I've been meaning to go back and reconstruct this for ages. It's intimidating. So I'm breaking it down into little pieces. You know, instead of doing the dishes and getting to bed.
Though can I just say? I LOVE having the energy to come home and COOK DINNER FOR MYSELF (pasta, fresh turkey meatballs, thawed homemade (by me!) tomato sauce, frozen brocoli). And do stuff afterwards (admitting my my weekly guilty pleasure here: Private Practice (SUCH a terrible show!) and Grey's Anatomy) on Hulu. And then still have the inclination to blog afterwards? Wow.
Screw the dishes.
I decided in July 2009 that I wanted to be a Single Mom. (I decided to capitalize it because, you know, dammit, I think we are all fine, brave women. And "single mom" deserves to worn like a title, with pride. So Single Mom it is!)
I had just broken up with Tom. To be more precise, he had broken up with me. I'm glad he did. We liked each other quite a bit. We laughed a lot. And I would have never broken up with him because it felt good enough. He was intimidated by the fact that I was better educated, better employed, and just plain smarter than him.
It sounds snobby to say this, but sometimes, it's good to just say it.
I didn't care about those things. But the truth is, while I really didn't care about the employment and education part, and goodness knows he was working on those things (started grad school to finish his bachelor's degree and then complete a master's degree, to become a special ed teacher)... the smart thing probably would've been an issue over the long haul. He wasn't dumb, by a long shot. But we really couldn't participate in intellectual discussions together. And as much as I hate to admit it, that might've been hard, at least. We were just brought up in such different worlds. I don't think his family wrangled over the dinner table. I can't say we did it better (lord knows there were a lot of terrible things about my childhood), but I guess that's the way I'm used to, now.
Anyway, Tom and I broke up. Wow, I can distract myself, can't I???
The very first Saturday after we broke up, I woke up and thought, that's it. I'm done putting my life on hold. For anyone. Or for a lack of anyone.
At first, I thought this meant that I was going to buy an apartment. But about three weeks later, I realized, nope, I'm going to have a family. On my own.
Completely untrue to character (my own), I planned to wait seven months before taking any concrete steps towards getting pregnant. I had read Jane's seminal book, Single Mother By Choice, when I was just twenty-five, and I suppose the idea had never been far from my mind since then. It was drift towards the back when I was in a relationship, then spring forward immediately every time I was single again.