I’ve been stressing. Big time, sick to my stomach, on my knees in front of the porcelain god kind of stressing. I signed a lease with him. I’m over the moon, so happy that I could shout from the top of the famous PPG building. So what’s to stress over?

Happiness is in the palm of my hand. Right in front of my eyes is just about my every wish come true (minus one, but we’ll get to that topic later). I’ve never known anything like it. I don’t know what to do with happiness and dreams that come true.

What if I mess up? What if I stumble and fall? What if he wakes up six months from now and realizes that I’m odd and in need of more than just once a week therapy? Our names are on a lease together. I know, people do it every day all around the world. I’m not most people.

I have been abused, physically and sexually. I’ve been raped and mind fucked. I’ve worked to get beyond it. There was no getting over it, simply getting through it. I bear the scars and despite all attempts to say otherwise, I am the sum of all my parts. So what makes me think that I’ll be able to hold it together, to make this work?

I love him, of course. That’s the biggie. Follow that with a massive amount of determination and the courage to stand fast no matter what and you will see before you ladies and gentleman what may very well be the eighth wonder of the world. The storms don’t bother me. Let it thunder and lightning, let the wind howl and try to knock me off course. It won’t happen.

I believe in us. In the friendship, passion, respect, and love that we share. Fear won’t get the better of me. It’ll be alright- it’ll be the love that lasts for the rest of our lifetimes, just you wait and see.

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Well, I did it. I signed the lease with him today. A whole year to stick it out, work things through. In the big picture a year is nothing I know, but after the incident, it’s a huge deal. I don’t know why, but it is. I love him and I know I have what it takes. I believe in ‘us’ and there’s no doubt in my mind that we’re a good thing, but what about him?

I wonder what he thinks and how he feels. Do I believe all the wonderful things or do I listen to the hateful things he said when we fought and he asked me to leave? I feel like I’m walking a tightrope and God knows I’m deathly afraid of heights. I guess it comes down to having faith- in myself, in us, and in him.

When I wrote earlier about California and the Marine, it made me think about all the others who have come before. I have known love. I have known lust. I have known need and I have known all things unattainable. I’ve been sheltered in so many ways and like someone said, in many ways I’m a virgin. I’m no stranger to be adored and desired. I’m no stranger to being played for a fool and left broken hearted.

I’ve had my fair share of emotional flings, bouts of romance and friendship with no strings attached. I have known intense sexual pleasure and intense sexual pain. I’ve known love within certain boundaries and I’ve known love without limitations. If someone asked me a year ago if I’d yet been brave enough to ride the scariest of all lifes roller coasters, I would have said yes, but I would have been wrong.

Meeting the man of my dreams and realizing he isn’t without imperfections, living with him, and wanting to face the future with him- those are the things that have shown me that at long last I’m in the amusement park of life. I’m at the top of the first hill on the roller coaster of love.

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Most of my posts are typed in the kitchen. Come to think of it, I do almost everything in the kitchen. I’m always in here. It’s going to be worse when we move to the new house though, because it’s huge. I think it’s the fact that the kitchen is always quiet, no one ventures in until it’s time for dinner. Today I’m positng while I make chili. It’s really too warm for chili, but the guys all love it, so I’m making it for them. Later I’ll probably make brownies for dessert.

This has been the month for blasts from the past. An old friend said hello yesterday. It’s funny to call him an old friend. We tried to be so much more. We cared for one another and at one point we were fed up with dating and relationships so we thought we would give it a shot together.

He’s in the Marines and only a stones throw away from retirement. When we started talking it was via email as penpals. His deployment was over so he asked me to meet him at his new post in California for a vacation. I threw caution to the wind and boarded a plane.

The final leg of my trip ended when the plane landed in Palm Springs on the tail end of my birthday two years ago. It was warm for the middle of March and the air smelled of delicate flowers and dry desert air. I was scared but excited and I couldn’t wait to see him. I remember the air blowing through my hair right before I entered the airport from the tarmac.

He recognized me before I recognized him. He said he watched me walking toward the luggage area and hoped that the woman he was watching was me. We hugged and it was awkward for about two seconds. We laughed at ourselves for not seeing my luggage sitting there, waiting for us to realize where it was in all our nervous chatter. Our laughter rang out in the quiet parking lot and I knew I’d never forget a single moment of the entire trip, no matter what happened in my life.

He drove a red Mustang, completely tricked out, and I loved being in the passenger seat. We listened to the music and I marveled at the clear starlit sky. I hung my head out the window and sang at the top of my lungs. I was silly and foolish, but I loved myself so much at that moment.

