The Stranger in the Mirror

As long as I can remember I have wanted to be a mom. And that doesn’t mean when I turned 20 – it means since the time my memories began taking shape as a child. At four years old when my brother was born, I would pull the rocking chair in his nursery over to his crib and drag his tiny belly over the sides every morning. Sometimes I would even climb in with him. That feeling never went away. I started babysitting at 11 and loved every minute of it. I always dreamed of growing up, getting married and having lots of kids (at least four).

I had an amazing pregnancy. No vomiting. No stretch marks. Minimal weight gain. (Before you decide to hate me, please keep reading.) It was 41 ½ weeks (yes, you read that correctly) of sweet anticipation and excitement for the life I was growing inside me.

The day my son was born is one I will never forget. My husband was stuck at my side guiding me with his silent strength, coaching me through the process which ended with him catching our son in his arms. We called out at the same time “It’s a boy” as we suddenly – and immediately – became a family.

From the outside, the days, weeks and months that followed that day likely seemed picture perfect. After all, I had everything I had ever wanted. I was part of the club…I was a mom.

So why did I feel so far away from myself?

It started with mild anxiety. Traffic. Errands with a newborn. Then a near panic attack on an international flight. My mind wouldn’t focus. I tried to reason with my very self-aware self. Nothing worked.

I started seeing a therapist. I told her to move quickly and push me through the process. The sooner I could be back to myself, the better. Then she took me to a place I wasn’t ready to go. I fell deeper. And I stopped going.

A year later, a female guest at a friend’s wedding was being nice to my husband. Nice. I couldn’t handle it. I was afraid of losing him. Afraid I wasn’t good enough anymore. Wasn’t fun enough. These thoughts scared me. They weren’t me. It was as if some stranger had taken over my brain. I called my therapist immediately and asked to come back. She welcomed me with open arms, and promised to take it slow. Neither of us knew just how fragile I was before.

Therapy helped. It gave me a safe place to unravel as I got worse. The words “anxiety” and “depression” quickly become all too familiar to me. They began defining who I was. I couldn’t go anywhere without them tagging along. The fear soon set in that I had lost myself forever. My sweet son would never know the woman I used to be when I dreamt about being his mother. My husband had lost the woman he loved more than anything…his partner. I was a shell of who I used to be. It was terrifying.

I became thin – no, skinny. Anxious. Scared. Insecure. Sad.

Months went by. I was committed to healing, but scared – frightened – of taking medication to get there. I tried acupuncture. I went to doctors. I got worse.

All the while my therapist stuck by my side. Committed to helping me cope. To find my way back. Funny thing is, she didn’t even know who I was before – but she wouldn’t give up trying to. The day she convinced me was one of the best days in recent memory. She told me drugs would allow me to stop gripping so hard. Would allow me to let go. At least help me heal. You see, it’s hard to heal when you’re holding on so tight. I could sit back, even if just a little.

It’s been about six months now since I let go. I bought a house and moved my family 1,000 miles to a new city. A few months ago I laughed so hard I cried while watching an episode of Modern Family. That’s when I knew it. I was coming back.

Laughing feels good again. Loving my son feels amazing. Trusting and appreciating my husband is a sweet gift.

In my wildest dreams I never thought this sort of thing could hit me. Not the girl who wanted this so bad. Not the one with the picture-perfect pregnancy and delivery. I never dreamed it would be this hard. That I would go so far away from who I was. Who I wanted to be. But, post-partum doesn’t discriminate.

I am still terrified by the thought of having a second child. I have an internal reaction every time a friend tells me she’s pregnant for the second time. Those feelings of inadequacy and the fear of being a bad mother can creep up without warning. But, I’m choosing my life first. And my son’s. And sweet husband. We are all healing.

And I’m learning that’s a process. 

Letting Go

What does letting go look like? What does it sound like? I imagine it’s a lot like a movie scene where a piece of glass shatters in slow motion. There is no sound. Just the painful and anxious eternity that it takes for the glass to hit the floor. One braces for the fall, knowing from experience – from intuition – what the fall means. A loud noise. A mess of broken glass. Even blood. It signifies finality. Once the glass shatters, it’s gone. The pieces will never be put back together. It will never look the same as it once did.

All of these thoughts fill the empty space that exists as the end draws near.

What are the rules when letting go? Where does judgment fall? Expectations? What if one laughs instead of cries? Feels relief? Maybe the pressure of protecting something so fragile was daunting, and the release is liberating. Should they feel shame? Guilt? Anger?

The glass shatters in what seems like minutes, but in reality is merely seconds. The reality sets in. What has taken hours, days, weeks, months, years to create has been destroyed. In seconds. Only now does one realize the implications. The irrevocability is deafening. It screams to be heard. To be acknowledged.

The silence of the fall will echo forever. Only acceptance will usher in the silence.

To My Sweet Boy

Today, my baby turns one. In a tradition I hope to keep going as he grows, I have written a letter to him to capture my feelings, love and hopes.

This year has been filled with ups and downs, but having this sweet little boy in my life has made it all worth it. I still cannot believe how lucky I am to be surrounded by the love of my two beautiful boys. On M’s first birthday, I am amazed I made it, sad it’s gone so quickly, happy he’s no longer an infant, and still taking it one day at a time – hell, sometimes one moment at a time.

To my sweet baby boy:

It’s hard to believe I’m sitting here looking back at a year already. It sounds so cliché to ask where the time has gone, and yet I can’t help but repeat that phrase over and over in my mind as I desperately search for a clearer understanding of how it seems like only yesterday you looked into my eyes for the first time. The past twelve months have been the greatest lesson in love that I have and will ever receive, as I have watched you grow and begin to develop into your own unique person.

I find myself constantly amazed by the joy with which you fill me. For the life of me I cannot believe it was me you chose to be your mom. I wish I could describe in words the honor that comes along with that title, but I’m afraid that even I, who is so often verbose and overly descriptive, would fail to capture that sentiment.

