Falling in love. Such a nice sentiment. Makes me think of sunshine, rainbows, flowers, puppies, all things warm and fuzzy. Sadly, the reality it quite different.
I remember when I was a teenager. When falling in love was a weekly thing. Seems every week there was someone more wonderful than last week, someone I couldn’t live without. I wrote my name with his, imaged our children, where we would live, what our life would be like, then, the following week, do it all over again with someone new. Now I get to watch my teenager do the same thing. She loves him, she loves him not.
This is not about my teenager. This is about me and what the reality of life and love is for the bubble bath queen. I do not fall in love easily. As a matter of fact I tend to push people away. Imagine that. Trina says I do a little dance, “ Come closer, I want to know you better.” Then as soon as they do I run away, or I poke them with a stick. I’m really good at poking with a stick. It’s a self preservation thing. I’m going to poke you with a stick so you won’t stay around long enough for me to care and you to hurt me.
I’m trying really hard to not poke people with sticks, but I’m scared. This mid life love story is foreign to me. I don’t understand it and I’m not sure it exists. I’m afraid that there is always too much drama and baggage for a new relationship to grow and develop into something wonderful.
Even the conversations are different. How many times have you been married? No one asked me that when I was a teenager, they ask it now and I ask it back. What do all these failed marriages between us mean? It can’t all be the other persons fault so what is wrong with me? How do I fix what is wrong and does anyone have the patience to help me through the stick poking times?
I’ve met someone and I think he is pretty wonderful, but it’s still too early to know where, if anywhere, this might lead. It’s kind of funny how different relationships get as you get older. The questions are different, the expectations are different. We don’t talk about having children, we have children, we don’t talk about buying houses, we have houses. Instead we talk about things like, your house or mine?
I’m sure when I started writing this I had a point but somewhere along the way I lost it. All I know is that I’m confused, more confused than when I had to choose between Johnny Perry and David Arbogast in the third grade. The stakes are much higher this time and with all my heart I want to get it right.