We stopped for a bite to eat at Denny’s. It was dead and the waitress seated us at the back of the restaurant in booth that was big enough for ten, but it was just the two of us. We talked about my flight, about the weather, and we talked about his family. We laughed at my inability to make a decision, then again when I told him I couldn’t eat because I was too nervous.

The drive to the house was quiet and the feel of his hand against mine on the car seat was comforting. I didn’t want to forget a single second of what I was about to experience. We pulled into the garage and he unlaoded my bags. Idle chatter seemed to take over in the time it took to go from pals to week-long roomies with romantic possibilities.

He’d chosen this particular house to rent because it would accomodate his daughter when she came to visit and it would accomodate me and my things if we decided to see more of one another. I loved it- every inch of the space, from the master bedroom to the hall bathroom to the yard out back. I was on overload and it showed. He showed me to the bathroom and I showered at my leisure.

I sat in just my robe beside my suitcases looking for the pajamas I’d forgotten when he came in and sat down beside me. He kissed me gently, taking his time to learn the shape of my mouth and the way I preferred to be kissed. His hands were tangled in my hair and I knew what was about to happen. He pulled me to my feet and led me into where we’d be sleeping.

We were silent in a house that was already as quiet as a tomb. The light from a street lamp filtered through the vertical blinds and breeze filtered through the screen of the back door. I lost myself in the feel of him, in the way his PT hardened body fit against mine, in the chick flick feel of the moment.

I don’t remember much of that first night. I remember waking up late the next morning and going to breakfast. I remember the trip to Wal-Mart to buy the basics for the house and the trip to the grocery store. I remember watching Top Gun with him and driving through Joshua Tree Park. I remember pictures on top of a mountain and fixing dinner while listening to music.

The middle of the week came and we were restless. He remembered that I’d never been to Vegas, so he booked us a room and we headed out early the next morning. It was awesome to roll down the deserted road with the windows down and the music blaring. He drove way too fast but I loved it. We pulled into the parking garage of the hotel and I was out of the car in an instant. I couldn’t wait to explore, to eat, and to gamble.

I wasn’t impressed with the casinos for the most part, but the people and the atmosphere captivated me. We walked down the street and everyone thought we were married. I learned how to play Blackjack and much to his chagrin I was good at it. He played Roulette and he didn’t do so well, but he enjoyed the attention we got because I was the only woman at the table. He thought I was the best arm candy ever and he didn’t hesitate to show me off.

We spent most of our time on Freemont Street. We watched the light show and the people passing by. We found a band and listened. I swayed to the music and smiled to myself as he put a pssessive arm around me, loving the feeling of being desired. We swayed together with our frozen drinks in yard long beakers until the band packed it up for the night. Slightly intoxicated we wound our way through the casinos to our room where he took me as his own once more.

When the sun rose the next morning, I hated the thought of going back to Twenty-nine Palms. Going back meant that soon I’d be on a plane headed for the East Coast and away from my own private paradise. We spent the day at a casino and left for the house heavier in the wallet.

We knew that time was running out. He asked me to come back and share my life with him. We talked about the future, how we would handle deployments and household expenses, and about making it work without being madly in love. While it wasn’t a proposal full of romance and passion, it was one of friendship and promises to be there no matter what. I told him I would, because I knew I’d never find the grand passion and true love. He left me in the security line at the airport with tears in my eyes, offering a kiss and a promise that he’d see me soon.

The promise was never kept. A couple of days before I was due to leave, he emailed me from work with a confession that he’d been sleeping with someone for a week. I was hurt and angry, confused and ashamed. I should have known. He told me that he wanted me to come to California, that everything was still going to go as planned, but he couldn’t be monogamous, that he needed variety. He was leaving it up to me to decide what to do.

I made my choice and though I’ve wondered what might have been if I had gone to California to live, I don’t regret it. A couple of weeks after we went our separate ways he emailed me to tell me he was being deployed. I wrote to him the entire time he was in Iraq and I was glad that my letters provided him with the comfort and encouragment he needed. I’m glad that we can remain friends.

More than anything, I’m glad that it didn’t come to pass, that move to California. If I’d gone to California, it would have been lonely and scary. I would have missed my family and my friends, but more than anything I would have missed the love of my life. I would have missed that grand passion and the devotion. It’s been fun taking this trip down memory lane but I’m so glad that I’ve chosen today, this reality, instead of the possibility of days gone by.