Who you are – even at this young age – is so beautiful. You have a laugh that is so contagious it stops me in my tracks wherever I am. And your daddy? He will do anything to hear it, including countless foreign accents and rhythmless dance moves. I love that he does this without thinking, and that you indulge him by responding with a big belly giggle. I love your curiosity. You want to know about everything, touch everything, explore everything and be a part of everything. From the dishwasher to the sink faucet to a roll of toilet paper, you look at everything with wonder and awe. Please never lose that. The world is full of wonderful things to explore and learn – you will never be done. I love your sense of adventure. That it doesn’t faze you to “fall back” on the bed or climb up the stairs. With every new thing you try and learn, you have a genuine excitement and pride that is beautiful to behold. I love your respect. For me. For daddy. You are an amazing listener. You are incredibly sweet. My favorite thing to do is pick you up from daycare. Sometimes if we’re lucky, daddy and I will come together to get you and we try to beat each other inside, knowing you will hug and snuggle with the first person through the door. I love your smile. Your beautiful eyes. I love the way you dance, bouncing and marching in place. I love the way you move your mouth to the sounds of the music. I love your excitement when you watch TheGiggleBellies, every time like it’s your first. I love that you wave to everyone you see in an attempt to get them to wave back (even on a plane when the woman sitting next to us clearly does not want to indulge you).

One night this past year I came across a blog post that brought me to tears. It was about love, respect and acceptance no matter who you are. As I read those words, it became clear to me that if I can do nothing else for you in this life, as long as I can instill in you a respect for others and yourself, I have done my job. Please never forget that every person deserves the same respect you do, and that everyone has the same right to live. Do not pass judgment on others because they are different – that is what makes us all special. Kindness will get you farther in life than money, fame or education. Please lead by example, and never give in to the pressure to be unkind.

Today is bittersweet for me. I am sad that the past twelve months have gone by so quickly, and scared the next one will go even quicker. And yet, I look forward to watching you grow into the person you are becoming, and experiencing your life with you. I love you so much more than you will ever know. Thank you for being. You have changed my life in ways I am just starting to realize.

Happy first birthday, my sweet baby boy.

The Mural on the Wall

I was putting M to bed tonight when I looked over at the wall mural behind his crib. Funny how something you see every day can suddenly have an effect on you. All of a sudden my mind took me back in time to the weekend J and I put that up on M's wall. At the time, we lovingly referred to him as Munchkin, having no idea he would be, well, a he. It took us two days to finish the project, at the end of which we stood back and looked with pride at the great work we had done together. The nursery was starting to come together, and it was starting to sink in that soon we would no longer be a family of two. Amazing how long "soon" felt in that moment, and looking back now, how fast it seems to have gone.

After ten months with M in our lives, my pregnancy seems to have lasted all of 5 minutes. Every now and again a memory pops into my head of life before him, but for the most part the routine of waking up, going to work, coming home, bed and bath time and finally crawling into bed completely and utterly exhausted prevents me from going down memory lane too often. Honestly I think it's the lack of brain power to devote to anything but the aforementioned activities that keeps me from daydreaming about the past.

It's amazing how one moment - one second - can break your life into before and after. J and I talk longingly about weekend mornings spent in bed, going out after work, watching an entire movie uninterrupted, making love when we felt like it and jumping in the car on a whim to head out of town for the day. I feel like I tell him I miss him more than I tell him I love him these days. And when he looks at me, it's like he's trying to find me.

For some reason I figured after ten months we'd have the hang of this new life. That we'd be old pros at this parenting thing and spend our days euphoric about our new family. I guess after 31 years of living our lives one way it takes a little longer than ten months to adjust to an entirely new existence. I am positive we'll get there. In the meantime (beyond being absolutely in love with that beautiful boy sleeping soundly upstairs), I will take what I can get in the little things like the mural, and be grateful for the small reminders of how this family began.

Is anonymity making us assholes?

I belong to an online moms’ group here in Boston, which I herald as one of the best things I’ve discovered since moving here. Moms ask questions about everything from baby sleep and feeding patterns to work issues and how to find a good couples’ therapist. Hands down it’s the best resource I could have possibly imagined as a first time mom. However, recently I became a bit disenchanted with a post from one of the other moms. While the details of the transaction do not matter for the purposes of this post, the gist is that she was unhappy with a local retailer and the way they handled a situation. So, like any scorned person with an internet connection nowadays, she took to the Web. She was angry—and she wanted other mothers to know it, and stand united against this big bad retailer. Except, this big bad retailer responded. Turns out, this retailer is a small husband and wife-owned resale shop in one of Boston’s neighboring suburbs. The couple pays their bills and raises their children on the profits they earn at the shop. They responded politely and with humility. As a PR professional, I think they handled themselves extremely well, and made sure to let them know publicly in a response to the whole group. But the whole experience got me thinking…are we losing our ability to treat people with respect because it’s so easy to hide behind the Internet? I would not hesitate to answer that question with a resounding YES.

Parenting is rolling with the punches (so throw out the expectations and learn how to duck)

We had a lovely weekend planned. J and I were going to take M and “Little J” to Portland for Disney on Ice and a fun stay in a hotel. This was an “experiential” Christmas gift we gave “Little J” since she receives far too many presents each year to really appreciate everything she has. And, what kid wouldn’t love a chance to see Disney on Ice!?! All of us were really looking forward to the opportunity to get away and enjoy some time as a family. We should have known better.

Parents are crazy (at least I admit it)

It amazes me that being a parent makes people so crazy. Men and women have been having - and raising - babies for thousands of years, and we continue to hold the rather insane view that despite that, we know what's best. I mean, sure, we are the ones that know our child(ren) the best. We have likely been there from the very first moment of conception, their arrival into this world, and are the ones who are at the center of their world. However, I refuse to be naive enough to believe that I am the only one who can care for my child. I for one truly appreciate that my son has the opportunity to spend some of his time at daycare where people discipline differently than me, are not able to give him constant attention, and likely hold different views on the world than me. I personally feel that exposing him to different people and opinions will make him a more well-rounded person.

Who Am I?

