My daughter's third birthday is four days away. In four days, she will officially be out of her "terrible twos", though I have been told that "terrible threes" is far worse. I can hardly wait.
When I started blogging a year ago, I meant it to be an archive of the funny things that AC has done and said over the past year. And that went well...for about six posts. Then I dumped the blogging thing altogether, until I started my divorce process over the fall. Then, instead of blogging about my terrible two-year-old, I blogged about divorce and break-ups and lost loves and heartbreak and dating. I used swear words and obscenities. I was lectured by some well-meaning friends that one cannot use such words and terms on a "parenting" blog. My ex-husband told me that my blog was the equivilent of "man repellent", and that any man who read it would never want to date me.
So, in light of the fact that my blog is now anything but a parenting blog and my child is anything but a two-year-old, I decided a name change was in order: My Soul is Bare...
Guess where I got the name from? Those of you who already read my blog would probably guess: a Britney Spears' song, 'Me Against the Music'. I've listened to those lyrics a lot, and whenever I hear that particular line, I always think that Britney has the right idea. Maybe to recover from whatever trauma we are facing in life--or life in general--it's just best to spill your guts until your soul is bare.
And, as we all know, I have no problem spilling my guts...
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Friday, December 18, 2009
32 is NOT the New 22
Yesterday, I turned 32. My birthday typically goes unnoticed, with its close proximity to Christmas. I got cheated when I was born at this time of the year. If my birthday was in June, perhaps people would notice. Perhaps I'd get double the gifts, instead of the people who give you one gift and tell you that it counts as both your Christmas and your birthday gift. At the very least, I'd be able to get a Birthday Caboose on the tourist railway I work for, as obviously, this train does not run in December. However, since my mother's birthday falls on the day after mine, she has always been aware of the separation of my birthday and Christmas, unlike the general population.
Being single for the first time in 10 years made my birthday slightly less than enjoyable. I don't typically find any birthday downright enjoyable--it's just a birthday. Once you hit 21, there's no real reason to even keep counting and keep track, because you have the same rights at 71 as you do at 21. Sometimes when asked, I even have to briefly think about how old I am, because I don't consider it a daily consideration.
Alas, my loneliness got me thinking back to my 22nd birthday. On my 22nd birthday, I got flowers from three different boyfriend prospects. At 22, I still believed in the myth that Prince Charming would soon be coming to sweep me off my feet, preferably with a fighter jet rather than a white horse. Shortly after my birthday, I chose one of the three flower-sending boys for a relationship, and we were engaged within seven months. Eight months after that, I left that fiance for my now ex-husband, to whom I was engaged after six months. Next time around, I plan to be engaged within five months, to keep consistent with my gradual reduction in time it takes to acquire a diamond ring.
While turning 22 brought many prospects and hope, all of these were blown to hell in the proceeding years. While I did actually marry fiance number two--mainly because I had no other choice, since there was no way in hell I'd call off two weddings in under one year--I was miserable for roughly six-and-a-half years of our seven year marriage. It finally dawned on me that there is no such thing as Prince Charming--that notion is merely an urban legend, like believing that sea monsters live in storm drains or that if you step on a sidewalk crack, you will break your mother's back.
Turning 32 has found me a divorced single mother to that toddler who acts like a caffeinated ferret. I am far more exhausted. I am far more broke. I am far less attractive and fit, at least based on the photo comparisons I have made of myself on Facebook--see left. I am far less hopeful that I will ever find anyone to date me ever again, much less find the much-fabled "The One". Instead of receiving three bouquets of flowers at work, I received none.
The only redeeming quality of turning 32 is that I have a far better group of friends now than I did then, friends whom I adore. Sometimes I worry that my friends will one day wake up and realize that I am not nearly as cool as they are and they will de-friend me, but so far that has not happened. My 32-year-old spirits brightened considerably when last night, they took me out for dinner and showered me with yellow friendship roses and iTunes gift cards. What more could a girl ask for, except maybe an invitation for a date with a cute boy, so she no longer feels completely and hopelessly undateable?
