You Are It

Knowing me means knowing that the majority of my quotable moments come from Mel Brooks movies, Sex & the City, The Princess Bride, or Friends. Guess which one this is:

Monica: Do you ever think about the future?

Richard: Yup.

Monica: Am I in it?

Richard: Honey, you are it.

If you want to know what I'm looking for from a relationship, it's simple. Those three magic little words. Surprisingly, not I Love You (although that's obviously important.) The words I want to hear most from a man are simply: You Are It.

You are it for me, whatever "it" is. You are my whole life, my future wrapped up in one amazing person. You are my happiness, you are my world. You are the one who brings me joy, the one who comforts me in my times of sorrow, the one who brightens my day just by being there. You are the one I want to come home to, the one I want to share all my secrets with, the one I want to create all my memories around. You are the one whose hand I want to hold, the one who will always be my in case of emergency contact, the one I want to grow old next to. You are the great love I've been looking for and cannot believe I'm lucky enough to have found. You are the family I choose for myself. You are my best friend, my soul mate, my happily ever after. You are my person. You are it.

That's the point, isn't it? That's what we are all looking for. The missing piece of the puzzle. The thing that completes us. It's funny because I would like to think that I'm a whole person looking for another whole person and together, we'll just be two great people. But I'm starting to wonder if I don't feel complete because the ancient adage is true --- I haven't found my other half.

Maybe Jason is my person. Maybe he is it for me and I for him. Maybe we're supposed to make it work, make it last, make it through this somehow. Maybe we're just a couple of kids having a great time dating and aren't meant to last forever. I only know that we can't figure things out either way if he isn't giving us a fair shot. If he does not or can not give me his whole heart, then there's no point in even trying. I am a 100% person --- I can't play the game from the bench. What does he need from me to see that we could be something worth fighting for? 

There is one other television reference, which you may have garnered from "You are my person." Grey's Anatomy (the early seasons) taught me a lot about love, a lot about loss, and a lot about honesty. If I'm honest with myself, I feel a little pathetic. Standing out there in the rain is Meredith, facing a broken yet gorgeous Dr McDreamy, knowing full well that he was married and she cannot completely have him. His wife shows up and yet Meredith fights for their relationship because she sees beyond the present situation. She sees that his feelings for her run deep. She sees their future together. Meredith pleads with him before he walks out the door: "Pick me. Choose me. Love me."

Am I the strong one for demanding Jason make a decision? Am I brave for defending myself, demanding the respect and loyalty I deserve? Am I crazy to think that a man who looks at me the way he does, who kisses me the way he does, who treats me as well as he does should know that I am the best - nay, the only - option for him? Or am I just some sad, lonely girl begging a man to love me, when he may not find me lovable at all?

I like to think that I'm stronger, smarter, and braver than I give myself credit for, but even as I write this, I am questioning my own ultimatum. As much resolve as I had when I insisted he choose, I now have equal amounts of doubt that this will end well for either of us. This might not go the way I hope it will. He might not see us the way I do. I may have played too high of a card too soon in the game, bet too big, raised the stakes too high. 

Or maybe...just maybe...he'll come back and say Honey, You Are It.

Break Up Cake

Break Up Rule #37: if it's not chocolate covered, I'm not eating it!

It has been three days of torture since Jason and I broke up. I'm indulging on a calorie fest to rival that of a marathon runner. Carbs, cocktails, cupcakes --- you name it, I'm eating it! I have been left far too long to my own devices, complete with Oreos straight out of the box and Netflix on demand.

Kimberly is throwing a pity party and you are ALL invited! Luckily for everyone, my pity party involves food. And drinks. And really awesome girlfriends.

Jenn came over last night with a box of Rice Krispies, a bag of marshmallows, a stick of full fat butter, a tub of frosting, two different kinds of chocolate chips, and a box of red velvet cake mix. Red Velvet Rice Krispie treats with cream cheese frosting and chocolate chips? They are exactly what the break up doctor ordered. Get the recipe here!

If I wasn't depressed about losing my boyfriend, I'm going to be damn devastated about losing my waistline! Why do we do this to ourselves? Because the only way to climb out of the abyss is to allow yourself the time to sink all the way down into it. Deep, deep, deep down.

