AboutAverage.Com
My Internet Dating Debacle ...By Jacey HilliUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Jacey Hill
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-2999-9Chapter One
The Calm Before the Storm
It was a difficult time for me. I was in a lonely funk still trying to absorb the reality of my impending divorce. I was living a life that I thought belonged to some old maid who chose loneliness and cats over affection and companionship with an actual human being. Granted, I didn't have cats, in fact, I don't even care for cats due to their quiet sneakiness. And, I wasn't exactly lonely either. Not yet, anyway. I had my two children, my two parents, and my many friends. I was just sad and hurt and getting through life day by day. In my heart I felt young, in my mind I felt old, and in the mirror I felt ugly. No wonder I felt alone. The feelings I had about myself were isolated and nothing blended together anymore. That was lonely within myself.
Each day I rose, lethargically, out of the right side of the bed, still not daring to touch the left side. The left side was his side, my ex's side. It remained untouched and fully made every day, even after I had had a full night's sleep. Each day I rolled out of the right side, swinging my feet to the cream bedroom carpet, pulled and tightened the covers to make the bed and then off to the sweet bedrooms of a new baby and a chipper toddler.
These little girls were ready and eager to start their day every morning as if yesterday never happened. I wished I could to that. I would awake to the baby talking to herself in her crib, bed head sticking up in every direction. She would hear me in my bathroom brushing my teeth and hop up on her little feet, grab onto the crib railing and eagerly await my arrival. I would open the door slowly, gently peer in to see if she noticed me right away, and then we would lock eyes instantly. The first thing I would see was her dark, thick baby hair all over the place which caused me to hold back my initial giggles, but then I would see those baby blue eyes staring at me with the sleepy puff surrounding her lids, searching for recognition. She would look at me and her smile would stretch as far across her face as she could stretch it, revealing a mouth of empty gums and two giant dimples denting the center of each cheek. Immediately, her reaction was to start jumping in her crib, smiling, and laughing to be lifted out into the new day. Walking closer to her and watching her try to balance on the unsteady mattress with her chubby feet while she attempted to raise her hands to me, I lifted her out of her crib, snuggled her sweet baby smell and kissed her from her velvet neck right into the depths of those dimples.
"Good morning, funny face", I would say in her little ear.
"How was your sleep"? I would ask as she batted me with excitement and nuzzle her kissy, drooling lips into my neck.
This was how she greeted every morning, most of the time. She greeted me with the innocence of baby, the security of mommy, and the happiness of the moment. At what point do we lose that in life? When do those magical qualities just vanish and disappear?
Next I would hear the little pitter patter of three year old feet running across a carpeted room. My senses were heightened every time I honed in on the footsteps of my sweet girl. My first born. She was the most angelic thing I had ever laid eyes on when she was born. Perfectly flawless skin with the glow and quiet peace of a newborn. A small tuft of light brown hair that didn't require primping until she was over a year old. A smile that encouraged twinkles of love and laughter in her rich, brown eyes. She was happy, smart, and friendly, surrounded by an aura of peace, sensibility, and reason. There were no temper tantrums, just unconditional open arms of love from this child. She, too, was comforted with the sense of security with mommy. She, too, was clueless of her parental surroundings that were filled with angst. She, too, eager to start her happy-filled day of whatever it had to offer. Every morning, my three year old would try to teach me to greet each day with new hope, minus the resentment, without ever realizing it. I believe her aura is surrounded by angels helping to guide her emotional mother.
I would stand and look over at the baby's bedroom door as I changed the early morning diaper of the day. There stood my toddler with that beautiful twinkly smile on her face. Her brown hair tousled by a peaceful nights sleep in her big girl bed, her flowing princess night gown that probably encouraged the sweetest dreams of castles and white knights, and the bare little feet with painted pink toenails, squishing into the plush bedroom carpet. Usually carrying a book, toy or a pruned thumb and blankey, she would hug me, kiss me, and greet her sister with all the unconditional love and innocence of a three year old.
"Good morning my sweet peach"! I would say
"Good morning, Mommy", she would reply with a sleepy smile.
"How was your sleep, Honey"?
"I slept good, Mommy. I had dreams. My bed is a mess, Mommy".
"That's okay", I would reply. "Mommy'll fix it in a bit".
