

And tonight, I wasn't fighting. Nor was I winning.
I was sitting in a non-moment, in a time-out.

I was "just being" on the couch close to you.

And it seems, my reality was calling me out...again. 

the red, burnt-orange light

It spoke to me again.

This light knows no kindness.
It's a lustful beast of heat and desire, of touch and taste.

It teases me now.
That we're not together.

It reminds me everyday of how it wanted to see us touch, to see us taste.
Its reminders keep you close to my mind.

Infuriating.
Lusting.

Of all people to share this light, to share this beautiful red-insanity...

I wanted it to be you.

I wanted you to touch my face with your green-eyed intensity. I wanted the balance of lust and trust, of dominance and submission, to be tested within the clarifying light of this late afternoon mind trip.

Pineapple Tongue

I kiss your tongue.

It's wild and tropical, like pineapple so tart and sweet. It's juicy and I drink of your essence, knowing that this will be among the last kisses I ever give to you.

My flavor is dark and spicy, heavy with things like coffee and nuts and chocolate. We make our own nectar in this moment; a sticky, memory-binding kind of paste. It'll prove a lasting topping to the experiences that have led up to this moment. It'll encase things like stars and crosses, electricity and fire, food and love.

Young love.

The kind that will never be forgotten.
The kind that forgives easily.
The kind that explores with a dynamic zest. 

------

It's the kind of love we all wish to go back to, but after you've had it, after you've made such a nectar, there's nothing quite like it.

There's a freedom in its zest.
A freedom that becomes timid, tired even, after heartbreak.