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The interview went well. I’m half afraid that they’ll offer me a job and half afraid that they won’t. The money would be great, the schedule is perfect, and parking is free. I’m not wild about the facility, because it’s one of those been-there-done-that kind of thing. The bottom line is- money is money and right now, money is a good thing.

I went to dinner with the boys’ “Gram” this evening. She’s not really their grandmother- actually, she is their maternal grandmothers sister. Confusing, no doubt. Anyway, we had a girls only gab fest and had a wonderful meal. She likes me and I like her, but I can’t help but feeling weird. After all, she is his ex-wifes Aunt. Surely this is messed up.

She was very talkative, telling me things I knew and some I didn’t. Some things I don’t think I even want to know, but she says I have a right to know. In a way she has a point, but I can’t just automatically be ok with it. I mean, what does his ex wife say about all of this? It has to bother her in some way. It would bother me, but then again, I’m not like anyone else.

I know it’s crazy, but I have to wonder. When we move and get settled in, will thiings be different, better? In August, when we celebrate our one year anniversary, will there be anything that will make me hold out hope that he’ll ask me to marry him? If he doesn’t, will I want to stay or will I want to run as far away as possible?

Love is hard. It takes work and it takes energy. You have to know how to put one another first and make the other persons dreams come true if at all possible. You have to know about respect and friendship, about the difference between walls and boundaries. Pap & Gram have been married for 50 years. I want that! I’m young enough still that it could happen. I want it to happen with him but I have to ask myself, do I want to be just his girlfriend for the next fifty years or do I want to be his wife? I have to be content without feeling I’ve settled.

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For as dull and routine as our existence together seems to be, our lives are full of changes. We’re going through changes together and on our own. It’s the way life goes, I know, but I can’t help but wonder where the chips are going to fall.

Today I have a job interview. He’s hoping I get it and I’m not so sure. Don’t get me wrong- I want a job. I need a job. I just don’t know for sure that I want this job. I’ve only been a nurse for almost four years, but I’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. I can’t help but feel a little burned out. So while this job may very well be an excellent opportunity, what if I don’t like what might be required of me? What if I’m not cut out to be what I need to be for the residents of this school? It’s weighing on my mind.

This week we’ll be signing the lease on our new place. We. Us. As in, both signatures on the lease. It’s a big deal to me. Even when I was married, I never signed a lease with my ex-husband. Now I’m about to do it. So many firsts in this relationship and it’s downright terrifying. Both names on the lease means that we’re saying we’ll be there, together, for another year. What if we aren’t? What are the legal ramifications if I leave? We’re not married, there are no plans to be married, so I don’t have a spouse’s protection. I’m walking the highwire without a net, right above the lions den at the circus. Scary!

Most days my role in his life doesn’t bother me. I get up, do what I do, and that’s that. Some days though, I feel lost. I mean, we’re going to sign a lease together, rent a house together until we can buy a house together. Yet he won’t marry me. It makes no sense to me and I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to buy a house with him knowing we will never be married. It’s not really “our” house if we’re just shacking up. It’s his or it’s mine, never “ours”- at least it won’t feel like it to me. (Obviously my counselor will love knowing that I’ll be coming to see her- I’m job security for at least as long as I’m living in sin *shrugs*)

Change scares me. I like the day to day routines. He’s excited as can be about moving. So am I, in my own little way. I love the house and the neighborhood is divine. The neighborhood is more upscale than where we are now and I know it was a compromise on his part to look for a house there. He knew how much I loved it, how much it appealed to me. God bless him, the man is taking me and my desires into consideration- that’s got to count for a whole hell of a lot.

I know he loves me. I know he wants to see me happy, and I know how it breaks his heart to see me hurting. I know he’s protective of me and I know that I have touched him in ways that no one else ever has. So, if life is about changes, and change is inevitable, there is no one else I’d rather have beside me through them all.

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I used to think that people in love were pathetic. I have been married and divorced. I have shared a home with a man and hated it. I loved moving on, into my own place, the feeling of freedom that came from doing your own thing all the time. When I left, I had someone who cleaned my house and a nanny to watch my girls in our home so I could work as often as I wanted and not miss time with them. I did it myself, without child support or alimony and I made no apologies.

People in love share their lives. They plan for the future, they share a bathroom and a bed. They go out to dinner and answer to one another for their time spent apart. They know one anothers mannerisms and read one anothers thoughts. They make their single friends want to gag. I should know because I used to be their single friend.

