Life in 3-D: A Dream Deferred.

Ever since my friends first started having babies, like a freaking decade ago, I soon realized not all women are created equal.  When a man’s buddy becomes a father, he realizes that the new dad will be less available for late night drinking and spur of the moment road trips to Vegas. For girlfriends, it is way more intense.  Enjoy that Baby Shower, ladies, because this is the last you will see of your mother-to-be friend as you know her.  Her life and your friendship will never be the same. 

Of course, each new mom changes in different ways.  Some have a spiritual awakening and the girl you used to call when you wanted to do something poorly advised and spur of the moment now might be going to Bible Study or volunteering at VBS.  And the old friend is left wondering… what the hell?  I’ve caught the girl on her knees before, but that was totally by accident.  (Sorry… blasphemous humor).  Or some women really let themselves go.  Like they have broken up not only with the hairstylist but have also blackballed Lady Clairol.  Come on, Ladies, this is America.  You don’t have to go gray or have saggy boobs if you don’t want to.  This is the land of at free and the home of the Wonder bra.  And this is why I lie about my age.  I am not embarrassed of my age; I am embarrassed of others of my age.

Why Baby and Pregnancy Facebook Updates Make Me Ache.

If I “tagged” you in this post, it is because you responded to my Facebook post on this topic earlier and I wanted you to see my “full” response.

My first edit was some kind of funny, but also kind of mean jokes about mothers and the rest of female population.  But that is not where my heart is.  Sorry, this is not very funny.

I am posting this even though it is kind of personal… but… telling the truth, being open and honest is what really resonates with my “readers.”  Here it goes.

Women say when they have a child; their lives are never the same.  I am sure that is true.  I can only imagine that every aspect of your life alters and you even your memories fall into the category of before and after kids.

One of the major changes I have noticed with every new mother is that their children are first and foremost in their mind.  Their attention is forever divided. Sometimes I feel when I am talking about petty work crap, new fashion trends, boys, or even the crisis in the Gulf (choose one, they’re all pretty fucked right now) I feel as though I am just filling the air with noise when the care and nurturing of the little humans they have bore to the world are so much more precious and important.  Who gives a shit about leggings, really?

There is a gap…. I would even say a chasm of difference between women who have children and women who do not.  It as if we can hardly relate.  Women without children know what free time is.  We probably have a whole beauty regime where mothers, especially of small children, just hope to get a shower in a day.  Women without children still probably have a working gag reflux and are still repulsed at vomit and feces.  And yes… it does bother us when you change your baby’s diaper on our upholstery or bed.  Put down a towel, for Christ’s sake.  I’m serious.  It grosses me out. 

I think both camps have a “grass is always greener complex.”  A world without children is probably neater, posher, and probably less smelly, and a world with children is probably busier, more hectic, less selfish, but probably a lot more love.  You belong to someone and they belong to you.  I am typing this currently in my one bedroom apartment with my dog.  All I can hear is the air conditioner and people going up and down the stairs outside in the hallway.  I hear mothers complain “I can’t hear myself think.”  That is all I can hear.

You want to know why I can still spend so much time on the treadmill. Why I fight gray and gravity like the Nazis on the Western front in a grainy WWII movie we watched in high school?  It is because I am trying to trick Mother Nature and suitable real-life sperm donors in believing in my fertility and desirability. I am not saying that once I get knocked up I am all a sudden going to let myself go.  I think I will always have a love/hate relationship with carbs and I refuse to gray until I am good and ready… which right now I believe is just as soon as I step into my grave. 

I know my Biological Clock is ticking.  I can even hear it now over the air conditioner and the people in the stairwell.  My boyfriend, I’m sure, hears it too.  He is younger than me and I don’t want to force the issue, but I feel like it is still there.  I don’t want to burden him with my fertility, but it is always in the back of my mind.  Before him, I did not purposely exclude men who had children, but men with vasectomies definitely gave me pause.  Even if they did it for their ex-wives, they did have a surgery that would prevent any future generations for a reason.  Yeah, it can be reversed, but still.  Why would they want to get mixed up with a woman like me who definitely wanted children?

My ex-husband I, for various reasons, were never able to have children.  Damn shame.  Really.  We can play the “what-if” game, but it is fruitless… like our marriage.  Sorry, gallows humor.  People say “Well, you’re lucky you never had kids.”  I know where they are coming from, but be 35, single, and childless when you didn’t intend to be the latter two and then you tell me how lucky I am.