Funny thing, I thought I knew. Or, at least I knew who I was prior to having a baby. I was married to the love of my life. Made hard - but brave - decisions that got me to this point. Was spontaneous. Independent. Had breasts I was proud of. Stayed up late, and slept in on the weekends. With my husband. I had friends who called. And that I called. Friends who were there at my darkest moments. And my best.

Reading this description of myself now makes me sad. Because I don't know where she went. Or if she's coming back. I hope she comes back.

April 27, 2011: Our birth story

I thought about calling this post "my birth story," but soon realized it does not belong to just me. So, it is ours.

On Wednesday, April 27, 2011, I was 10 days past my due date. I weighed 128 pounds and was all belly. I had been in and out of doctors' offices and ultrasound appointments to make sure the baby inside was still healthy, despite the extended gestational period. My mom, dad and mother-in-law were in town, anxiously awaiting the birth of their grandchild (at that time, sex still unknown). My father-in-law had to leave on the 24th after 9 days of watching, waiting and consuming numerous bottles of wine (not alone - he had plenty of help).

A new last name

I never had any desire to change my name. My name has been my identity - who I was, how people knew me, what they called me. The thought of being something - someone - else frightened me. I always thought I'd be one of those women who marched to their own drum - a loving mother and wife, but one who just couldn't adopt someone else's identity through the old-fashioned "tradition" of taking a man's name. It's funny how time changes us. 

Letter to "Little J"

While I enjoy the process of writing anything - prose, stories, blogs - the thing I love the most is to sit down and write a letter. I love that I have the ability to tell the people I love how much I love them - in something written and permanent. I love sharing my feelings in a way that allows me to think about them. Feel them. I have thought of one day being able to write the story of my life - or at least sharing it with my children/grandchildren - through the many letters I wrote over the years. They are windows into my heart. They tell stories of love and heartache. I love to receive letters. Nothing makes me happier than reading words of love, support and friendship. Letters allow us to keep people with us, even after they're gone. These words ease pain, provide hope and express love.

Tonight I sat down and wrote a letter. Just the same as a blog post would do - if not even more - this letter expresses my feelings. It was inspired by the events that occurred today - the simple, everyday events that took my breath away, and made me so happy to be in this life.

Dear "Little J":

I remember when your dad told me about you. It was on our first date. I was so excited to meet you, to be a part of your life. I thought of all the time we would spend together. The memories we would make. Meeting you for the first time was such a joy. I immediately fell in love with you. Immediately. I remember the responsibility you automatically took on at 4 years old – understanding (but not quite sure why) the challenges adults with children face when dating. You wanted to know if your dad had told me about you – if I knew he had a little girl. I remember thinking about the incredible burden that must be at four – always wondering about your parent’s choices, the people in their lives and how you fit in. I wanted to be in your life starting from that moment, always making sure you have nothing but love surrounding you. The more time I spent with you, the more I loved you. And your dad. I had an instant “just add water and stir” family. And I loved it.

Then I got scared. I was scared of the future. Of playing a role I didn’t know that I could play. Would I be able to be the strength you will need as you grow up and experience life? What will I say when you get your heart broken for the first time? How will I react when you say the inevitable “you’re not my mother” line? My heart was breaking just thinking about the future and all the possible, hypothetical heartache. For a moment, I lost sight of all the happiness, love and friendship we would most definitely experience. For these fears – and letting them grab hold of me – I am sorry. I will always be sorry for the moments in your life you experienced anything but love and acceptance from me.

I love your capacity to love. From the moment I met you, you have been opening your heart to me. You immediately accepted me as part of your life. Without question. You trusted me. Each and every time I see you, I find a new reason to love you for who you are. I find myself excited to see the woman you will become, and the choices you will make. I also get nervous and scared, knowing some of those choices you will make may cause you deep pain. And there will be nothing I can do about that pain.

I hope I can be the friend you will need. I hope you will always feel my love, and always know I am here for you. I hope you will always know that you and your dad are my family, and nothing will ever change that. I will make mistakes. And you won’t always want my friendship or my advice. I hope you know that no matter how much life changes, you will always be our priority, and will always be loved. You took a piece of my heart the very first time I met you, and have been taking little pieces ever since. No amount of fear will ever change that.

Thank you for the love you bring to my life. For the happiness. And the laughter. For showing me a side of your dad that only makes me love him more. I look forward to our life together – every single moment.

All my love,
K

KP’s Comin to K’ville!!

As I write this post, I’m on an airplane headed to Knoxville. For weeks “J” has been keeping plans for my 29th birthday a secret – I had no idea what I’d be doing, where I’d be going or who I’d be seeing. My destination was only revealed to me upon check-in. I think I was the only one in the airport cheering because they got to go to Knoxville, Tennessee.

I came home from work on Monday evening to find a card waiting for me. It was a “Happy Birthday week” card from “J” who had left that morning for Houston. Honestly, I thought he would have forgotten my tradition of celebrating the ENTIRE birthday week. But, then again, every time I think “J” might not live up to the image of him I have constructed in my mind, he exceeds all expectations. While putting my clothes away that same night, I realized he placed another card in my closet and labeled it: “Open Wednesday evening”. Of course every ounce of me wanted to tear it open right then and there. But, since I love surprises and appreciated the lengths to which he had gone, I left it right there. When I finally read the note, he had instructions for me: “Pack enough clothes for the weekend, bring a bathing suit just in case and prepare for medium-to-warm weather.” My mind started REELING with the places we could be going…

For years I have always said my dream is to spend my birthday with my friends who have been so far away for so long. Secretly I hoped “J” had planned to take me there…to see my “family” and introduce him to my life before Boston.

For days people have been asking me where I’m going, what I’m doing, what clues I have and if (take your inner voice to a whisper here) I thought “J” was going to propose to me. Wow, thanks people. That thought hadn’t even entered my mind – now I have THAT to think about as well. (For those of you reading this who have just gasped, no, “J” is NOT going to ask me to marry him…female friends just can’t help but think in those terms). I have been a ball of nerves for days wondering what awaited me this weekend…

So, now I’m on my way. I know where I’m going, who I’m going to see and not quite what I’m doing just yet. As I was laying on “J’s” shoulder a minute ago, I remembered back to this very night one year ago today. I was in my rented room in JP, had just started a new job, and was fighting a losing battle with addiction. I remember how sad it felt thinking I would be spending my birthday alone in this new place. Now a year later, I’m on a plane sitting next to a man who has literally made my dream come true. I don’t even need to know what awaits me tomorrow or next week or next month. I already know this is going to be an amazing year. What a way to end my 30s, huh?

