Quite a few single mom bloggers have fallen in love lately—and more than a few are now living with their new partners. (Congrats!)
MartiniMom is the most recent, I believe. She writes in her latest post, “Excuses,” about what she has been dealing with since “The Man” moved in:
“invading ants, an overstuffed washing machine vomiting water all over the floor, the start of the school year and soccer season for The Kid, the continuation of The Dog’s issues, an overflowing toilet, one solid week of going to bed angry every night, the overflowing toilet turning into a much larger plumbing issue, and—the latest—his oldest daughter contracting swine flu.”
Oh, and she adds: “That’s on top of the expected trauma of learning to live together without getting in each other’s way.”
What I love about MartiniMom is that after giving us the above rant, she ends by say that the transition is going, “smoothly … things are good. Busy and unfamiliar and involving a lot of peeing in the backyard, but good.”
I get it. (Well, maybe not the peeing in the backyard!)
As many of you know, I’ve tried co-habitating once as a single mom. I’ve come to term with my mistakes and faults—and I see how tightly my blinders were tied on. But after that relationship ended, I doubted if I would ever be open to love to again. Yet here I am, a few years later, with a man who is so deeply different than the one I lived with briefly. (And, hey, hopefully I’ve changed a tad, too.) I’m believing in love all over again. Wow.
Every now and then, I do fantasize about what it would mean to share a home with a real, genuine, loving partner for the long haul. Do you ever think about that, too?
We’d cook together every week: he loves my salads, I love his grilled fish. He’d scrub the dishes—my least favorite chore—and I’d wash the dirty clothes. We’d share one big bed (he’s still working on my bed!) every night, and we’d talk late into the night.
Call me an idealist or a romantic, I can take it. But here’s where I pause: when I read Martini Mom’s post, it makes me remember how hard it can be to share your everything (with someone who’s not your kid)—and that’s when the fear kicks in.
What would it really be like to share my space, my time, my motherhood—all of it? Are any of you cohabiting right now?
Originally published on SingleMomSeeking