Nursing women say that there is a way a newborn cries that makes their milk flow even if it is not their child.  Believe it or not, and I don’t know if this is a psycho-somatic thing or what, but I feel that tug too, only it is tugging at nothing.  There is just this physical pull in my chest to want to help the baby out in some way even though I can’t.  Maybe that is just primal, like the instinct to suckle, flinch, or stop at a shoe sale.  There is also this little crook in my waist where my nephew when he was little used to sit and wrap his legs around me laying his blonde little head on my chest.  He wasn’t mine and I refused to get too attached, but when he was a baby, he looked so much like my ex that it made me ache.  I believed the child loved me in some family sort of way and it hurts to know I will probably never see him again.

I knew I was falling out of love with my ex-husband when I no longer looked in his eyes and imagined what our children would look like.  I no longer imagined an angelic blonde boy and a fiercely beautiful dark haired girl.  There was a point when I looked at him and our future was cloudy.  That is when my heart started turning away from him and I knew the end was near.

My future is unknown right now.  I feel as though I am on the right path as long as I don’t fuck it up.  I have to not let fear or insecurity get in the way of a good thing.  I have to have faith.

Now what I see in my lover’s eyes and I hope this doesn’t scare him, are the babies we would make together.  We are arguably more genetically similar so it is not so much of a guessing game.  I see fiercely beautiful, tall, strong, intelligent, most likely willful, green-eyed, dark-haired children.  I anticipate his nervousness and pride holding his own newborn baby.  I know he would defend his family against all that assails us and love us with the same passion and dedication he has for everything else worth fighting for in his life. 

That is in the not too far distant future (hopefully) but I don’t want to get ahead of myself here.

And yes, of course I am rushing it!  (More on that later.) 

**** I had a boyfriend when I first posted this.

Life in 3-D: Dieting – “Food Fight”

This is my new “working title” for my memoir/blog thingy.  “Sporting the Triple D’s” although funny and suggestive, it is not all that dignified and, quite honestly, might attract the wrong demographic.  Besides, the girls get enough attention already.  And I am not really a triple D, anyway.

I am posting this for posterity.  I am posting this to be accountable.  I am posting this so people might get a bit of insight into what food addiction is and to anyone else who has ever felt this way, you are not alone.

So, I started out the day okay.  Actually, had a pretty good food week thanks to my friends of “Southside Chub Club,” and a supportive work friend.  I got a few decent workouts, a nice long walk.   I had lost six pounds feeling great.  I even restricted my grief about my divorce to a single package of m & m’s.  Then about 1:30 pm today, the freaking wheels came off.

Okay, I was set up to fail.  First day of my period, just throw out any good eating plans out the window.  I was feeling crampy, cranky, slightly anemic and needed caffeine, calcium, and red meat.  After popping my third dose of Midol by noon I needed a latte and a burger real bad. 

So I hit the BK with the bf and I should have stopped.  But no.  Then made the bf his favorite, tacos.  Still if I would have stopped there, I would have been okay.  I would say at this point, 6:30 pm, if I would have stopped eating for the day, I would have averaged about and estimated 2000-2200 calories with probably entirely too many fat grams, but okay.  Nope. 

I then went out with a friend.  I guess we were “celebrating” or something my divorce.  Except, I didn’t really feel like celebrating.  I mean, I have moved on and I am better off, blah, blah, blah, but it was still hard.  I know I will want to celebrate in a big way soon (details for “Flame Your Old Flame Night Part II” to come) but not today.  So, we went out and I had two huge margaritas, mozzarella sticks, and French fries.  And a note about the fries:  Absolutely ridiculous portion sizes, okay?  A basket of fries for $2.49 was more like a bushel of fries.  So...I don’t know how many calories I consumed just after 7:30 pm.  NASA computers are still working a number with so many place values. 

Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about the mudslide and the shot of vodka.

Yeah, that is insane.

Am I making too much out of this?  Is this just a bad day?  Was it just a bad day while on a diet?

If I didn’t just describe the “taste” of green is a lemon lime Mr. Misty.  That is way too close of a relationship with food. 