When I was single and not at all interested in being part of a couple, I underwent a tubal ligation. My doctor didn’t want to do the procedure. He was convinced that I was young and beautiful and that some day I would fall in love again and I would want to have babies with my new love. All I could see was my lack of a sex life, two little girls that I loved very much but demanded enough time and financial resources, and birth control options that were hard on my body. Finally, the doctor agreed. The procedure was done and that was that. I was relieved to have one less thing to worry about.

Then I met someone and fell in love for the very first time. We share our lives. We share a bathroom and a bed. We know one anothers mannerisms and we read one anothers thoughts. Best of all, we make my friends ill. We each have children from our previous relationships, so it’s an adjustment.

He underwent a vasectomy before we met. I had a tubal. No sense in crying over the proverbial spilled milk. He hates babies. When we had a pregnancy scare right before Christmas, his sigh of relief caused a major windstorm in Pittsburgh. I was relieved, for his sake, but so brokenhearted for my own. Deep down, while it was scary, I realized that I would love to have his baby. To feel that tiny little person growing inside of me, knowing that it was part of him and part of me, physical proof of the love we share and a permanent bond. It broke my heart to find out that I wasn’t pregnant and I probably never would be again.

He had four children. Three with his ex-wife, who also shared his name for ten years, and one by an old flame. Four babies this man has had with two other women. He shares a last name with a woman who no longer has his heart or his love. I know it’s wrong and it’s crazy, but I’m envious and I feel as if I’ve been left out in the cold.

All of this was rehashed when he made some flippant remark about breast milk. Sure, anyone can lactate. I’d induce lactation if I thought it was what he wanted, because it is such an intimate thing, something that I’d love to share with him. We’ve shared many other intimacies, why not this? No boundaries, no limits- it’s part of my love for him.

The mere mention has made me feel a little sad. I love him and I am happy with him. I want to grow old with him, holding his hand in mine. It’s funny how the smallest thing can hurt the worst. One minute we were laughing and playing, the next thing I know, here I am, writing about breast milk, babies, and missed opportunities.

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He isn’t feeling well. Actually, he hasn’t been feeling well for almost two months. Two weeks ago I convinced him to see the doctor who promptly ordered tests. The results came back and things are out of whack but we don’t know why. He has to have some abdominal x-rays done on Monday, so that will tell us more, I think. He felt particularly bad today and it led us both into scary thought territory.

We were talking and I took his vitals, just for my own piece of mine. His blood pressure was too low for my own liking and I swear I could see his heartbeat in his stomach. He was extremely dizzy and he slept most of the day. It scared me enough to make me get dressed and tell him we were going to the emergency room. He asked what his vitals were and why it bothered me. So I told him what I was worried about. He clammed up and got quiet.

An hour later as we were playing a video game he turned to me with a look that just about tore me in two. He said “Do you know what I was thinking about earlier when we had been talking about the whole dying thing?” I mumbled something, not wanting to think of his death. He got all choked up and said “I was thinking that I can’t leave my baby alone, that I haven’t had enough time with her yet.” I cried against his shoulder, because I can’t imagine my life without him and it made my heart hurt to think about being without him.

Later on we talked about it again, after we had experienced another moment of “synchronicity”. I told him that he couldn’t go anywhere, that we’d just found one another and he reiterated his earlier thoughts. Then I kissed him and told him that it had taken him long enough but I’m glad that he eventually found me.

I love the thought of sharing the rest of my life with him. I wake up each day looking forward to every second. Without a moments hesitation, I know I will take care of him when he’s sick- I will laugh with him when he’s happy- I will celebrate his success and console him when he feels as if he’s fallen short. He is far from perfect and God knows the same goes for me, but when we’re together, everything feels perfect. On the most grey day, I find sunlight and smiles.

I know death is inevitable. I know that when the time comes, I’ll be unprepared. My heart will shatter into millions of tiny pieces and I won’t want to go on. Yes, I’ll focus on the time that we had together and I will be so thankful that we had the time that we did, but the pain will prove too much and like most who are deeply in love with their significant other, I will die of a broken heart.

It’s late and my heart is heavy. I’m going to end this for now and shut the computer off. Then, even though I am self-conscious, I am going to take off all of my clothes and slip into bed beside him just the way he likes me- naked and open. I’m going to press my body against his, because I was made for him, and because each and every second is too precious to waste. With his arms wrapped around me, with his hands coming to rest for the night on my breasts, I am going to slip into the peaceful sleep that only comes when you’re deeply in love.