However, as lovely as the evening was, it is always still sad when it ends, because when I go home, I know am going home alone. And that can be a lonely, lonely feeling, and one that when I turned 22, I would've never expected to be feeling when I turned 32.
Being single for the first time in 10 years made my birthday slightly less than enjoyable. I don't typically find any birthday downright enjoyable--it's just a birthday. Once you hit 21, there's no real reason to even keep counting and keep track, because you have the same rights at 71 as you do at 21. Sometimes when asked, I even have to briefly think about how old I am, because I don't consider it a daily consideration.
Alas, my loneliness got me thinking back to my 22nd birthday. On my 22nd birthday, I got flowers from three different boyfriend prospects. At 22, I still believed in the myth that Prince Charming would soon be coming to sweep me off my feet, preferably with a fighter jet rather than a white horse. Shortly after my birthday, I chose one of the three flower-sending boys for a relationship, and we were engaged within seven months. Eight months after that, I left that fiance for my now ex-husband, to whom I was engaged after six months. Next time around, I plan to be engaged within five months, to keep consistent with my gradual reduction in time it takes to acquire a diamond ring.
While turning 22 brought many prospects and hope, all of these were blown to hell in the proceeding years. While I did actually marry fiance number two--mainly because I had no other choice, since there was no way in hell I'd call off two weddings in under one year--I was miserable for roughly six-and-a-half years of our seven year marriage. It finally dawned on me that there is no such thing as Prince Charming--that notion is merely an urban legend, like believing that sea monsters live in storm drains or that if you step on a sidewalk crack, you will break your mother's back.
Turning 32 has found me a divorced single mother to that toddler who acts like a caffeinated ferret. I am far more exhausted. I am far more broke. I am far less attractive and fit, at least based on the photo comparisons I have made of myself on Facebook--see left. I am far less hopeful that I will ever find anyone to date me ever again, much less find the much-fabled "The One". Instead of receiving three bouquets of flowers at work, I received none.
The only redeeming quality of turning 32 is that I have a far better group of friends now than I did then, friends whom I adore. Sometimes I worry that my friends will one day wake up and realize that I am not nearly as cool as they are and they will de-friend me, but so far that has not happened. My 32-year-old spirits brightened considerably when last night, they took me out for dinner and showered me with yellow friendship roses and iTunes gift cards. What more could a girl ask for, except maybe an invitation for a date with a cute boy, so she no longer feels completely and hopelessly undateable?
However, as lovely as the evening was, it is always still sad when it ends, because when I go home, I know am going home alone. And that can be a lonely, lonely feeling, and one that when I turned 22, I would've never expected to be feeling when I turned 32.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Baby Daddy Drama
February 12, 2009
I have not spoken with my father, albeit a few mail correspondences, for nearly a decade. I last saw him at an engagement party hosted in my honor...when I was engaged to my first fiance. Upon dumping him and calling off a wedding in favor of my current husband, he has all but disowned me. I don't see this as a terrible loss, as he has never been involved with my life. He did not attend my wedding, has never met my husband and certainly has never met AC. In conversation, he is commonly referred to as "Sperm Donor", as this was the most major impact he has made on my life.
Alas, he periodically sends holiday cards. As my birthday and Christmas fall within the same week, I typically get either a birthday card or a Christmas card--never both. This year, a generic Christmas card arrived with a check indicating that he was "consolidating all holidays into one check this year." Okey-dokes. I promptly cashed the check, which I inevitably used to pay the power bill, so at least the Christmas tree would have lights for the holiday.
In my defense...I am really, really busy. I mean like, Superwoman busy. I work full time, and I take care of my ferret the rest of the time. On top of that, I try and service my husband to his satisfaction, keep the public health department away from my house and anything and everything else that goes with parenthood and adulthood. So, I will admit: I was behind on my written correspondence. Hey, that's life. I am quite prompt with my online correspondence, and since Sperm Donor hasn't hopped into the 21st Century yet, he's not into that.