And now, I am anxious…. Seriously anxious, like nervous, worried, a little jittery and nauseous thinking about all the “good times” I am supposed to have this weekend.  Boyfriend is taking me out to this really nice dinner.  Finally, the “pretty dress date” at this cool Argentinean restaurant.  I am already worried about what too order.  Not excited, worried.  Perhaps if I hadn’t consumed 10,000 calories today I could look forward to it like a normal person.  Another happy “event” is the State Fair.  Fucking State Fair.  It was my idea to go to the State Fair and I love it, but all the food.  I know a funnel cake is in my future.  It is evetable.  Perhaps I can just walk and sweat it off in the 100 degree heat.  I might be okay for that day. 

So now, I am already planning how to deal with the caloric overload.  Tomorrow---black coffee and water with lots and lots of walking.  Okay, probably coffee with cream (as usual) some yogurt, salad, and some kind of protein source.  Fasting on my period is a bad idea.  I barely want to move for four days anyway under normal conditions, God help me if I don’t eat too.

No one should feel this emotional over food.  God help me.  Anyone out there flip out over fried food like this?  Who describes the flavor of color?  Really?  People who fail the psych eval for bariatric surgery, that’s who.  Thank God that I got my act together enough to lose enough weight that I no longer qualify because I was too crazy to get the surgery. ***For the record, anyone who has had this surgery, you are brave!  It is NOT the easy way out and I applaud your efforts.  But really, how did you pass that stupid psych eval?  WTF?!?!?! 

So help me out.   Anyone obsess about food like this?  Anyone obsess about the food that you have eaten and the food you haven’t eaten yet but know you are going to anyway?

This is why I know I need to go back to OA (overeaters anonymous) because I will not lose the weight if I still have a relationship with Food and right now that relationship is dysfunctional.  Sure, I can lose the weight for awhile, but I know Food and I will get back together.  It is a love/hate thing.  I also know that food has a numbing affect on my emotions and I have been feeling so many feelings (good and bad) that I want to shut them off and I do that with Food. I just need to be brave enough to feel those feelings, not the fat grams. (Capitalizing “Food” making it a proper noun is not a typo)

So, I hope you, dear reader, do not judge too harshly.  Neither should I be let off the hook.  I need to be accountable for my actions.  Besides, you can check out my ass and know whether or not I’ve been cheating on my diet.  As we all know, you can’t hide a weight problem.  Even if I were “skinny” if I still obsess this much over food, I won’t keep it off. 

So, Food, really…. We need to break up already.  Again.  You are FUEL for the body, not food for the soul.  You are not a drug.  You are not a salve.  You will not rule my life.  Need to stay well proportioned in my plate and in my life.

Format of the “Sporting some Triple D’s.”

I am going to divide up my entries in three categories: Divorce, Dating, or Dieting.  Out of those three categories will be subsets.  Example:

Divorce: Living Alone 

Divorce: Who Gets the Friends?

Divorce: How to remain friends with an ex without a restraining order?

Divorce:  What is the statute of limitations for favors for ex-wives?

Dating: He’s so not my type.

Dating: Why the fascination with capes and go-go boots? The Wonder Woman chapter.

Dieting: Body Image- The Tankini.

Dieting: “Date Calories” still count.

These are just some ideas of future entries.  Some are already written I just want to parse them out bit by bit.  At some point I will do a search and see what I wrote most about and therefore find my true obsession.  Will it be: Divorce (heartbreak) Dating (sex, love, and men) or Dieting (body image and food).

I have writing under a “nom de plume” and I am changing the names of any and all “involved” but other than that, this is all true, at least the trust I remember.   I have no desire to defame or implicated any “innocent” men including my ex-husband, my current serious boyfriend, and some other “romantic friends” who might not have even realized we were my “romantic friends.”

A note about my ex-husband:  He really is a gem.  Yeah, I’m pissed.  I am heartbroken our little life didn’t turn out like either one of us wanted.  I believe we both miss the comfort and companionship we shared for a number of years.  The last two were a little rough, but I don’t want to paint the whole 12 years as terrible because they weren’t.  We both had the best of intentions.  The ex is actually kind of encouraging this writing venture.

 His reasons are two-fold. One is that he believes I do have some talent and that I would benefit from writing about this experience and we believe that the “world” might benefit from my “refreshing perspective” about the whole divorce, dating, and dieting thing.  He sees me as a victor and a survivor and, like me, believes others would benefit from my experience.  Someone needs to tell “my side” of this weird-ass divorce because really, this is not typical.  Trust me.  His second reasoning is a “return on investment.”  We kind of made this “deal.”  He first offered in the unlikely event that I become rich and famous of this shit and end up on Oprah (not Jerry Springer, because we’re classy) he asked for 2% of the profits.  I suggested he get a good lawyer because I teased that I knew I had a good one.  He then offered just that he get his 401k back.  (I got half of his retirement in the divorce which I am entitled to according to state law.)  I thought that was fair.  Of course, if published I would mask his identity.  I do love him and always will.  I do not wish to “punish” him or mare his reputation because, really, this is no one’s “fault.”