Bella took me out to the bar with some of my favorite ladies for a Friday night on the town. She didn't just help me over-imbibe in raspberry Cosmo's though. Oh, no! She brought out the big guns. She baked me a break up cake where she wrote in icing: "This cake won't make you watch its kid, ask you to pay its bills, lie, cheat, or invent fake security clearances." Sadly, every one of these statements eludes to a break up in the last two years. Like I always say, this blog is funny cause it's true! We borrowed five forks from the bartender and dug in. Some of us ate only the frosting. Some of us ate only the cake. And some of us ate to erase the pain of being single, yet again.

D took the evening one step further. If Cosmo's and break up cake weren't enough, she stopped at McDonald's on the drive home. We shared chicken nuggets, a large fries, and a Shamrock Shake. I have not eaten at McD's since the early 1990's, but I can tell you it tastes exactly the same after a shitty relationship ending as it did in elementary school when we got our butts kicked in the softball tournament. Basically, McDonald's tastes like being a loser feels.

And that was when the pity party ended.

I woke up the next morning, having replaced the knot in my stomach with resolution. I went quickly from nausea to determination, knowing that I could not continue on the path of self-destruction I so adamantly set upon. All my drinking, eating, and lounging clothes went straight into the hamper. I cleared the Fiona Apple off my iPod. I broke my bathroom scale out of hiding and placed it in plain sight. I threw out the few rainbow candy Chips Ahoy cookies I'd managed not to devour and replaced them with fresh fruit. I shoved the case of wine I bought back into the cabinet and stocked the fridge with fruit juice and lemon water. I wrote one word in my journal: STRONGER.

That's what I've become now. I am stronger because you all allow me to share my crazy stories with you. I am stronger because I let myself be weak, but then I forced myself to get back up after getting knocked down. I am stronger because I can face today, tomorrow, and the rest of my life knowing that I have amazing girlfriends by my side, my family supports me, and my writing keeps me motivated. I am stronger because the goals that I set for myself now are my own and no one else's and I fully intend to make those dreams come true. I am going to do something scary. Nay! Something terrifying. I am going to prove how strong I am by conquering the impossible. I am going to RUN.

Break up to 5K in 3 weeks? Ready. Set. Go!!!

Breathe

Breathe.

This is the best piece of life advice I have ever gotten.

Breathe. Just breathe. Keep breathing. Take a deep breath. Let it out. Let it go. Breathe.

My pen pal turned bestie turned soul mate, Sara, gave me this advice once and continues to give it to me whenever I need it. (You'd be shocked how often that is!)

I am super excited about a guy and can't stop talking about him in a really fast New York voice and all my words kind of blur together and I am already planning our wedding by the end of the first date and I've got our kids names picked out before the dessert course comes and I just want to spend my whole life repeating his name over and over and over.

Sara says, Breathe.

I am sobbing so hard because a guy that I thought was perfect for me completely broke my heart into a thousand million pieces and I've never been so broken before and how will I ever survive??????

Sara says, Breathe.

I am running my first ever 5K --- and I actually mean RUNNING it --- and after 3 miles of sweat and pain and yes, even some tears, I don't think I can take another step, let alone make it to the finish line.

Sara says, Breathe.

It is scary how often I forget to breathe.

So that panic attack that happened when I found myself single again, just two weeks shy of turning 32? I needed to be reminded to breathe.

This is that "end of story beginning" I was telling you about in my last blog. Jason and I had been dating for almost four months, and had literally just broken up. So what does a semi-devastated yet aging Kimberly decide to do? The scariest thing I can think of. I decide to run a race.

I wasn't gonna walk it. I wasn't gonna jog it. I wasn't gonna cut corners or skip training or do it "just to say I'd done it." Hell no. I actually wanted to do something I was proud of, and this race scared the crap out of me. You see, Sara started out running 5Ks, then she went to 10Ks, then she went to half marathons, then she went to marathons. In fact, some of you amazing readers helped make her Magical Dreams come true, and sponsored Sara and her husband for their first marathon run in Walt Disney World on January 12th, 2013. I would like to add that this was the same day Bella married her husband in St Paul's Cathedral in London, England. You can see how my heart was torn that day???