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In her song titled “If I Could Turn Back Time” Cher sings about the past she shared with a lover who is long gone. There is a line that is so simple, so obvious that including it in the lyrics made the entire song “….words are like weapons, they wound sometimes…” Truer words have never been spoken.

I picked him up from work last night. Traffic was dreadful, but that’s to be expected on a Friday afternoon in Pittsburgh. I was fighting a migraine but in a good mood. I was glad the week was over for him, but the good mood was mostly because my day had gone so well.

I’ve scheduled two interviews for next week. One is a staff nurse position for a local school and the other is an office position to coordinate nursing schedules. The first one sounds amazing but I’ll have to wait and see. The second one sounds like something interesting, a change of pace. Things were looking up for me.

We checked the snail mail and found the normal array of circulars and coupons. He sorted through and handed me everything that was addressed to me. A loan offer. A letter indicating the my insurance was about to run out. Advertisements. A letter to me c/o him from my ex-husbands family. Shit.

He tried to get me to just mail it back unopened. I couldn’t do that. I knew this family well enough to know that I needed to read this, if for no other reason than to see how ridiculous they were being and be done with it. Sometimes we don’t always know the best course of action. Sometimes we should listen to those who love us.

I sobbed hysterically as I read it. They had kept a laundry list of my every sin since they’ve known me. I haven’t been perfect, so it was ok. I could handle it. Then they wrote that while I liked to pride myself on thinking that I had broken the cycle of abuse that went on in my family, I had not. That in fact, I was abusive to my own children repeatedly, that I had taken two beautiful gifts from God and destroyed them.

Fuck being hurt. I was angry. I was scared. I lashed out at my mother and I cried on his shoulder. How dare they! Who did they think they were?! I haven’t always been the perfect mother, but no one has. There is no such thing as perfect. Everything I have done, I have done in their best interest.

When I knew I was moving to Pittsburgh, I listened to my mother. She told me that even though my ex-husband was a bad spouse he loved the girls and to take them out of his life would be wrong. I agreed. I had divorced parents that hated one another and it killed my sister and I. I never wanted the girls to feel that way.

I expressed concern about it happening too fast and how would they handle it if I moved them to Pittsburgh then things fell apart. I didn’t want to be the kind of parent that paraded man after man in and out of her childrens lives. For three years I had avoided that, I had made sure that while they knew I was dating, they were never going to meet anyone who wasn’t going to be around for the long haul. They never met a single soul. My babies are precious to me and to be a part of their lives, to have their love is a privilege that someone would have to earn.

So I talked it over with my ex-husband. I told him that I knew he loved them and that they needed him. I explained where I was coming from. I cried because I wanted very much to have them with me all the time, just as they had been from birth. I didn’t want to miss the day to day things like homework and school parties. I wanted to be able to laugh and hug them every single day. But I wasn’t willing to risk breaking their hearts should things fall apart.

We agreed that they would go to school with him this year and that I would be the parent who got them every other weekend and on school breaks. I hated it, but I knew that I had to make sure that they were ok. We agreed to talk about next school year once we saw how things went. Their father loves them and though he isn’t as good with them as I am, he tries. He can’t help that his family didn’t show him how it was supposed to be done.

Their letter completely caught me off guard. It knocked the breath out of me. Immediately I made an appointment with an attorney. I knew that I needed to have someone in my corner, because it was going to get nasty. Instead of backing down like the scared little girl they think I still am, I’m going to meet them head on and make no mistake about it, I will win. Those are my babies, the loves of my life. There is not a single soul who will come between us- not now, not ever.

So you see, words *are* like weapons. They wound sometimes. The best you can hope for is to escape with a surface wound, one that requires a good cleaning and nothing else. The worst you can prepare for is a deep laceration that results in major blood loss and permanent scarring. I’m prepared for a deep laceration- bring it on.

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So much has happened this week that it’s making my head spin. Just when I’d assumed the worst, he shows me his best. I can’t explain it, but it’s enough to have jump started the restoration of my faith.

Last night we made love. Not the typical quick fuck that starts with a token grope then his cock buried in me before I’m wet. We made love like we used to, with slow caresses, deep kisses and foreplay.

We lay wrapped in one anothers arms, talking and kissing, snuggling up close. He whispered that I had too many clothes on for this adventure so I got out of bed and slid my shirt off over my head and slipped my panties down to the floor. I crawled back into bed and turned my back to him, wishing he would touch me like he used to.

I felt his breath against my skin, his lips on my shoulder and his hand tracing it’s way from my thigh to my breast. He nipped my shoulder as his fingers closed around my hardened nipples. I moaned and leaned into him, a clear indication that I wanted more. Smart man that he is, he paid attention to my signals.