He even gave me the window seat.

Just add water

I have "adopted" an instant family. Or, better yet, have become part of one. Without even knowing it - just woke up one morning and voila! There I was in the middle of it.

When I started dating "J", I knew he had a daughter. He told me the night of our first date. Shortly after that night, I met "Little J" and fell in love immediately. I knew he had a daughter. I saw the pink coat. The princess room. The tiny shoes by the door. The pictures that covered the walls. I mean, I got it. "J" + "N" = "Little J". Biology, right? If only it were that simple...

With it being school vacation, we had "Little J" for an extended weekend. Thursday night - family dinner and some catching up with my mom and best friend (sidebar - SO GOOD!). Friday night - first softball game. Saturday - a WONDERFUL afternoon spent in Rockport, Mass climbing rocks and picnicking. Sunday - Barbies and "Little J's" first soccer game of the season. Just a typical weekend with the family...

So, despite the fact that I know "J" has a daughter, it hit me this weekend. "J" has a daughter. She's not just some kid who stays at our house every other weekend. It's not just playing house. This is real.

I couldn't love that kid any more than I do. She's amazing. And brilliant. And loving. But she's his. And not mine. She'll always be his. More importantly, she'll always be his first. At the beginning that wasn't such a hard realization. We were at the start of something wonderful, but had no idea where it would lead. "Future" was a word we used lightly. Now "J" laughs as he talks about what our future will look like. Together. And I (admittedly selfishly) realize that someone else shared that "first" with him...

I hate myself for even thinking this way. I know it's probably a normal reaction - but I hate "normal reactions". And I hate even more that "J" always has to be working to protect the people he loves...

For now, my life will consist of watching "J" be the dad he loves to be. It will be weekend soccer games and occasional Sunday morning Mickey Mouse pancakes. It will be falling deeper in love with this little girl that fate brought into my life.

Yes, for now, my life consists of my "just add water and stir" family. But after the AMAZING weekend we just had, I think I'm pretty lucky to have my "instant" family. Even if it is different than what I had imagined...

Wait!! My WHOLE LIFE is different than I imagined...and that's a pretty GREAT thing...

Sigh.

Meet "J"

I'm scared as I sit here in my bed writing this post. I've never been so scared to post anything here. It's ironic, huh? Of all the things I've said here, shared here - this is what scares me. The reason what I'm about to write scares me is because there's always a chance in life something won't work out. Won't be happily every after. If that happens - if I wake up one morning to find myself alone and heartbroken, I'll always have this post. These words. These emotions. This reminder. That's a chance I take every time I write. That these words will live on forever and inevitably so, too, will the emotions. But, since I'm too honest - and too much of an optimist - I'm going to take that chance. I'm going to share these words - these feelings - despite the risk.

I realized the other day that most people who read this blog know me well. My thoughts, fears, weaknesses and strengths. You know my laugh and my tears. But, despite the numerous posts that revolve around him, most don't really know "J". And, since he's so quickly become such an important part of my existence, I thought it only made sense to properly introduce him.

The first time I met him, it was his passion. His laugh. His smile. His blue eyes. He listened to me. Wanted to know me. Really know me. As I got to know him, I quickly saw how much he loves his family. With everything he has. Despite the pain and imperfection. They are part of him, and that's all he needs to know. Seeing them altogether is like nothing I've ever seen before. The love. The respect. It's something I long to achieve with my own family - both living and yet to be born. The first time I met "Little J", I saw a deep love I'd only known from my own parents. She feels safe with him. He is so proud of her. It's a mutual respect so precious. He trusted me from the very first moment we met with the most precious thing he will ever know. Maybe he saw the way I fell in love with her within 5 minutes. Maybe he didn't know what else to do.

He still listens to me. He can read my mind and know what I'm thinking before I say it. He loves my family. Despite the pain and imperfection. He has helped me see things in them I forgot existed. Goodness and strength and love that were hidden by pain. If for nothing else, I am grateful for that. He wants to protect me from pain and will go to whatever lengths it takes to prevent me from feeling any of it. I swear if he could he would take it all for me.

He makes me laugh. He tells terrible jokes. At inappropriate times. And I crack up. He makes himself crack up. Which makes me laugh that much harder. He still surprises himself every time he realizes he's funny. He recently started to snort when he laughs. My boyfriend snorts. Sigh. He's not afraid to sing out loud. He even likes when I sing (to clarify, quietly to myself). He makes me face my fears. I both hate him and love him for that.

He makes me dinner. With music and candlelight. He lets me steal the covers and bury my bum into his body. Without complaining.

He loves my friends. He's interested in their stories. Their kids. Their dates. Their beliefs. He wants to know them. And me through them. He wants to spend time with them and never complains about the countless stories of "yesterday" we tell. He doesn't know the names, places, emotions - but knows it is important to me. So he humors me. And I love him for that.

He's my very best friend. He calms me when I am out of control. And makes me smile when I'm sad. And holds me when I'm feeling hopeless. Or just for no reason at all.

Right now I'm sitting in our bed as he's watching sports downstairs. You can't pull him away from his sports - no matter what the emergency. I even love that.

I'm going to drift off to sleep now. I feel better knowing the people I care most about will have at least a snapshot of this man that has changed my life forever. Who knew that less than a year ago he was just waiting for me to move in across the street?? I like to think that even if we did, neither of us would have done anything different.

Building a future on the past

We moved into the new place on Tuesday, March 31st. By Friday we had guests. "J's" dad was on the same continent for work so he wanted to "swing" by and see the new place. We also had "Little J" for the first time in the new house. We spent Thursday night organizing her room so it was perfect when she got there. I only wish I could have seen her face when she saw it for the first time.