Still, I have always said that I would not run unless I was being chased through the woods at midnight by a clown with a bloody knife and there were margaritas at the finish line. So what truly pushed me to do it? Running the 5K was scary, but not nearly as scary as being suddenly single again at 32.

I walked, jogged and ran every single day leading up to the event. I took dance classes. I went to the gym. I enlisted a slew of friends to sponsor me in helping Save the Elephants at the Bronx Zoo. I joined a team, to ensure I would not crap out the day of the race. And best of all, Sara drove all the way down from Rhode Island to run it with me.

As we were two very giggly school girls who hadn't seen each other in far too long, we stayed up way, way, way too late the night before the race and still had to drag our tushies out of bed at ridiculous o'clock in the morning. But we did get up, scoop up our other teammates, and with picnic baskets loaded and coffee cups emptied, we drove to the Bronx Zoo at sunrise. The energy and adrenaline pushed me through the first mile. I started off running, although I couldn't see the whole course. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up the pace forever, but I had a surge of confidence that I was a strong, confidence, powerful woman and I was going to RUN.

That slowed down a bit on Mile 2. The second mile was mostly hills. The faster runners had long since left me behind, the walkers hadn't quite caught up, and out of the 5,000+ participants, I saw very few people around me. Also, as this race was at the Bronx Zoo, I got slightly distracted by all the animal habitats I was running past. Frankly, checking out the tigers lounging or the flamingos in the lake was far more interesting than putting one foot in front of the other. Also, I was starting to be aware that things were bothering me. I had worked up a sweat and needed to take my hoodie off. My sneakers were tied too tightly and I had a huge blister on my right heel. The hills were killing my thighs as I had only ever run on a flat surface before. Any and every excuse I could use to slow down entered my brain and before I knew it, my motivation had waned to practically nothing.

As I entered Mile 3, Sara called my phone. "I finished!!!" she shouted at me in her Rhode Island meets Massachusetts accent. Where are you? "I just started mile three," I told her in a not huffing nearly enough sort of way. "Good! Keep going!" she exclaimed and hung up. It was no more than a minute before Sara showed up by my side. She finished the race with a Personal Record, beating her own best 5K time! Sara then ran part of the way back for Bella and saw her through the Finish Line. And then? Then she came back for me.

"Run!" she shouted at me. I had clearly been walking for a while. "But my blister...and my thighs...and the hyenas..." I protested. "I don't care about your fucking blister or your thighs or the hyenas! NOW RUN!!!"

Remember that clown chasing me through the woods with the knife? Suddenly, I realized the clown was Sara.

I started running, lost my pace, caught back up, lost it again. The sneakers and the blister and my hips and my mind...everything had thrown me off course. I wasn't the same strong, confident, powerful woman I started out as just two miles before. In the span of thirty minutes, I'd turned into a whiny little bitch. What the hell had happened?

Life had happened. The course beat me down. I was ragged and sweating and exhausted and couldn't see the Finish Line from where I was. I was hot and tired and wanted to give up. But there was Sara, yelling in my ear, telling me that I could do it. Believing in me more than I believed in myself.

Seeing that I was struggling to gain my composure, Sara kept repeating "Breathe, Kim. Take a deep breath. Run through it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep running. One foot. Other foot. Keep running. Keep breathing. You're almost there. We are going to turn that corner, and you know what you're gonna see? The Finish Line! And do you know who is on the other side of that Finish Line? Everyone. Everyone is there, waiting to cheer you on. To see you finish. Finish STRONG, Kim. Keep breathing. Keep running. Breathe. Run. Breathe. Run. There you go. You got this. You got this, Kim. Keep running! Keep going. Turn that corner. Turn it. Finish strong. Go girl. Go, I'm right behind you! Go, Kim, go go go go go!!!"

And before I knew it, I had crossed the Finish Line.

Sara was right. Everyone was there to cheer me on, to clap as runners came in, to help us feel like we'd just conquered the whole world. And that's exactly what it felt like. I was, once again, that strong, powerful woman I started out as. I lost sight of her for a while. But I found her again.

