Moving on

It’s been a long 5 weeks. Processing the miscarriage was emotionally difficult but I’m grateful that the physical aspect of it wasn’t terrible. Well, beyond the waiting for it to happen. And the awkwardness of wondering what to do with the plans we made when we thought we’d need to make room for a baby in our lives. I spent a couple of weeks having strange dreams where I had hair made of tin that I couldn’t dye a natural color and where my boyfriend insisted that if I couldn’t have a baby then he needed to move on. I’m sure it was my fears coming through. In my family sociology class we read about the life course perspective on aging where we all go through phases…one leading to another. We are expected to continue through the phases until we are old and die. We are socialized to act in expected and acceptable ways during those phases. I think I was struggling with the idea that I am supposed to be in a certain place–that one where I’ve raised my kids and I’m done and should now just age gracefully and eventually retire. In fact, some of my friends think I’m crazy for wanting to start over now. But the truth is, I just don’t see myself the same way. I’ve always kind of deviated from the script. Why should I stop now? So we’ve decided to go ahead with plans, move in together, and try again.

My girls’dad doesn’t approve. Neither does his new wife. I got a phone call from him expressing concern with my moving plans (he’s rather religious and thinks I should be married) and a letter from her (outlining what a horrible mother I am). This gave me pause, not because I care what they think, but I worried that my kids were upset about things and didn’t share it with me. I had talked to them several times over the last couple of months, since all of this affects them. But I talked to them again. I didn’t share the contents of the letter or the details of my conversation with their dad, I only asked that they be honest with me, as they usually are. As I told them, their dad no longer knows me. And I’ve never even had a conversation with his wife, so she certainly doesn’t know me. My only worry was what they thought. Thankfully, my kids know me. And they are grown up enough to understand that you can have a difference of opinion or viewpoint without condemning a person. They are good with the changes, which makes me grateful. After all, I told them that this is it for me. It’s taken a while and I’ve had some rather crummy relationships along the way, but I’ve found my guy. And he’s pretty awesome.

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