"J" had to leave for work on Saturday, so I agreed to stay with "Little J" and host her mom and baby sister for a few hours. I know it might sound weird to people outside the situation, but I like "N". She's a great mom and a good person. But, I think I also like her because she's never posed any threat to me. There is no history. No relationship. Nothing for the imagination except one night - and even when I TRY, I can't get that to bother me.

However, something about this particular visit just didn't sit right...

I ordered a pizza as soon as she got there, knowing I couldn't spend the entire afternoon visiting because I had a limited amount of time to spend on unpacking the seemingly endless number of boxes we had between the 2 of us. Bathrooms needed to be cleaned. Laundry done. Pictures hung. I sat on the couch in a puddle of my own anxiety as she spoke at me, wishing I could be alone in this mess so I could get lost in it. I wanted to be alone in MY new house to enjoy the things I hadn't seen in years. MY things.

The conversation was strange, to say the least. We talked about "Little J". We talked about "J". We talked about our first marriages. Photo albums. Letting go. Then we started talking about "J's" ex-girlfriend. This particular ex-girlfriend, "L" decided to end the relationship after 4 years because they wanted different things. He wanted a family. She didn't. "Little J" is still in pain, wondering what happened. Wondering why "L" suddenly disappeared. She brings this up with her mom, but is scared to bring it up with "J", worried she'll make him mad, or me upset. That is an insane burden for a 5-year old to bear, isn't it?

"N" continues by telling me that she recently told "J" when "L" left him, she didn't leave him because she fell out of love with him, but because she knew it wasn't fair to continue in the same direction when they both needed to ultimately go separate ways. I listened. I engaged in the conversation. I felt...out of control. Alone. Like a stranger.

I was sitting on OUR couch in OUR house, and this woman was telling ME about my boyfriend's past. About a time I didn't exist. I'm new. "L" is old. She experienced things I will never know. "Little J's" birth. Her first words. Seeing "J's" face as she took her first steps. And, she's still in love with him. I felt like an intruder. In his past. In his life. In "Little J's" life. I felt the painful pull of "L's" longing for it to be different. I felt the pain she must have experienced when she read about me. The look in her eyes as she saw the man she used to call hers. That I now call mine. How must he have felt when he heard "N" say those words: she's still in love with you?

After several hours, "N" left and I got busy cleaning. I didn't think much about the conversation that took place here. I knew I felt weird. For a moment I looked around and didn't recognize anything around me. They were someone else's memories. Someone else's life. Mine is in boxes. My memories are scattered along the many miles I've traveled over the past 2 years. And lining the walls of places from which I have run.

"J" called me that night to talk about what happened after we exchanged several text messages. He got angry. I cried. I didn't even know I was upset. The tears just started to fall. I wanted to stop talking about the past. Talking about a time I didn't exist here. He wants to protect me. From his past. From the pain. From the baggage he brings. The thing is, I bring baggage, too. Mine is just hidden. And silent. Mine doesn't come into his house and tell him about my life before him. I love him for caring so much about me to want to save me. And, just as the realization is setting in that this "baggage" is here to stay, I no longer seem to care. All that matters is what we have - and what we're building. Just because I'm not a part of his yesterday, doesn't mean I won't be a part of his tomorrow. (I like to think a very important part, at that).

My next challenge is setting my own boundaries and keeping to them. I need to be aware of my feelings, and give them a voice. I need to tell "N" when I'm not comfortable with where a conversation is headed. "J" wants to protect me so it will never come to this. But I love "Little J" and him too much to shy away. Loving "J" means embracing this situation. ALL of it. And, if that means faking "comfortable" in the midst of conversations about the past, then so be it. After all, it's MY future that's among these walls that have been built on the past.

Just another post...

So, I have been getting it from several friends lately about my lack of posts to this blog. The truth is, I totally deserve it. I'm actually angry with myself because this is my way of documenting my thoughts and feelings about all the events in my life. My apologies to my friends and myself - I have been working far too much and not putting in nearly enough effort into the things that make me happy, like keeping this blog.

I have been sitting at home - in my new home - for hours staring at the screen, trying to come up with the right words for this post. I wanted to - err, feel like I should - tell the story about moving into my first home in more than a year with the man who has made my reasons for moving to Boston almost a year ago crystal clear. Instead, I find myself without the words - feelings - needed to tell that story. So, rather than writing what I have really been feeling 3 hours ago, I sat and tried to force something fake. Something I thought other people would want to read. Wow - EXACTLY the thing I promised myself I would never do. Since I have never claimed to be a quick learner (except on job interviews, of course :)), I am just now sitting on our bed writing this post about how I'm really feeling right now - and not what I think anyone will want to read. (Don't worry...the moving story is just on hold for another day)

So, how am I feeling right now? Hmm...frustrated. Angry. Sad. Exhausted. Lonely. I have had several people ask me already (why wouldn't they, after all?) what it's like to live with "J". I mean, of course it's only been 2 weeks, but inquiring minds and people who care want to know, right? Every time I get that question I have to laugh. My response? "I don't even know - he hasn't been home since we got here." This is a slight exxageration, of course, as there has been a few days he has been home. If I counted, I think I would come up with 4. Those days are wonderful, I tell them. And I'm sure as they happen that they will continue to be wonderful...

He's traveling again right now. There are still pictures to be hung and things to be put away. Despite the fact that I want nothing more than to have this place put together, I can't bring myself to do it. I just don't have the energy to do it alone. I'm too tired...too worn down from exhausting days at work. After 12 to 14 hours, hanging a picture alone just doesn't seem like fun. So I wait. I have him for a week - a whole week - starting on Thursday. I'm betting on those days being wonderful...

I haven't heard from him today. I don't know what his day was like - if it was good or bad. I don't know the drama he had to sort through yesterday. And I haven't been able to tell him about my awesome review that happened yesterday. I think that's what I miss the most while he's gone - those trivial little moments that connect you with the person you love. The only person who really cares to hear those every day, mundane details of your life...