This is what happened with me and Jason. I started off as a calm, confident, amazing woman, capable of standing on my own two feet and doing anything I set my mind to. The course of our relationship got rocky. There were hills to climb (that felt like mountains to me) and I wanted to give up. I found any excuse to slow down, get distracted, lose my stride. But in the end, I chose to break up with him because we just weren't working. I chose to finish strong. I needed that reminder to breathe.

Ending a relationship isn't the end of the world, though it may feel like it at the time. The heartbreak will fade with each passing day. Time really does heal all wounds. You just have to give time, time. You will not die from a broken heart or a failed relationship, as much as you think you will, as much as you might want to. You will not shrivel up and die a spinster because you are single again at 32 years old. You will not lose all hope in love and romance and happily ever after just because one guy turned out to be a jerk. What you must do is recover, get stronger, return to the powerful woman that you know you are. Put one foot in front of the other. And most of all, breathe.

Dot Dot Dot

Beginning, middle and end. That's how every story should go, right? It starts off with Once Upon a Time and trails off with And They Lived Happily Ever After...

But what comes after the dot dot dot?

Y'all know I'm a huge fan of the ellipsis. I'm also a huge fan of once upon a time and living happily. But are these fairy tales that we tell ourselves, our friends, and even our children simply the security blanket of single girls everywhere?

Disney gave us unrealistic expectations of love and romance. They set the scene that all of our lives are kind of on pause until the story begins. Until we meet our prince. That once we find him, it's only a matter of time until we ride off into the sunset together on horseback. Once we couple up, our story ends. Or does it?

What comes after the dot dot dot?

I'm going to tell you a story about a relationship I was recently in...and recently got out of. But rather than take you on the roller coaster ride of ups and downs, ins and outs, I'm going to let you read the last page first: We broke up.

Those of you who follow my facebook page (and you ALL should!) lived through this one with me. I met Jason, fell for him, things were amazing, shit went wrong, I walked away. Those are the major plot points for anyone needing the Cliff's Notes version of it. But I received a lovely email from a reader who said "Just once, I want it to work out for you! I love hearing how you meet these guys, but then I get so sad when it doesn't work out. When they're stupid, or they hurt you, or they don't appreciate you, or they have a dominatrix on the side. (That one was cray cray btw. Did NOT see that coming!) In the future, could you please just tell us how it ends first? Like, should I get my hopes up for this guy, or is he an idiot like all the rest? Just once, I want you to get your happy ending. We are all rooting for you!"

Well, here's the thing: No. I can't.

If I was writing a novel instead of a memoir, hells yeah I woulda given myself a happy ending by now! I'd be married with a couple of kids and a nice house and a huge backyard and a bigger paycheck and blonder highlights and a smaller waistline and a deeper tan. I would have finished turning this blog into a book and been on tour to visit all of your cities and had cosmo's with every single reader who has supported me from Day One. I would work out every day and host my own cooking show and shop exclusively at farmer's markets. If I was the author of my own life story, I would only date tall guys with six figure incomes, pension plans, health benefits, good hygiene, great families, a strong faith and even stronger arms.

I would not be a mostly broke 32 year old living in a post divorce studio apartment, dragging my ass to Lucille Roberts three times a week, turning to Chips Ahoy and my cats for comfort on a Friday night. I would not consider a full dvr and a half full bottle of wine an acceptable alternative to having a date. I would not have dated a fetishist who asked to suck on my toes on the first date, a hipster who has never left Brooklyn, or a sex foot four electrician who hugged me hello with an accidental erection in the first thirty seconds of meeting me. I would not have dated a court reporter who threw up sushi and still tried to kiss me, two separate guys who put me on the phone with their mothers, or a one armed Cuban prison guard. I would not have dated a Southerner who picked his nose and then tried to hold my hand, a carpenter who picked out our wedding song (before the first date) and made it my ring tone on his phone, or a comic book nerd who cracked open his Darth Vader piggy bank to pay for our date in quarters. And I most certainly would not have dated an eyeglass repairman who took me to the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show where we dressed up as Brad and Janet...except that HE wanted to be Janet.

