Saturday, January 30, 2010

What a difference the years make...

Mike and I split up shortly before Rhi turned one. That was just about two years ago.

I was pretty much a wreck. It was really hard to be on my own after the longest relationship I'd ever been in. And I was a stay at home mom, so I was broke, and had no income coming in. What the hell was I going to do? Add to that the monstrosity of a home Mike and I were buying. It was insane, and needed a billion pounds of work. Work I for sure COULD NOT do on my own. Work that would cost me a ton of money to contract out.

Add to that the fact that I had, at the time, Mike's horrible truck, a gas guzzler with a leaking brake line. Oh, and did I mention a baby? "Leaking brake fluid line" and "baby" are not two things you want to put together, for sure.

And even once I had a job and car and such, things were hard. Mike and I weren't the nicest to each other at first, for obvious reasons. Our relationship has evolved a ton since then, but, at first...jeez. It was wretched. We couldn't have a civil conversation. And we got back together a few times, just to break up again.

The end of a marriage is a gut wrenching thing. Even if you know it's not working, even if you know it can't's heartbreaking, and horrifying, and terrible, and a million more adjectives, not one of them good. I never felt like more of a failure, like more of a terrible person, mother...

I'm very glad to be done with that part. It's not something I'll ever forget, though. Even thinking about that time can bring me to tears.

Luckily, like I said, things evened out. Luckily, because I know tons of people whose relationships never did, who still deal with an ex who brings them strife or pain. Mike and I, I can honestly say, attempt to treat each other with tons of respect and try to help each other in whatever capacity that we can.


Back after we'd first broken up, I remember telling a friend that I was sad because I really wanted another child. And I was certain that now, I wasn't going to have one. It broke my heart. You see, I determined long ago that thirty was my personal baby cutoff. Some women's biological clocks start then...mine was over at that time. The end. After thirty, my uterus, I decided was closed for business. And I was certainly not going to find someone to spend forever with by the age of thirty. Not when I was just now freshly split at 26. (Or 25. I honestly can't remember if it was before or after my birthday.)

So I dated...a lot. And it was frustrating, as dating always is. Fun, sometimes, but frustrating.

Enter Shane.

If you gave me a pen and paper two years ago and made me write a list of the way I assumed my boyfriend would be, I assure you, it would not have added up to a profile of Shane. Shane and I are vastly different people in a lot of ways. I'm the emotional, passionate one - he's the logical, analytical one. I am quick to do something once I've decided I want to and he'll procrastinate even if he KNOWS he has to do something. We can't even agree on a damn radio station. I love pop and he...doesn't. I love seafood, and vegetables. And mushrooms, yum! He loathes all of those things. And, dear god, I could write a much longer list. It's got the makings of a situation comedy written all over it, let me tell ya.

And, yet, here we are. We're happy, despite the fact that I'm not sure we can ever see eye to eye on lots of stuff that I'd once thought was important. And, against my own odds, we're having that second child that I wanted but was sure I'd never have.

Life's pretty crazy sometimes.

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