I'm not at all angry with him. Or his schedule. Most of the time when I even feel a hint of sadness while he's gone I get angry with myself for sounding like a "female". I don't do this - I don't wait up for someone to call. I don't need someone to be there when I walk through the door. I moved to Boston alone, dammit. And when I got here, no one had any idea who KP was. The problem is, I have come to realize, is that now someone does. And I like it. So, all that talk is just coming from someone who was/is scared to be hurt and to be left alone...

My mom is angry with me. Sigh. She has a problem with irrational fears - if she calls once and doesn't receive an answer, she calls again. Immediately. A second time and no answer and my phone is blowing up. Alternating calls and text messages, elevating from the normal: "please call me" to the ALL CAPS: "KP!!!!!!!!!!!" The problem is, she tried calling the night "J" came home after a week being gone. I am going to save everyone the details here, but just say that it would have been highly inappropriate for me to answer the phone. Apparently, in my mother's book, that's not the correct way to act with her. You see, rather than it being her responsibility to learn to control her irrational thoughts, I have to cater to them. Because of that, I'm being punished with my calls and text messages going unanswered. Really!?! She's the one who's ALWAYS there when I'm lonely. I can't help but wish she wasn't acting this way right now...

That brings me back to my bed. It's far too late for me to be awake. But, I feel acutely better knowing these feelings no longer reside in my brain where they will keep me awake all night. I promise to tell the story of moving into this wonderful new house, and mine and "J's" amazing trip to meet my family/friends. But, despite the fact that I can't imagine life being any sweeter, I just don't feel that right now. And, as you all know, I don't edit what I write here - no matter how much I sometimes wish I could. I have started to enjoy and appreciate the beauty in the imperfections of every day life...

KP's blow-up mattress chronicles: Part 2

Scene opens to KP sitting on her blow up mattress, sniffling. Still by Matt Nathanson is coming out of the computer's speaker. The same sheet covers the window. Clothes from the work day have been tossed on the bed's corner.

It's been a long day. I have spent the majority of it at the office, where it appears I will be spending much of my time over the next few weeks/months. On Friday afternoon I was pulled aside and told I was being added to another account. It's a "broken" account that we are working to "fix" before it's too late. So, with no other options, they chose me. I'm flattered. And scared. The fate of my job - of all of our jobs - could rest in this one account. Holy shit. The reality is terrifying. So, I am being infused with all the knowledge possible to bring me up to speed as quickly as possible. Who knows how this will play out. I have to admit I'm kind of looking forward to the challenge...

KP flashes back to last week when "J" was on her blow-up mattress next to her. She smiles.

"J" and I decided we needed a night alone before he left for Europe. Again. So, last Wednesday he left his mom home with "Little J" and we had a date night. It's crazy to me sometimes that 2 "single" people have to plan to see each other the way we often do. Seriously. It took SEVERAL text messages to plan an evening together. We decided on dinner at a fabulous restaurant in the South End, followed by some Port in the North End. Dinner was amazing. We talked about how hard it is to be apart constantly like we are - and to stay connected to each other. I was upset. Scared thinking about the implications that often come when one person is always gone, and the other is always waiting. Come to think of it, I'm still scared.

We left dinner and drove to the North End. After looking for a parking space for quite some time (and eventually finding one), we decided to just head home and spend some quiet time together. I laid on my bed going through emails for a client interview I was setting up. "J" laid behind me and let me rest my head on him. He looks at me with the sweetest eyes and says: "I love you, KP." He apologizes for not always being the perfect partner, but promises that just because he's not perfect at showing it doesn't mean he wants anything less than to be that person for me. With tears welling in my eyes, I capture that moment in my mind. I think this is my favorite moment.

The next day we have dinner with his mom and all head to pick mine up from the airport. Within minutes, we had both mothers in the same place - both from different continents. Crazy. We took "J's" mom home and continued (finally) to the North End for some dessert, wine and good conversation. It continued to our hotel where we visited for several more hours, until I was falling asleep mid-conversation. I walk "J" downstairs, kiss him and wish him a safe trip.

On Friday, after finding out about my new account and my impending stress, I call "J" before he boards his plane. He tells me about the newly uncovered issues with his citizenship struggles. UGH! Please, God, I think, don't take this away from me. Don't tell me this is too good to be true...

"J's" still gone. We are trying new ways of staying connected while we're apart. I think we're doing okay. Mom left this afternoon, which always makes me a little sad. No matter how long I'm away, or how old I am, I still miss being close to her. No luck so far convincing her to move out East. Emotional from these goodbyes and lack of sleep, I check my voicemails. I come across the first message "J" left (after the woman prompted me that it was about to be erased) and start to cry at the sound of his voice. I think to myself: is this normal? (I still don't have the answer). I left work to have dinner with one of my dearest friends. She talked about her plans to leave Boston within the next 3 to 6 months. I took the bus home with all of my luggage from the weekend with mom and came up to my room, where I sit now.

I have left so many places and so many people. So much of me is scattered across different cities and states...and even countries. But, I sit here and wonder...is life always about saying goodbye? I have to think it's not, because if it was, people would stop taking the time to say hello.

Scene ends with KP sitting on her blow-up mattress, exhausted after a long day. The Story by Brandi Carlile is now coming from the computer's speaker. She smiles thinking of the nice day she had, and the wonderful people who shared it with her.

KP's blow-up mattress chronicles: Part 1

My mentor and good friend told me that I should write a series/sitcom where every episode starts out with the main character sitting on her blow-up mattress blogging about the things that happen in her life. Picture Sex in the City meets Mary Tyler Moore meets Dear John.

It's sad how very true it is. Me sitting in the dark punching away at the keys, surrounded by nothing but space, a sheet-covered window and an old mirror. I thought that I'd give that a try tonight as I sit, well, you've already got the picture...

My apologies that I'm about to take you back a week. Last weekend "J" told me he made an appointment to look at an apartment for rent a few blocks away in Southie. He said it was to "get in the mode of looking for a place". It was Monday and I had the day off. We slept in, threw some clothes on and drove up the hill to see our first potential apartment together. We walked in and fell in love IMMEDIATELY! HUGE kitchen. TWO decks. TWO floors. THREE bedrooms. TWO bathrooms!!! We told the owner a little bit about us and left with the rental agreement in hand. Then we drove to the grocery store. Standing in the produce aisle, "J" looks at me and says: "Let's just do it. Why the hell not. It's AMAZING. We both love it. It's just what we're looking for. Let's go for it." I look at him holding a package of red leaf lettuce and say: "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

"J" calls and tells them we want it. The application process follows. References. Credit checks. We make an appointment to bring "Little J" today to give her approval. After all, we can't just make a big decision like that without getting her input.