Thus the tagline to my blog has always been "It's funny cause it's true." My motto will forever remain "You can't make this shit up" because in no one's world are these acceptable behaviors! They're weird and creepy and if you've ever had a crazy ass first date, you know exactly what I'm talking about. So yes, dear reader, I would love to tell you ahead of time not to get your hopes up about any particular guy I'm dating because it doesn't work out in the long run. I, personally, would also like to know on the first date if this is in fact the guy for me. Will I be wasting kisses on a man who I don't spend the rest of my life with? Will I waste days, weeks, months or years falling for someone who doesn't hold my future in his hands? I have no answers to those questions. Perhaps that's what makes the adventure so exciting.

But since you asked, dear morbid ones, we are going to try a little experiment. I am going to tell you the story of dating Jason...not beginning, middle and end...rather I am going to tell it from end to middle to beginning. Because I'm the girl who read the last page of Harry Potter book 7 at 12:01 am the night it was released. Because I'm the girl who goes to the psychic, the fortune teller, the palm reader, the tarot card gypsy in the hopes of getting some insight. I'm the girl who doesn't want to get her hopes up if it doesn't work out. So I'm right there with you.

The story of Jason did not end with riding off into the sunset on horseback, but it did end. The best part? I did not end. I keep going. Jason wasn't the Happily Ever After to my story. He was a chapter in it, and I still hold the pen to decide what comes next. There is power in knowing that although my heart hurts, it will recover like it always does, like it always has and always will. That's the ironic thing about a heartbreak. It doesn't kill you, no matter how much you think it's going to. No matter how much you think "I can't survive another break up," you always come out of it stronger. Maybe you've learned a lesson you didn't think you needed to learn (and very likely, didn't WANT to learn!) Maybe you discovered something about yourself or love or life and you'll be a better partner and a better person because of it. Maybe you just proved to yourself that you are stronger than you give yourself credit for.

I cannot imagine staying with a man just because I want my happy ending. To me, if I'm not happy, then it isn't the end.

Period.

Butterfly Garden

32...

I am 32 years old now. That number makes no sense to me. It's as if 32 is some foreign language I don't speak. How can I be 32? I still feel 16. Or 21. Or 27. But 32??? No. Not me. I cannot be 32.

By the time she was 32, my mother was married for 12 years. I was already in pre-school and she just had my little brother. She and my dad owned their home, they had full time jobs, they took care of their sick parents. My mom was a grown up at 32. I spent the day at the zoo.

Sure, I ran my first 5K. Yeah, I was spending my birthday weekend with friends. It was new and different and exciting, but let's face it --- I'm a giant child. Don't get me wrong, I love my life. It's fun and every day surprises me. My time is filled with all the things and people that make me happy. I have the best job in the world. My friends are awesome. My family is super supportive. I have the freedom to go where I want, when I want, and do what I want with who I want. Doesn't sound too terrible, does it? Yet I'm still stuck missing that one special person to share these fantastic experiences with.

Wow. I sound like a cliche from The Bachelor! I wish I could erase that sentence, but it doesn't make the sentiment any less true. I look at my mom and the life she built, what she was surrounded with by the time she was 32 and I can't help but compare. I've been trying so hard to make it happen. Is it possible I've been trying TOO hard???

I sketched this blog out in my head the day I ran the 5K at the Bronx Zoo. All my life, I've wanted to visit a Butterfly Garden. For one reason or another, it just hasn't worked out. But the Birthday Fairies must've been watching over me because my best friend treated me to an afternoon surrounded by butterflies. Surrounded by love.

Butterflies symbolize so much to me. Metamorphosis. Change. The belief that life is so much more amazing on the other side, if we have enough faith to leave behind everything we know and love. If we are unafraid to stop being caterpillars, that is when we blossom. That is when we bloom. That is when we become butterflies.

Needless to say, super emotional 32 year old Kimberly wound up in tears. For once though, they were happy tears. Walking into the butterfly garden, I was a little overwhelmed. The thing I'd been looking forward to seeing for so long was finally close enough to touch. It was all around me. I was there...finally, truly, completely there. I didn't have to use my imagination anymore. The beauty in front of my eyes was more incredible than anything I could've dreamed up anyway.

