WARNING: THIS POST HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (REALLY) TO DO WITH FOOD.
A far better writer and way cooler Mom than me (Cat Poland – check her out at http://momontherange.com/) recently pointed out that one of the things she missed about being pregnant was the food. I’m with her there, sometimes!
I have always, always, ALWAYS worried about my weight – and mostly for no good reason. I’ve never been overweight, and while my weight has fluctuated to a top of 157 and to under 100 pounds in my adult life, I’ve almost always been generally healthy. Like most first time moms living in the age of stick-thin actresses, thinspo and eating disorders, I put an inordinate amount of pressure on myself to stay thin throughout my pregnancy. (What a joke – and I didn’t stay thin. I stayed healthy.)
Somewhere around month seven when I actually started to look pregnant – prior to that no one really believed my little bump was anything more than a big lunch – people started throwing the “Oh, here… you’re eating for two, now!” comments out as they scooped a second helping of whatever was being served onto my plate. So, for the first time in my life, I shamelessly stuffed my face with whatever was handy. I kept this up throughout breastfeeding, throughout most of my life as a Mom to be honest.
Since I got pregnant, I’ve spent a lot of time “doing” for two – I’ve shopped for two, thought for two, planned for two, Lord knows I’ve eaten for two (even when I should have only been eating for one), bathed for two, cried for two… the list is really pretty endless. Lately, I’ve been dating for two.
I recently joked to my Mom about my (very real) fear that I’ll be alone forever and she fired back a comment that has really made me think: “Maybe if you weren’t so damn picky, you wouldn’t be alone”.
Shit. She’s right. (Mom, if you’re reading this… Well, there you have it. I said it. YOU’RE RIGHT. First time for everything…. Ha!)
I am picky. I think it’s great, mainly because there was a time when I really wasn’t picky enough. A younger me was easily swayed by well-versed flattery, and flash of a smile and toned biceps. If he was smart that was a bonus, if not… oh well. Did we get along? Well, as long as we did part of the time. Would he be a good dad? Pfft, who cares. Hit that bridge when we get there.
All of those nonchalant ideas of dating went out the window when I became a single mom. It took over two years of motherhood for me to truly be a single mom – in that I was no longer “officially” in a relationship. For all intentive purposes, as I once had pointed out by my amazing best friend, I’ve always been a single mom. But I digress.
Dating. It sucks. Doing it as a single mom? WHOOOOOOLE different ballgame.
The first big question is how the guy will react to knowing I’m a single mom. Some are good about it, some are weird about it, some make me want to take them and shake the stupid out of them.
I’m a single mom, but I’m still a person boys!
Maybe it’s because my past dating practices were so pathetic and poorly worked out, I just didn’t realize how difficult dating as a single mom was going to be. I pick guys apart now… just read #DatingFail for proof of that one, even if he did kind of deserve it. A LOT.
Even though I’m not looking to fill the position of Dad for Finley, the fact is that any guy I seriously date is going to be a part of Finley’s life, and that is not something I’m taking lightly. If he drinks too much, he’s out. If he swears too much, he’s out. I’ve set my standards maybe a little bit too high, but I’m sure there’s gotta be someone out there who fits the bill (other than my Dad).
So, future man of my dreams, take note:
|I work out.|
I am picky.
I like healthy foods that are made with love and shared over laughter and happiness. I like wine, but I don’t think much of drinking to excess. I like Twilight – get over it. I would love to go to school at Hogwarts. I don’t give a flip-flying-fuck what kind of car you drive, as long as you drive it sober, safely and you didn’t steal it. Please cut your hair, pick up your socks and don’t ever call me crazy, or woman or especially, crazy woman. It won’t be pretty.
Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to my parents. You must be willing to laugh at me, dance with me, walk with me and love the little things. I don’t care how much money you make, but please have a job. That would be nice.
Don’t try to be Finley’s Dad, but don’t be afraid to fall in love with him too. He’s way cooler than I am, anyway. Loving cars, trucks, trains, planes and all manner of things that drive is not required, but it will probably help your case with him. You should probably also like dogs, and not have too many pairs of shoes. There’s only so much closet space in this world, and I don’t know if I can possibly love you enough to share… but I’ll try.
If you need to be inspired as to why to love me… the photo should do the trick.