Bad Artwork as a Result of Self-Pity

Last night I apparently decided to do a very commendable job of feeling sorry for myself. I moped around the house, oh-woe’d me up the wazoo, blinked back unnecessary tears, cursed every little perceived slight...all to the sympathetic but bewildered audience of one sensitive Border Collie and a cat. I had PMS and was wallowing in it, all by myself.

Mr. Right had gone to his son’s very first soccer event, where ex-nonwife was also in attendance along with mutual friends. By gawd I had a right to feel sorry for myself! I pictured him sitting on the bleachers next to the quite ample girth of ex-nonwife (who, of course, didn’t look nearly half as good as I did waiting for him at home in my bright yellow sponge-bob PJ pants, size Medium thank you very much!), who batted her stubby eyelashes at him while she flirted and sweetly pumped him for more money. I’d mentally freeze frame and draw red horns and a mustache on the image of her, then insert myself in a kick-ass pantsuit, hooker boots with spike heels and perfect hair. She would cringe back, hissing like the devil’s minion as I sashayed towards Mr. Right, my hips swaying to a tune of cha-cha-cha-cha-MEOooooW! Look at what he traded up to, my body would sing, and eat your heart out chicky! I wouldn’t even have to slay her – my awesomeness was so epic that violence wasn’t required. I would shame her with a look and Mr. Right and I would float away, hand in hand, to a tune of Happily Ever After.

DIE, EVIL ex-nonwife, DIE!!!

 

Then I’d blink the image away and find myself back in reality, standing in my kitchen, alone. I have no problem being alone – I enjoy periods of solitude and occasionally require them to recharge. But last night I felt left out. Logically I know that’s not the case; I’m not ready to meet the ex-nonwife or be involved in the ‘firsts’, and I’ve told Mr. Right that. But in the midst of last night’s pity party, I felt slighted. He’s off with his little family and I’m not a part of that, was the thought that ran repeatedly through my head.

Sunday night I had my family over for dinner, after which my sister – who is pregnant again! – went to the emergency room and left my 2.5 year old twin nieces to hang out with Auntie and Mr. Right. I got a little glimpse into how perfect my life could be when I bathed those babies and tucked them into the bed in my guest room; a little piece of me, sleeping safe and sound in the next room while I cuddled in bed with Mr. Right. Everything I want, so close and so possible and yet still so impossible. I’m ready for a baby, I’ve been emotionally ready for years and financially prepared since TMP; I’ve even been having dreams lately about it. Mr. Right and I have had many serious discussions on the topic; when we first started dating, I told him up front that I absolutely must have children. We’ve contemplated what our genes would look like combined into a little boy or girl. But I know he’s not ready to take that step yet, and the biggest things holding me back are: 1) the still relative newness of our relationship, we’ve been together for less than a year; 2) Though he’s at my house 90% of the time, we do not live together in any official sense; and 3) His financial ties with the ex-nonwife. There’s no question of love and respect and caring; but all that alone won’t sustain a relationship, and if I’m to have a child with the involvement of the father then I want to know that we’ll be together for the rest of our lives, as does Mr. Right. But yesterday I found myself wondering why I’m waiting. I could be actively trying for mommyhood right now, I could have a child before my 33^rd birthday and finally see my biggest dream realized. But instead I’m waiting on a man, putting my number one desire aside Again for something else. Waiting to see if we’ll have what it takes to last. What if, a year from now, something happens between Mr. Right and I and I’m forced to start all over again? Why should I continue to deny myself and not have My Own little family instead of just taking charge and actively going out and getting what I want? It goes against my very nature; I’m not a wait-and-see’er, I’m 100% a go-getter. But I want Mr. Right and I want children, and I’m relatively certain that Mr. Right would not be ok with me getting knocked up by a turkey baster. Hell, I’m not even sure I’d be OK with being artificially inseminated right now, when the possibility of having a child with the man I love exists. And yet this feeling of having everything I want within my grasp but not having it, not being totally certain I’ll ever have it, scares me. Makes me sad. Helps me feel sorry for myself when my hormones are out of control and inspiring tears for no reason. Mr. Right, upon arriving home, noticed that I was out of sorts and questioned me on it. “I have PMS”, I told him, and he comforted me while I held the tears in.

For now, I keep this all to myself. I don’t tell Mr. Right how it feels to know he’s with ex-nonwife instead of me, that he’s sharing these family moments with her and I’m alone. I know that will eventually change, and I also know that when it changes it will most likely come with a separate set of issues. When it comes to the baby thing…well, it’s more difficult to be resolved about that. Part of me is tempted to ask him how he’d feel if I went the sperm donor route, just so I would know. My logical brain whispers at me to just stuff it down, and give it 6 months. Just 6 months. He’s worth it.

Here’s to dreams of beautiful, curly-haired blue eyed babies.

~~PS: I can't decide on a blog template, and I don't have time to make one myself. So be prepared for a new look every day!~~