Love:   What is love, afterall?  Sometimes in a new relationship people say, “I’ve never felt like this before.”  I believe that is true.  Each couple reinvents love for themselves and each other over and over again.  More on that later.

To reinvention (feel free to toast whatever glass of beverage to the screen at this time.)

                My family and even some of my friends believe that I am not “angry” enough.  They think I should have “gone for everything I could get.”  Others think I am some kind of gold digger/whore and my ex is some kind of victim.  Come to my itty-bitty apartment and again tell me what kind of gold digger I am.  As for the second part?  Go fuck yourselves because I’ve hardly been giving it away, alright?  Even my father said, “You have been going without love for a long time, Charlotte, and you deserve some romance in your life.” I don’t know if he is encouraging me to get laid or anything, but I think he is saying “You are 35 years old, I can’t wait for a grandchild forever.”  I could be putting words in his mouth, but still.  Neither my ex-husband, my father, nor my new boyfriend thinks I am a “bad girl,” I don’t know why anyone else would.  And really, I think they would be more of an authority and have a lot more to say on the matter if it were true.

But I digress.  I still think I would like to EARN my way to Hell rather than get there on a technicality.

Life in 3-D: Divorce, Dating, and Dieting- The Inaugural Blog.

I was having dinner with an old high school friend of mine recently.  We were catching up, talking about our lives, perhaps even engaged in some minor non-goal orientated harmless flirting (or maybe I imagined the flirting). Anyway, we started talking about our various creative endeavors.  My friend asked me what I was working on.        

          My mind went blank.  I abandoned my first novel project about Evangelical teens and haven’t written much else in months.  Hell, I haven’t even finished reading a book since November 2009, the point that life as I knew it began to unravel. 

Despite my woefully poor output, I still wanted to impress my former classmate who had definitely grown into his looks.  Time had been good to him too.  I wanted so say something smart, something deep like I was writing about the “human condition” or “deciphering the intracies of the human heart.”  However, I had been so wrapped up in my life I hadn’t been able to write anything more meaningful than a Facebook status update.  All I could think about was my impending divorce, the guys I was “talking” to and how many calories were in the sandwich I just ate. 

          Yup- Divorce, dating, and dieting…

          The three D’s are pretty much my obsession right now.  I do manage to “work” 8.25 hours five days a week at a less than challenging job that barely pays the bills.  I do think of others: family, friends, pets, what have you, although I have totally sucked at sending cards lately.  Hallmark has sent me nasty notes about my negligence to sentiment.

          But yeah… other than the 3 D’s, I’ve got nothing.

          Fuck it.

          You know what?  Someone has already written Ulysses.  Fuck Ulysses. Did anyone ever read Ulysses, really?  I mean a few hard core English majors might have it on their shelf, but have the read it?  Screw James Joyce. (Not really, but I did enjoy Dubliners).  And Little House on the Prairie?  You know what?  If I were an innocent young girl struggling and persevering on the New Frontier, I’d write about that.

          But you gotta write what you know.  And what I know is this:

Feeling and Fat Grams

Hunger and Horniness

Misery and Nachos (love you, Brother).

          I don’t know where this is going.  What I post will probably stay “light” with will (hopefully) still have some poignancy, resonance, and humor.  In the unlikely event this were to be published, I would write some more of the revealing and relevant nature of the 3 D’s.       I have no desire to embarrass my family or defame my ex, but if you go through some hardship or weirdness and still retain some semblance of sanity, one has an obligation to humanity to testify.  So here I go… I am testifying on how to survive a marriage, the break of a marriage, how to find love again, and how to gain and lose fifty pounds about three times.  If I devoted a fraction of my time and effort into my profession as I do in how to get thin or get laid, I’d be a CEO.  Maybe I’ll just write about it and get famous/rich on that.  Because, really, can you put a price on great sex or what it feels like to fit into your skinny jeans? 

I encourage encouraging comments. J  I know we’ve all been there: heartbreak and back breaking efforts to zip up too-tight pants.  Please… enjoy… for what it’s worth.