This was the morning, every morning. The three of us, the quiet of the house without anybody walking through the front door, or the telephone ringing, or the cartoons blasting from Nickelodeon. Every morning, this was the calm before the storm for each day. Before the splattered baby food all over the floor and the million slobber-dried cheerios stuck to whatever the baby could get her hands to touch. Before brushing knots and tangles out of a toddlers hair for preschool, causing unwanted tears from a little girl who always seemed cheerful. Before the rush to get two little ones loaded up in the car and to preschool on time. Before the gym class I wanted to make so I didn't feel like such a fat ass anymore. Before the expected, but unwanted, arrival of my soon-to-be ex who would show up for a brief visit with the girls. Before the endless phone calls from my mother at home, my father at the office, my lawyer in the lion's den, and my friends from their cell phones, all wanting know to know, 'how I was doing today'. Really, it felt like Groundhog Day. Again.
Regardless of the obvious commotion all day, I was still wandering around in a daze. I attempted each day in a fog of astonishment, confusion, and self-pity. I was clearly surrounded by love and support from every angle, yet, I still felt terribly alone and I was convinced that my childhood fear was coming true. I was going to be the "Old Maid". I was going to be that dreaded card of the Old Maid, staring back at me from my hand, while my friendly opponent was going to get the happy ending. The Old Maid, rocking in her rocking chair, knitting booties for her cats or something. I hated knitting, almost as much as my dislike for cats!
I was so relieved when I met my husband 7 years ago, overcoming that fear of Old Maid-ism. I felt like I was showing the world `See? I wasn't gonna be an Old Maid! Ha!'. Now, I was just feeling betrayed and insecure. I was questioning everything about myself that I had always felt secure about in the past. There I was, wondering how the old Maid snuck up on me without my knowing. Was I not paying attention? Was I taking it for granted? Was I too consumed in what I thought was a perfect start to a perfect life? Was I a shitty wife after all? Maybe I wasn't cut out for it? All I knew was that I was waking up to these two precious gifts of children and I had to keep trudging along for their sake, whether I was going to be rocking and knitting or not.
Some smart-asses may have an opinion that 25 years old is too young to get married. I really didn't feel that way at the time. I had been living large as a single, party girl for quite some time before my engagement and I felt deep down inside that I was ready to settle down into marriage and start a family. When I met my husband at the age of 24, I felt elated and ecstatic about my future and I couldn't wait to walk down the aisle. I was tired of the endless summer weekends in the Hamptons, turning the bar scene upside down every time my friends and I walked in. I was tired of the same local scene all winter, exhausting the hot spots of twenty something establishments in the northern suburbs of New York. I wanted more. I wanted more security and companionship and less hang-over. I wanted more comfort and less skin-tight. I wanted a wedding, not a one night stand. I wanted children, not more friends of convenience. I wanted dinner parties, not clubbing meat markets. I wanted a change, and magically, it was standing right before me in a six foot two body with dark hair and loving eyes.
My parents had been going strong with a wonderful, solid marriage and I really wanted to turn out like them. They had experienced tremendous loss and still managed to keep it together while many would have just fallen apart. I grew up in sort of a "Beaver Cleaver" type household filled with family dinners, vacations, huge Thanksgivings, play dates, and family outings. I really felt that this was the type of life I wanted to emulate with my future husband and strive for a life that made mine such a happy one thus far, with the obvious exception of the loss of my brother.
No family should experience loss like that, yet I silently applauded my parents for getting through it day by day. That loss, no doubt, made me more vulnerable in my life and the urgent sense of settling down was surely prompted by experiencing something being taken away so forcefully, unexpectedly, and sadly. Naturally, I wanted to cling on to everything good and solid I felt in my life at the moment and start living out my dreams, something my brother never got to do. I was on a mission for him and for me. I planned on providing the family, the next generation for both of us and I was feeling very positive, laced with a small sense of melancholy about it.
My parents planned a beautiful wedding for us with all the gorgeous fixings of a high class affair. It took place in Greenwich, Connecticut with a guest list of 200. It was the basic fairytale wedding with the big poufy gown, the filet mignon, and the ornate flower arrangements that rose off the table in three foot vases. The DJ played all night while everyone danced right up until the end. My parents felt proud as all their friends and family watched them marry off their only daughter, their only child existing in this world. I felt very content and the chronic hives that I experienced all over my body for the previous six months were finally at bay. (A sign?)