The first few moments were really hard to focus. There were so many butterflies, I didn't know where to look. One would land on a leaf, and before I could take a breath to appreciate it, that one would fly away and another would land on a flower next to me. A few butterflies flew right at my head and I was so unprepared for them, I actually swatted the poor things away!!! Can you believe it? I was as terrified as though I was in a cave full of bats instead of a flower garden full of my favorite critters on the planet.

After a while, I found my place among the flowers and found the peace to just sit still. I stopped swatting at the buzzes past my head. I stopped looking from one flower to the next and just focused on my breathing. I stopped running from one bush to the other to the other, hoping to snap a photo of a butterfly or two in action. I just sat there and let them come to me. Do you know, the most amazing thing happened next. They did!

The butterflies started landing on me, first one and then another. Some paused momentarily on my arm, then flitted away as quickly as they came. Some even landed on the wrong side of my camera, taunting me that I could see them up close, but I'd never get a picture to prove it. One landed on my shoulder and perched there for a while, surprising me with the length of time she stayed. A year or more ago, I gave the advice to a reader to be still and let a butterfly land on her shoulder. I wasn't really sure about what I was saying, but it felt intensely true. I have never been so happy to be proven right in my life.

All this time, I've been running at love with arms wide open, chasing it down like a runaway train. What have I learned from these mistakes? Sit down. Be patient. Love isn't like a fugitive you have to chase and capture. You can't put your future under arrest and hold it in a jail cell. Love is like a butterfly that constantly eludes the net. If you just sit quietly for a bit, and you're very still, and very lucky, love will simply come and land on your shoulder.

Mother's Day

I remember the exact moment I fell in love with my ex husband. We were lying in bed together, faces nearly touching. There was no light in the room except for the dim London moon outside my window. I have no idea what time of night it was, so lost was I in his eyes. We'd been talking and kissing and staring at each other for hours on end, the intoxication of a new relationship sinking deeper and deeper into the space between us. I'd only been living in England for a few weeks, yet John and I had already forged a bond unlike anything I had ever experienced. Please bear in mind that I was twenty years old, September 11th had just shaken New York, and I was on the other side of the ocean where nothing was familiar and I didn't know a single person. My family, my friends, I had left them all behind to study abroad...but I learned more about life than I did about books in those three months overseas. I learned what it meant to fall indescribably hard for someone and truly believe that it was love. Not "young love" or "puppy love" or "first love" but a lasting love to survive a lifetime. At least, that's what I thought it was.

The moment is cemented into my brain as the reason I left my youth behind to become the only person I knew (and still know, to this day) to jump into a marriage headfirst before I was even legal to drink at my own wedding. He didn't look at me, he looked through me. He stared so deep into my soul, I thought I was drowning. Time stood still, yet swirled all around us. We barely knew each other, yet I knew him better than anyone else I'd ever met. He spoke so softly, so slowly that I could hardly hear him, yet I felt his words race through my heart with such passion, such sweet honesty, I wanted to dedicate my life to making them come true.

"I can see our future children in your eyes."

That was it. Right there, in that moment, I went from being a young girl with dreams of conquering Europe, writing the next great American novel, and living out my days in solitude to becoming a woman who saw her future clear as day. That future revolved around being John's wife, bearing his children, and raising a family in the suburbs where we would play board games on rainy nights and stare at each other just like we were in that moment.

He made me want that life. He gave me the gift of a decided future. He showed me what my heart desired all along, that I simply refused to acknowledge. I thought I wanted to be single and free spirited forever. I was wrong. I wanted John and I wanted our children.

Is is any wonder then, that eight long years together later, he undid the ties that bound us with a completely contradictory statement?

"I don't think I want children anymore."