Today in the mail arrived a card in a pink envelope, addressed to me, but presumably for AC's recent birthday. I cringed upon seeing the return address: Sperm Donor. Crap. I STILL hadn't gotten around to writing that thank-you note for the holiday card, had I? I opened the card to find a generic-looking children's card and a check...along with a note from the Sperm Donor himself, indicating that while he knows I am busy, he is disturbed that he did not receive a card from me, and takes this as a sign that "we want nothing to do with him." However, he would like to continue acknowledging AC.
Yeah, I know. I should've gotten around to sending that thank-you note. I bet my icon, Jackie Kennedy, didn't procrastinate on her written correspondence, though I suspect she probably had more time for such pursuits. All the same, it was a slap. My mother--or my husband's parents--certainly would understand the circumstances I am under time-wise, and frankly, Sperm Donor could not relate as he's never been in those circumstances. When I was a toddler, he was married to my mother, but he was disassociated with my upbringing and did not participate: of course he can't understand what it's like to raise a toddler, much less work on top of that!
So, I finally got to the thank-you letter, apologizing for my "delay in written correspondence"--which is an excuse he used with me when I was a child and he did not respond to one of my letters. I explained that he is welcome to continue acknowledging AC should he choose; however, as an adult, I hope he thinks this through, as AC has a grandfather who is very active in her life and sees her once a week...how does he propose that we explain his "grandfatherly" presence to our innocent child? Think about it.
My mom asked if I felt guilty. No, I do not.
I have not spoken with my father, albeit a few mail correspondences, for nearly a decade. I last saw him at an engagement party hosted in my honor...when I was engaged to my first fiance. Upon dumping him and calling off a wedding in favor of my current husband, he has all but disowned me. I don't see this as a terrible loss, as he has never been involved with my life. He did not attend my wedding, has never met my husband and certainly has never met AC. In conversation, he is commonly referred to as "Sperm Donor", as this was the most major impact he has made on my life.
Alas, he periodically sends holiday cards. As my birthday and Christmas fall within the same week, I typically get either a birthday card or a Christmas card--never both. This year, a generic Christmas card arrived with a check indicating that he was "consolidating all holidays into one check this year." Okey-dokes. I promptly cashed the check, which I inevitably used to pay the power bill, so at least the Christmas tree would have lights for the holiday.
In my defense...I am really, really busy. I mean like, Superwoman busy. I work full time, and I take care of my ferret the rest of the time. On top of that, I try and service my husband to his satisfaction, keep the public health department away from my house and anything and everything else that goes with parenthood and adulthood. So, I will admit: I was behind on my written correspondence. Hey, that's life. I am quite prompt with my online correspondence, and since Sperm Donor hasn't hopped into the 21st Century yet, he's not into that.
Today in the mail arrived a card in a pink envelope, addressed to me, but presumably for AC's recent birthday. I cringed upon seeing the return address: Sperm Donor. Crap. I STILL hadn't gotten around to writing that thank-you note for the holiday card, had I? I opened the card to find a generic-looking children's card and a check...along with a note from the Sperm Donor himself, indicating that while he knows I am busy, he is disturbed that he did not receive a card from me, and takes this as a sign that "we want nothing to do with him." However, he would like to continue acknowledging AC.
Yeah, I know. I should've gotten around to sending that thank-you note. I bet my icon, Jackie Kennedy, didn't procrastinate on her written correspondence, though I suspect she probably had more time for such pursuits. All the same, it was a slap. My mother--or my husband's parents--certainly would understand the circumstances I am under time-wise, and frankly, Sperm Donor could not relate as he's never been in those circumstances. When I was a toddler, he was married to my mother, but he was disassociated with my upbringing and did not participate: of course he can't understand what it's like to raise a toddler, much less work on top of that!
So, I finally got to the thank-you letter, apologizing for my "delay in written correspondence"--which is an excuse he used with me when I was a child and he did not respond to one of my letters. I explained that he is welcome to continue acknowledging AC should he choose; however, as an adult, I hope he thinks this through, as AC has a grandfather who is very active in her life and sees her once a week...how does he propose that we explain his "grandfatherly" presence to our innocent child? Think about it.
My mom asked if I felt guilty. No, I do not.
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