Someday I'm going to date again and, right now, that thought is fucking repulsive.
I never thought I would have kids. As a matter of fact, I thought I was impregnable, unable, defunct. I thought the plumbing was off and I was in the clear. It's not that I don't like kids, I LOVE kids. All kids. Your kids, their kids, all the kids. Even the nasty little shit kids that throw rocks--love them too. I just figured it wasn't in the cards for me, my awesome artist life, my selfish existence, and something I would be rather unwilling to adapt to....
Until I found out I was pregnant.
He and I.
And I loved him so fully, so wholeheartedly, so sweet and blindly...
and my fate had gone behind my back and chosen this male human to be my partner for the rest of my life...
Who was I to argue with that?
I chose to keep Nugget, chose life, chose love, and chose to parent along side FOB. I settled into the vision of our future and it fit like a glove. Dual language home, two full extended families of love, life goals still persuadable together, and nobody pretending he or she knew the answers because all of the questions were not yet written. Building our foundation one solid pebble at a time.
I thought I'd never be want of love and companionship again... that I had someone all in, 200%, flaws and all...
I went to my 34 week appointment yesterday with my Mom. We were sitting in the OB's office and all these cute, terrified couples were wandering in and out of care, pregnant, holding hands and paperwork... and my Mom caught me giving a pair of knocked-up lovers the evil fucking glare. I wasn't even doing it on purpose. My eyes and brows just sort of came together and ambushed the rest of my face into judgement and hate.
"Ha. You just gave those people the meanest look, Mal."
"I hate their happiness..." I said quickly and without thought so I know I meant it.
"Ha ha ha oh, honey, they're not happy . Don't worry. No one in a relationship is."
And we laughed at the probable truth of that statement. It was comforting for a while and in those moments of relationship envy and hollowness, I can think about that statement and be mildly comforted. I think about that a lot lately, as spring approaches and I begin to actually leave my house.
Valentine's Day is coming.... and the 14th of the month was sort of our anniversary, mine and FOB's. This one we had made plans to go to a show and for some reason, in my romantic and blissed out imagination, I thought we'd get engaged. I don't know why. FOB never said he'd wanted to marry me... he was ''uncomfortable'' with that thought, too. I remember once we were talking about insurance right after finding out that I was pregnant with his child that he didn't want to marry me to give me insurance and that he "wanted to get married for the right reasons." Dick, right?
Valentine's Day has always been a joke for me. Something to point and laugh at, shelter myself from, and wryly mock as it passes. In the past I've made cupcakes of hate to dole out at the bar, little baked black cupcakes with angry words like ''herpes'' and ''I hate you'' delicately designed on banners of fondant with roses on top. It wasn't until this past year of love, pregnancy, and hormones that I actually wanted something to happen on it, that I actually envisioned a romantic event... that I actually set myself up for incredible sadness upon it's empty arrival and passing.
Christ, this post is ''WOE IS ME.''
Anyway, someday... I'm going to have to date again. Just like the rise and fall of the sun and moon, dick has a tendency to call and I've always been it's number one fan. This truth seems like a joke right now, but I know myself.
Someday... there will be date.
It's going to have to be someone I don't meet in a bar. A sober fellow cuz I can only handle dating one person inside one person at a time.
I cannot meet him online--that's the most bullshit of all bullshit you could probably feed someone before actually setting foot in a room together.
I cannot meet on some other new age social media app--your instagram love of me is not real.
We'll have to meet during daylight hours because as of right now it's an Olympic event preparing for any kind of anything past 5pm.
Unless he's my postman, we'll probably have to meet outside my house and beyond my doorstep... which I've left a handful of times in the last few months.
I will not meet him in a bar,
I will not sleep with him by motorcar,
I will not love him fast and quick,
I will not love again this dick.
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.