My husband and I settled into our new, little, married life tucked into our first crappy apartment on a busy semi-city main street. The Beeline Bus stop was right outside our window, with strangers lurking about the litter, waiting for their ride to somewhere else. Housing projects were across the street in beat up brick buildings and our living room window had a circular crack that mildly resembled a bullet hole of some sort. We made it there through some of the summer, but as the weather became hot and humid, the garbage incinerator for the apartment made me want to puke on a daily basis. No, I wasn't pregnant yet but the smell was completely vile.
When we first found this apartment, I was thrilled because we did it on our own, or at least, I did something with my husband that my parents weren't involved in. I came from a very sheltered life with my parents and rarely did anything on my own without their help, advice, or money. I had never even lived apart from them with the exception of going to college.
After spending a few short months there, I hated it. I hated the noise across the street and the aim that the window hole had. I hated the bus and its fumes every half an hour. I hated looking out the window at city litter. I hated the smell of the hallway and the incinerator, but mostly, I hated the raunchy people upstairs that had animal sex every weekend morning for hours. Nothing like working at a busy restaurant into the wee morning hours, only to awaken to the sounds of thumping, grunting, and moaning from an entire floor above. I was a bitch. I was a princess. We moved.
We found a new apartment in the opposite direction from the restaurant his family owned which was large enough for the two of us and it only had two stories. It was a little off the beaten path for me and the town it was situated in was yet another dump. Luckily, the apartment bordered on another town that was quite pretty and where I felt I could spend more time in. In fact, it reminded me of the town I grew up in as a child. My husband and I were happy there. It was a roomy 1 bedroom apartment with a large kitchen, decent living room, and a huge bedroom. We were forming our lives together as a married couple and were beginning to discuss the possibility of starting a family. Baby talk was coming quickly after the honeymoon but I felt ready to embark on this journey. I loved him, I loved the outlook our life had, and I really wanted to be a young mom. We knew our apartment would be too small for a baby but we figured we would make it work for the first few months.
Soon enough I was pregnant. It seems, I merely thought about getting pregnant and I tested positive on the little pee stick. That seemed easy. Life was heading exactly the way I thought it was supposed to. Not that it's not subject to change in the Grand Master scheme of things, but I was pretty happy with the way in which it was moving.
During my 4th month of pregnancy, my beloved Nana passed away, which deeply saddened me to no end. She was my mom's mom. We were very close my entire life and I just wanted her to hang in there to meet her great grandchild, but I guess she couldn't hold out any longer. I said my peaceful goodbyes and sent along my endless love. At that deeply sad moment, I would have never truly understood how much I would need her in the near future. If anyone was needed and longed for most, it was my Nannie. My Nana had been divorced early on in her first marriage back in the 40's when divorce was basically unheard of. My Grandpa was a player to some extent, at least that's my understanding. My Nana took on the lone responsibility of raising my mother while working multiple jobs and putting herself through school. In order to accomplish all of this, she made the difficult decision to enroll my 4 year old mother in a Catholic boarding school in lower Westchester at the time. My Nana was a single, working mother in the 1940's, and making life happen. She was smart, she was motivated, and she was living. I would have loved to know more of the details of that time in her life, but during the time of her passing, I would have never known to ask. Now, I just ask her every night in the dark and try to imagine the answers she would give me.
After Nannie died, my husband and I made the decision to move into her quiet condo, closer to where I grew up. It was a lovely condo complex with our unit nestled into the back woods. It was a nice sized 1 bedroom with 1 and a half bathrooms and a small den off the living room.
Every day, I came to enjoy and appreciate the sun peering through the trees from the dining room window, just as Nannie did for so many years before, while sipping her tea and doing her New York Times crossword puzzle. I, of course, didn't drink tea, and couldn't possibly get one single question right in The Times puzzle, but I enjoyed the quiet view just the same. Our new home offered us more room and a separate little space to bring a baby home to, which we did. Nannies' place offered us security, warmth, long walks, and proximity to Mimi and Pops (my parents), which is exactly what Nannie gave me my whole life and would have wanted for us and our new baby.
Over the next two years, I became easily accustomed to motherhood with a beautiful baby girl. We eventually bought a house nearby, owned a popular restaurant, and got ready for another baby. I was feeling excited about my life. I was putting a new home together, decorating a nursery, and all the while, feeling really proud of my husband and his booming business.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from AboutAverage.Comby Jacey Hill Copyright © 2010 by Jacey Hill. Excerpted by permission.
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