I call my mom to tell her we found a place. With excitement in my voice, I tell her all about it. How AWESOME it is. "I'll have a closet," I tell her. "I can FINALLY get my things and put them in MY HOUSE. I'll have a home, mom." With little enthusiasm in her voice, she manages to say: "That's great." A few moments later, after a comment I make about the ex-husband, she says: "I think I'm going to go visit him in Philadelphia." Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly. The connection must be bad. I thought you just said you're going to visit my ex-husband. I don't think him OR his fiance would be comfortable with that. But, sure, call him and see what he thinks about it.

Funny thing - she hasn't mentioned this in 2 years, and the day I tell her my boyfriend and I are getting an apartment together, this is what she says. Issues, anyone???? I quickly realize that my mother's issues aren't with me and "J" moving in together at all, but with her own issues dealing with change. She has to get to know someone new. It will no longer just be us when she comes to visit. Someone else is important in my life. Someone else is my family. Loving me. Supporting me. Taking me away from her. As much as I sympathize and understand those feelings a parent experiences when faced with letting go, I have lost all patience for it. I believe a family is there to support, love, accept. Mine seems to be excited on their time and when it suits them. They don't like confronting their own demons - it's so much more fun to supress them. But, and maybe I'm crazy here, I think family should be more than talking about the weather.

Anyways, the week continues with little contact with my mom. I am working a lot and starting to get nervous to meet "J's" mom who was coming in this weekend.

So, heart pounding out of my chest, I met her yesterday for the first time. I was FREAKING out. The whole birthday situation left me scared to meet the woman who created and raised this AMAZING man I love. Hmm...maybe I shouldn't have been so tense. Haha! It went smooth - just as predicted. She is WONDERFUL. I can't even believe I was nervous. What an idiot!

Today we took mom and "Little J" to see the new apartment. We asked "Little J" to give us her opinion. As she walked down the stairs, she said to me and grandma: "My opinion is: WE SHOULD LIVE IN THIS HOUSE!" "J" and I smiled from ear to ear. We were so pleased to have her approval. It suddenly felt like home. We signed the lease, shared a family hug, then went to Burdicks in Cambridge for the best hot chocolate in the US to celebrate.

It's funny. "J" and I met on a random Thursday night. Our courtship has been fast, intense, and amazing. Just a few short months after meeting him, I felt this crazy feeling. It was something I had never felt before. I couldn't put my finger on it until this weekend. It's family. He feels like family. His daughter feels like family. I moved to Boston alone and confused 10 months ago. I now have a family here. A home (as of April 1st). It goes to show that family isn't always about blood. It's where home is. And my home is here. In Boston. In Southie. With "J", "Little J", 2 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, a HUGE kitchen, and the INSANE amount of visitors who will inevitably be coming to stay.

I am now looking forward to cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry and fighting over the amount of junk left on the counters. Life is crazy. And SO GOOD!

Hope...anyone?

I don't want to come across as unhappy, ungrateful or a pessimist for I am none of those things. I know I feel a lot of things, and since writing is my outlet, those often fleeting feelings are expressed the moment I feel them. So, please forgive me if this post is less than cheery - because I feel anything but at this moment.

I woke up this morning excited it was Monday. I actually like going to work. I LOVE the people I work with, and love my clients. Working gives me a sense of accomplishment and purpose I have yet to find in other avenues. I had a busy morning - making sure I got my car from Southie to JP as to not incur any more parking tickets. Then it was off to the office where I would have to get my week started and log my time - which is something I loathe more than anything else - EVER! The tedious task of going through my Outlook calendar and email to piece together how I spent every 25 minutes of my work week - UGH! But, as usual, I digress.

I walk into the office, happy to see my fellow co-workers and friends - and I get to work. I help one of them distribute a press release that had just crossed the wire. It was a good start to a good day. OH! And I made plans to have dinner with "Little J" and her mom this week while "J"'s in England. How awesome is that!?! I sat on the phone with her for an hour last night as she told me the story of her and "J"...and I thought to myself that no one could have ever made me believe I'd be having this conversation about the man I'm dating. It was surreal. I had to stop myself from asking the "we're-girlfriends-now-so-we-share-everything" question: "was it as good for you as it is for me"???? Haha...shit. Digressing...

So I run down to grab some lunch with my awesome friend. We get back and there's a calendar invite that starts in 15 minutes - a call with the GM. Uh-oh. This is NEVER good. We pile into the conference room. All of us but one. I know right away why she's not there. He starts by telling us what a great job we're all doing, but the state of the economy, blah, blah, blah...He finishes by dropping the bomb that each office will be losing one employee. We all sit silent. What can we say when one of our "family" members has just been told to pack her things and leave? What will it be like when I walk in tomorrow and she's not there? She was my friend. Everyday. For 10 hours a day she sat next to me. Now her desk is quiet. I wanted to do everything I could to save her from the pain of being "the one" to have to walk out alone. I know that feeling. I've been that one. I hated that for her. I wanted to be sick. We all sat there in silence. Disbelief. No one could talk as she packed her things. When she left, awkward laughter. My boss looked like a ghost. We all did. Truth is, no one knows when this will happen again. 3 months? 6 Months? Who will be next? Is it going to get any better? Is anyone safe anymore?

I came home, lit a candle and laid on the couch in the dark. Thinking about my friend who now has no healthcare or paycheck, while I prepare to get up for work again in the morning. The same feeling she had yesterday. I wish we could have all taken a paycut. Made some sacrifices to save her job. To keep her at the desk next to me. I'm sad - and I'm going to continue to be sad. I wanted to be comforted by people I love...to know there are still good things. Hear a familiar voice on the line. Talk about my fears. I know that there are 6 other people in that office who feel the exact same way I do, and understand these emotions. But no one wants to talk about them as they just invoke more fear, angst, sadness.

