Poison

Don’t worry dummy, I’m not going to fall in love with you this time. I think to myself as he rolls off me and far away from me, almost as if the act of our naked bodies touching even the slightest bit after we’re done having sex will be what causes me to fall in love with him again, and not the actual sex itself. He’s very strange that way. He has no problem with us doing it in his jet tub, by candlelight no less, and then hanging out in there for a good hour after, chatting and laughing while we prune. But lord forbid I linger in his bed for half a minute too long after he’s done. 

I keep telling myself that this is the last time. This is the last time I’m going to be so available to hang out when he texts me, the last time I come to his house, the last time I’m going give in to the carnal attraction we have for one another. 

But when I see his name on my phone something inside me just can’t resist. Every. Single. Time. I have this weird pull to him. I always have. Even though I know that this is for the most part all we’ll ever be – fuck buddies – and it’s really all I want it to be at the moment, the power Erik has over me is sometimes astounding. And no matter how I feel after I see him, I keep coming back for more. 

Lately we have slipped back into the routine we had before I moved to Lakeview. I hear from him every week, like clockwork, usually on Saturday to chat. He’s so busy (nothing has changed in that way) that sometimes we just chat for a little bit about what is new and we say that hopefully we will see each other soon and that’s that. But more often than not, especially lately, hearing from him means I’m heading over to his place to go have a bath. 

While the bath thing is slightly hilarious, it has changed the dynamic of our relationship. A lot. You wouldn’t think it would, after all it’s just some hot water bubbles in a bath tub. But when we are in there together we talk. Like really talk. Whether it’s politics, religion, sex or Simpsons quotes, nothing is off limits. Our bath chats have even led to a fairly serious chat about his parents, whom he rarely mentions, and after knowing him for 11 years I finally found out how and when they both passed away. It was weird to see him so vulnerable and raw (emotionally of course, we were already naked in a tub, so how much more raw and vulnerable could a person even get?) But he has been more open with me in the last 3 months in that damn tub than he had been all previous 10 years we’ve known each other. Combined. Maybe the candles he lights have a story telling aroma in them, some sort of new age voodoo type deal. Or maybe he’s actually maturing. After all, he also told me he wants to have kids someday. 

Possibly my kids in fact. Yes. This conversation actually happened. It was a few months ago, and we were just chatting via text the one night. If you read all my posts you might remember me mentioning he and I having a 4 hour text conversation the one night? Well that’s the night he brought up the kids thing. It started innocently enough with him telling me that he was thinking that he wants kids now, but is scared that at his age, trying to find a partner who wants to have his children, especially since he’s still rather terrible at relationships, will be damn near impossible. I told him I’m in the same boat, I want kids more than anything in the world, but because I am single as fuck, and currently nobody wants to date me, my eggs are going to all die before I get to use any of them. He then said that if it came down to it, and we were both ready to hit the “panic button” so to speak on the kids thing that we should have a kid together. 

At first I thought he was joking. It was via text after all, and come on. It’s Erik. Of course this was just a joke. But the conversation evolved into baby names and gender preferences (we both agreed we’d rather have a girl, but would of course be happy with either) and as our conversation continued, it slowly dawned on me that he may not be joking. Eventually, the subject changed, and we were no longer talking babies, and I didn’t really ever get a good idea of whether there was seriousness to the baby thing or not. 

I put it out of my mind as best as I could, and had slightly convinced myself despite the evidence that he was just kidding, until about a week later when we hung out. We were in the middle of having sex, (in his bed) and he had said something along the lines of safe sex since he didn’t think we were ready to push the panic button just yet. Holy fucking hell. Could he really be serious?! In the moment, I half laughed, because what else was I supposed to do just then, we were in the middle of having sex? We finished, and that’s when he rolled away from me, as if to put actual distance between us. I honestly wonder what would have happened had we had sex in the tub that night. Perhaps the magic candlelit bubbles would have changed the scenario of that conversation ever so slightly. 

He hasn’t brought up the kids thing since, but I have not stopped thinking about it. I have a pros and cons list in my brain, and the pros side is surprisingly (not really all that surprisingly) long. There are so many reasons why having a baby with him would be perfect. He’d be a great dad. He’s a great man. He’d be in the kid’s life, and would provide for it. Erik and I have similar beliefs and values when it comes to politics, religion, and education. He’s educated, and reasonable, which I feel would be super beneficial when I raise my kid based on everything I know from my experience in early childhood education. The only con – and quite frankly it’s a big enough con to outweigh every last pro – is the chance of there at some point being feelings beyond just co-parenting involved. No matter how perfect a co-parenting situation might be with him, all of that is shot to shit the second one of us (probably me, let’s be honest) starts to fall for the other one. 

I know I’d get hurt by the situation. I know that no matter how he feels about me, I will never, ever in my life hear him tell me that he’s in love with me. That is just never going to happen. And as much as I am desperate to hit that panic button, and as tempting as it is to hit it immediately, I know that besides a baby that I would for sure love more than anything else in the world, nothing good would come out of that situation. 

So, I guess for now, that’s where we are. Yet again in this weird, fucked up limbo where I don’t quite know where I stand with Erik, or how I feel about the situation between us, but sure as shit not stopping myself from seeing him and putting myself into this confusing place. The only difference is that nowadays instead of daydreaming about being with him, I’m daydreaming about what our daughter might be like. She’s got a name and everything. It’s just a shame she will never exist, and after all this buildup, I’m in the same stupid place I have always been in, and will inevitably always be. 