He said he didn't "think" he wanted them, but he admitted later that he'd actually known for the last two years that kids were not in the cards for him. Sadly, they have always been in the cards for me. I feel motherhood calling me from the depths of my soul. There is an unspeakable emptiness that I know for a fact can only be filled by a baby growing inside me. Perhaps it's taboo to say it out loud. I'm a single woman, living in New York, just turned 32 with my whole life ahead of me. I should be drinking, dancing, and partying my wild nights away. But that's not what I want and it feels dishonest pretending that it is.

Don't get me wrong, I have my share of fun. I very much enjoy the evenings where I can play on the improv stage til one in the morning with no responsibilities (save my cats) to come home to. I adore hanging out with my girlfriends on weekends, jumping in the car for a road trip to the wineries, or throwing random dance parties so loud the neighbors start banging on the walls. I am so grateful that on any given Friday night, I could be singing karaoke at a dive bar in Queens or learning bachata at Dominican Restaurant 4 with a table full of guys who speak no English but love teaching blonde girls in heels how to dance!

So why then, does Mother's Day continue to haunt me, to taunt me, to kick me in the stomach every year? Like an obnoxious third grader pulling my pigtails on the playground, Mother's Day sticks its teasing tongue out at me, singing "Nanny nanny poo poo, you're not a mother!"

In an ironic twist of fate, John and his new wife celebrated her first Mother's Day yesterday. *Note: I am assuming they did this. I stopped stalking her blog the day the baby was born.* It still amazes me that the family he promised me and then walked away from, he now actually has...it's just not with me. So where does that leave me in the grand scheme of family life?

I. Give. Up.

Before you freak out --- no, I am not giving up my dreams of having a family of my own someday. I am simply giving up any attempt to control the time frame in which that family happens. I've been dating for three years now and have gotten my hopes up several times that I may have met The One, each time to be gently (or brutally) proved wrong. I cannot control the time frame in which I meet The Man Of My Dreams any more than I can plan out the time frame within which I will get pregnant with My Baby. These are mythological creatures in my life right now, figments of my over active imagination, but wanting them as hard as I have been won't make them appear any sooner.

So what can I do in the meantime? For one, I stopped thinking of Mother's Day as a day to mourn me not being a mother. Instead, I see it as a celebration that God gave me a mother as amazing as mine is. She is my #1 fan, my cheerleader, my biggest supporter. She sticks by my side, even when I'm wrong! (Not like that ever happens.) She holds my hand, consoles my broken heart, and lets me cry on her shoulder all too often when things do not go my way. She stays up nights with me when I'm in the throes of an awful migraine. She accepts me completely, exactly as I am, faults and flaws and all. She is my best friend, loving me even in times when I feel unlovable. Actually, those are the times she loves me the most.

Perhaps she is the real reason that I want to be a mother someday. I should be so lucky to have a daughter who loves and looks up to me the way that I do with my mom. I try to tell her as often as I can. I try to show her how much she means to me and express my unending gratitude but frankly, it never feels like enough. So yesterday, I told ALL the moms in my life just how much I respect them, adore them, and want to be just like them.

I texted, facebooked, called, wrote cards for, and sent gifts to all the amazing women in my life who are moms, grandmas, stepmoms, moms to be, or have shown me a motherly kindness in any way. I got a lot of thank you's, a lot of "you brought tears to my eyes" and a lot of "wish your mom a Happy Mother's Day from me too" messages. But the one that stood out to me was a text back from my dear friend Laura who said, "Thanks babe. I know you'll be an amazing mother someday soon."

If you know Laura, you know that she's never wrong. I will be an amazing mother someday, and I'll keep my fingers crossed for soon. While I desperately want children, it's simply not my time yet. I have to wait my turn and for the first time in my 32 years, I'm ok with that. Those children that John saw in my eyes twelve years ago are still there. I am certain that there is a family in my future. My family just won't be his. He has his wife and child...and I have my whole future ahead of me.

Happy Mother's Day.


This blog is dedicated to all the moms out there who read this blog in the only spare time you have to yourself. I know that it's not easy balancing a baby on your hip, laundry in the dryer, dishes in the sink screaming to be washed, and still finding five minutes to catch up on my (albeit rather pathetic) dating life. But you have shown me such loyalty, such friendship, such love. THANK YOU for that. Your kids are lucky to have you, and so am I. ~ Kimberly Spice