Someone told me the other day that the “life of a writer is an open book.” I must admit that freaked me out a little…well…maybe a lot. I mean, my intentions from the beginning has always been to be open and honest, but I guess I hadn’t thought about how far open. Apparently, I’ve written some good stuff thus far—I’m not tooting my own horn here—but it’s based on the comments from supporters that have frequented my blog. I appreciate all the dialogue, the “likes” and the shares! Keep it coming ladies! If you haven’t thus far, please go check out my posts. The rest of you come with me please.
Around four years into my post-divorce phase, I’m convinced my biological alarm did more than just tick, it started blaring. I was DVRing and watching episodes of 16 and Pregnant, boo-hooing during every one of the labor and delivery scenes (don’t judge me now; Baby Stories is off the air). I eventually stopped tuning in and torturing myself by way of the television. But all it took was one “goo-goo gaga” of a precious little baby boy or girl in a stroller or the arms of another new mommy to get me going again.
Not to mention, my son was begging for me to have a baby; a sister, according to his specifications, because he figured she wouldn’t bother his things, but a brother would. Our conversations usually went a little something like this…
“Mom, since you’re not going to be with my dad…wait…are you sure you’re not going to be with my dad?”
“I’m sure. You’re dad and I are just friends.”
“Well, that sucks! I’m still a little upset about that. But why don’t you just marry someone else, have a baby, then get a divorce.”
“Why would I get a divorce? I want to be married again.”
“Because I don’t want another daddy, I just want a sister.”
Obviously he and I had several long discussions about daddies, babies, marriage, and divorce. But, truth is, I wanted a baby just as bad as he wanted me to have one. And that meant I had to at least be open to date, in order to get a man, that could eventually be my husband.
How hard could it be? Well…extremely difficult for someone like me, who was terrified of the idea of meeting a stranger, who could potentially be a serial killer; trusting him, when he could potentially be a serial killer, or even allowing him to get to know me or my son for that matter, when he could potentially be…yes…a serial killer. I had problems in the trust area as you can see, but you have to admit the odds are up there. But real talk, even if that was the least of my worries, ulterior motives, infidelity, mental instability, criminal records, numerous baby momma’s, and STDs were definitely some of the major concerns I had with meeting someone.
And as cute as I thought I was at times–my insecurities would come and go—men weren’t actually throwing themselves at me or chasing me down. And I’m such a traditionalist. I figured if they were interested then they would approach me. That’s the way I remembered it working when I was single back in 1997. Boy was I in for a rude awakening…things had changed a lot.
A few of my bff’s gave me some advice. There was a common consensus that I had to be a little more forward if I wanted to start dating—like, “hey I couldn’t help but notice you looking my way. My name is…” or “What’s the name of that coffee, is it good? I was going to try that. By the way, my name is…” forward. I wasn’t comfortable enough with approaching a man and having a conversation with him in Starbucks or Barnes & Noble or anywhere else for that matter. I just wasn’t. However, I could run my mouth all day about life and current affairs with any man, if “getting to know you” wasn’t my objective.
I was told that, although I was beautiful (beauty is in the eye of the beholder), when I walked into a room, I emitted this energy that I was either unavailable or not interested at all. So I had to change that and maybe start giving a little more eye contact, or smiling back, and an occasional wink or two might not hurt. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Yesss,” they all would say. And the ridiculous to-do list just went on and on, in my mind.
I’m still shocked at the role single women have to play in the dating game. We’re expected to throw ourselves out there just enough so men know that we’re interested in them too. But be careful ladies, not too much throwing, because we could easily be labeled as one of those ThIrStY ChIcKs I talked about in another post. From what my girls told me, we have TLC’s “No Scrubs” and Destiny Child’s “Bills, Bills, Bills” (can you pay my bills) and “Independent Women” movement to thank.
In my opinion, men seemS to be intimidated or maybe more insecure about the possibility of rejection–I knew the latter to be definitely true because of conversations I had with my male friends. But, it was just too much. I was dealing with my biological crisis while trying to maintain my SiNgLeNeSs with some dignity.
So I figured the best bet would be to be totally open to getting to know someone and dating but with one major condition; he would have to be highly recommended. Someone I knew or someone that knew someone I knew (friend of a friend) would have to seriously vouch for this guy. I had a few other non-negotiables too. He had to have his own relationship with God, be heterosexual (you have to be specific these days), love me and my son, have an education and his own money, be respectful, responsible, and honest. My list wasn’t as extensive as Chili’s–although I respected her for knowing exactly what she wanted–but it was sure to narrow down the bunch.
So as you can see ladies, my plight transitioning into the next phase of my life…to date or not to date…was going to be an interesting ride to say the least. I have plans to take you along with me, on a WrOnG MiStEr series. Be sure to read Part 2 – 12.
Until next time Mommies…