So, I sit here alone tonight, writing to try to vent my sadness and my fear. Not only for me, but for all of us. For my friend who needs to start over. For all my friends who have found themselves in this same position. I'm wondering when this will end and people will start smiling again. I miss people smiling. My once happy and sunny office has turned dismal and depressing - probably like a lot of offices around the country. But I do have hope because I can't imagine this lasting forever. We can't survive like this. We have to bounce back. We have to be happy again. We will be telling our children stories like those our grandparents told us - while we sat there listening in disbelief, unable to fathom a world without, well, everything.

I apologize if I don't sound happy tonight. My head hurts and my heart is heavy. I am going to miss my friend. And I am going to feel both guilty and grateful that I am still one of the lucky ones who gets to complain about getting up for work in the morning.

Speaking of which...I need to get some sleep...

Never a Dull Moment

I'm going to set the scene for a story I think everyone will enjoy. I don't want to set expectations too high, but this post will be full of twists and turns - just when you think there has been enough drama for one year (but took place in one LONG day), something else will happen that you simply cannot believe. But rather than continue to build suspense, I'll just get into it already.

Opening scene: Tuesday morning: Scene opens with KP on the #11 bus on her way to work. Sound of cell phone vibrating. KP looks down at her phone. Ex-husband. She answers it and says hello. The conversation continues throughout the duration of the bus ride. They talk about the economy and the changes being made at her company. Several old friends have lost their jobs. And their houses. KP exits the bus and begins to walk towards her office, still on the phone. After about 35 minutes of conversation the conversation takes an abrupt turn.

Ex-husband: "Well, it's been good catching up with you. I hope all goes well with the job. Keep me posted. I'll talk to you later. By the way, I'm getting married. Okay, we'll talk about that later. Have a great day."

KP (a look of shock and surprise on her face): "I'm sorry. Did you say you're getting married!?! And you just throw that in there at the end? No - we're going to talk about this now. When did this happen? When are you getting married? What about the annulment?"

Ex-husband: "About a month ago. I wasn't ready to tell you. But I don't really want to talk about it now, so I guess we'll talk about it later. No worries on the annulment. I'm not gonna go through with it."

KP: "Well I'm happy for you. I'm really happy for you. Thank you for telling me at least."

KP continues on her way to work. She walks into the office. The first words out of her mouth are: "'M' is getting married." Her co-workers look up shock and in unison chime: "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

End scene.

The first 3 people I call do not answer. I need to make sure I document this. Get it out. Tell my friends. My mom. How do I feel about this? I don't even know. I feel weird. Numb. Am I happy for him? I have no reason to be angry or sad. My mom calls me back. I tell her. She falls silent. I begin to cry. Oh. So I AM going to react to this. Hah. I knew something would come out eventually.

The next few hours are a blur. I walk through the office somewhat like a zombie. I don't know how I'm supposed to react. I think this is normal, but this is totally new for me. Mostly I can't believe it. I can't believe after all those years I was the last to know. But I guess that's what happens when people split up, huh? I mean, he's not the first person I call anymore. So why would it be different for him, right?

A few hours later "J" pops up on my IM window and asks if I'm busy. As a side note, I told him almost immediately about "M"; he too asked me how I was. Okay, back to the IM. "I want to talk to you about something." Oh, geez, I think. The last time he used this phrase we ended up arguing about how bad I was to offend his family. Just as I'm reading this, my client calls me with an issue that needs to be dealt with immediately. I'm on the phone with him telling myself NOT to read the IM message from "J" that's flashing, calling my name at the bottom of the screen. I do it anyways.

"I was thinking that I know why I was having these crazy dreams. It's because I need some space. Not because I don't love you like crazy or because I don't want you around. I do. It's just this place is small and I need to just be here. I love you madly...and still want you to spend the night here with me. I just need a little time alone."

I read this and start shaking. Shaking. I hang up with my client. I stand up as calmly as I can and proceed to the bathroom. I unlock the door, walk into the first stall and collapse against the door. And begin sobbing. A flood. Can't breathe. Walls closing in. Want to run. Far away. Home. To the one home I know. My family. Friends. I need them. Now. Why does this hurt so much right now? Why did he say this now? Today. He must know how hard that was for me to hear. Does he not care about how I'm feeling? That I couldn't wait to run home to him but now felt like I wanted to be anywhere but there. The place where I was suffocating him?

I collect myself, splash some cold water on my face and return to my desk. I send an email to my friend with this conversation, begging her to read it and respond. I need you, I say to her without having to say the words. Just then another message from "J".

J: "Oh my God. My dad just called. My grandma died."

At this moment, I looked up to the sky and say, "really??"

Of course now everything he said previously is null and void and he wants me to come home to be with him. He needs me. Meanwhile I'm sad. Angry. Feeling like I don't belong anywhere. But I know I can't address this tonight because his grandma had just died. I need to be there for him. I need to suck up my feelings and be strong. For him.

I cried my entire walk home. Sobbed. I needed to feel my pain. Validate it. I walk in and give him a hug. Hold him. Tell him I'm so sorry. I hate his pain. And mine.

We ended up talking that night - that's the way "J" works. Nothing goes unsaid or unsolved. I love this about him, but loath it at the same time. I wanted to be alone in my feelings. Unselfish in the way I supported him. He explained his side and I cried. And told him he picked a shitty day to tell me that. He was selfish when he should have been supportive. I was angry because I just wanted support. To be understood. He realized he was wrong and should have "listened" to what I was telling him. Through my voice. My responses. My avoidance.

The night ended with us laying on the couch together - both in pain. But together. And in love. Knowing it sucks. But sucks less when you have someone willing to hold your hand through the pain. And suckiness. I fell asleep thinking to myself: just when I think my life is starting to "settle" into a routine, I'm suddenly reminded that nothing in KP's world will ever be boring.

My eyes puffy from crying, I fell asleep in the comfort knowing my life will always be, well, my life. Strangely, I found a lot of comfort in that.