I rolled over onto my hands and knees as he positioned himself behind me. He spread my lips and licked me gently. I was wet, slick and hot with want for the man who could rock my world with just a kiss. He slid his cock into me and it was only natural that I pressed against him, my body begging to be one with his.

He teased me by going deep and holding still. I moaned and writhed against him until he pulled out. He laid beside me and whispered “I want you to taste me” but there was no need. I’d already maneuvered myself into position. I took him in my mouth, prepared to lick him clean, when he stopped me. “Don’t take me into your mouth, just lick me, Baby.” So I did.

I licked his shaft from top to bottom, around the sides then licked my juices off of his balls. I was a starving woman placed in front of my favorite kind of buffet and I was flying high with arousal. The sound of his voice, the change in his breathing kept me on the edge when he half asked and half commanded “Lick my ass!”

I teased him at first, licking around his opening, letting the warmth of my breath work its magic. I traced my fingers from the base of his cock, across his perineum, then across the fine hairs that shrouded his backside. Without hesitation I buried my tongue against his opening and delighted in the sighs of pleasure that fell from his lips.

Before I knew it I was back on my hands and knees with his throbbing cock buried inside of me. He barely moved, except to go deeper and I felt myself lose control. I felt him grasp my hips and empty himself deep inside of me. He lay against my back for a while before he slipped from my intimate clutches and I sighed. I hated to have him pull out but it felt so good to have it back that I didn’t complain.

Last night was how it used to be. Quiet, intense, and words were not necessary. Their was urgency but patience, there was familiarity and an abundance of passion. It had been a while but I knew he desired me last night. I knew- without him saying it- that he loved me. What a wonderful feeling, knowing that we’re making love like we used to.

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It’s been a hard week for me. I am here to try to work it out and I am giving it my best effort. The hardest part, for me, is reconciling the fact that the man that I love so much is the man that hurts me the most. I know they say to hate someone you really have to love them and it seems as if it’s true.

The change in him has been amazing. He’s been more relaxed, more sincere, and the best part- he’s been more open. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there are things he will always hold in, things that I will know nothing about, but it seems as if he is staring to allow me into his inner sanctum. After the weekend, it’s hard for me to return the favor, but if he’s willing to go the extra mile then so am I.

I’m stressed to the max. He says I’m a ’stress monger’ so I suppose I should try to chill out, if for no other reason than to prove him wrong, but it’s difficult. After the fight over the weekend I am more anxious than ever to get a job. I need to feel as if I’m pulling my weight. I need to feel as if I have a way out if we ever have another bout like we had on Saturday. He’s scared me and while I won’t hold it against him, I won’t be stupid again.

He seems to be on a campaign for me to be a “stay-at-home-mom”, especially since we’ve gotten the house we wanted. His theory is that since the rent is cheaper we’ll have plenty of money. Along with that, he’s said that it hardly makes sense for me to work once the girls are here full time because I may very well end up paying for daycare. Good point. I guess the only thing to do is see how the job search goes. I know myself well enough to know that I can’t go without my own money- money to spend on the kids, on books, or on dinner out if I don’t feel like cooking. I have to make sure that if the bottom falls out of my world I can take care of myself and my children.

My mother is convinced that working it out is the wrong thing. She thinks that he doesn’t love me enough or in the right way. Perhaps the fight over the weekend has convinced her. Perhaps it’s the fact that she knows what I want, deep down. I don’t know. It’s weighing on my mind that once again a man has come between my mother and I. I feel guilty about my inability to concede and walk away, but at the same time I’m angry that she isn’t on my side in all of this.

After seeing the counselor yesterday, I finally got up the nerve to tell him a couple of things that had been on the tip of my tongue since Sunday. I told him that it would never work if he didn’t like my kids- that it was a deal breaker and it would never work to have them here full time if he couldn’t stand them. I could tell that the words and the emotion behind them hit him hard. He apologized again and told me that it was a stupid thing to say because he didn’t mean it and that we should have them with us.

We were on the stairs and he put his arms around me then told me how much he loved me. I cried, because I wanted so badly to believe him. I wanted to know that he would prove my mother wrong. So I looked at him and said “Don’t you dare let me down. I can fight for us and I can stand up for you, but if you play me for a fool or if you hurt me, I will never forgive you. This is it.” He pulled me to him once more and promised that he wouldn’t let me down, then he told me that he was so sorry that he stumbled. I know he is, otherwise I wouldn’t still be here.

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