Olivia

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Tick, Tick, BOOM!

86 days, 13 hours and give or take a handful of minutes. This is how much of my 20’s I have left. I have just over 3 months till my big 30th birthday. I had big plans for this one. I mean, I’ve been known to have big plans for all of my birthdays, but this one I figured had to be the biggest and best.

Tick, tick.

What my plan originally was, was to gather all my close friends (like all 5 or 6 of em) and organize a weekend trip to Vegas. That way I could do a few things at once: I could cross Vegas with my friends off my bucket list because I have never been there before and I would be guaranteed a good time for my birthday, because hello, it’s Vegas! A good time is supposed to be guaranteed! But, Kevin gently made the very valid point that if I have a hard time getting people to come to my birthday when it’s just going for a delicious and reasonably priced meal a few blocks from my house, well then it may be unrealistic to expect anyone to travel to Nevada for a weekend. If I did Vegas, there is a very good possibility that it would be an even bigger let down than last year. And it’s not like I could blame anyone for not being able to (which is just a polite way of saying not wanting to) come. I’m sure any of you in your mid to late 20’s and older can attest to the fact that finding time to set aside for friends and family is sometimes incredibly difficult. Work, dating/significant others and kids seem to be taking up everybody’s time. Most of the time it feels like there just aren’t enough hours in a day to be had. So it’s really no surprise that my birthday celebration wouldn’t be high on anyone’s priority list.

Tick, tick.

This birthday is looming for a few different reasons. I’ve been feeling old for awhile now (working with teenagers at a high school will do that to a person) but with every ache and pain I get, or anytime I play the nostalgia game and realize that I haven’t had a legit telephone land line in well over a decade, or that “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls was released 19 motherfucking years ago (and I vividly remember hearing it on the radio for the first time, and then later trying like nobody’s business to record that song on a mix tape with as little radio DJ talk) it makes me feel really, really old.

Tick, tick.

I’m also panicking because I am not in the place I was hoping to be by the time I turned 30. Sure I have a job I love, I finally have an amazing boyfriend by my side and all that, but there is still a lot I don’t have that I wanted to by the time I turned the big 30. By 30, I was expecting to be a full fledged writer, or a rock star. You know actually getting paid to write, not getting just 3 hits on my blog daily, or being a high profile rock goddess, not just reserving my singing to the shower or the car. I was expecting to be married long ago by now, (to either a regular guy, or one of the Backstreet Boys) not just having celebrated my very first anniversary with my first ever long-term boyfriend at 29. But mostly, I thought by now I would be a mom. Out of all the things I thought I’d have or be by the time I turned 30, this was the big one. And the closer I get to 30, the more disappointed and discouraged I feel, and the more the fears of never getting the chance to have kids scream their way around my brain.

Tick, tick.

It’s hard not to think about. Really hard. These days I literally cannot go 24 hours without seeing a pregnancy announcement or “bump” photos on Facebook (one of the many ways in which Facebook and a lot of people on Facebook fucking suck). Hell, some days, it seems as thought that’s all I see on my Facebook newsfeed. My family is no better; a lot of my cousins and step siblings have been procreating for years now. In fact, a cousin of mine and his wife just announced over the weekend that they are expecting in August, my 25 year old step-sister is due with her first child in 2 months and I am guessing that it won’t be long after my older brother and his fiancĂ©e tie the knot in May till they are knocked up too. Even my job is no help. But that’s my fault really, what do I expect when I started to work in a high school in a daycare set up for young moms getting their high school education? Don’t get me wrong, I do love my job, and I find working with teen moms and their babies really rewarding, but I can’t help it that I secretly find myself jealous that these immature, fresh faced 17 year olds get to have these beautiful babies, and I, ragged and old, do not. Granted I wouldn’t have wanted a baby at 17, that would have been a motherfucking nightmare, but still.

Tick, tick.

I want it to be my turn now. I want to have kids before all my eggs dry up and fall out, and I want to have kids before I’m way too old to keep up with them. I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but taking care of children requires an astounding amount of energy. Energy which I am already having trouble mustering some days, and I’m still relatively young. I would like to have kids of my own before I’m old enough to get the senior’s early bird specials. I want to have kids because my biological clock is ticking so goddamn loud that some days it is literally all I can fucking think about, and that makes me absolutely loathe being a woman. Why can’t Mother Nature just send a text once in awhile like, “Hey there. I don’t mean to interrupt what you are doing, I just wanted to let you know that I have this basket of eggs here for you. I’ll wait a while, so no rush, just something to think about. No pressure. K thanks, bye!” That approach, at least for me, would be much more welcome.

Tick, tick.

Instead, I’m over here in a panic, being pulled in a million directions every time Kevin and I get even the slightest bit close to one another. I want kids right now, but not right now. What? Well, Kevin and I aren’t ready for it. We have only been dating for 13 months. I don’t think our relationship is prepared to add a baby to the mix. I still feel like I don’t know if I’m girlfriending properly half the time. I want a baby, but not at the expense of my relationship with Kevin. This is what sucks about waiting so fucking long to find a great guy to date. It’s far too early in our relationship to be even discussing this, but it’s getting a bit too late in my life not to be. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock of course being my vagina, and the hard place being…well…nevermind.

Tick, tick.

So, for now I am just going to have to do my best to silence that annoying clock, and hope that when the time is right for Kevin and me that everything will work itself out. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to my regular, run of the mill life, taking care of other people’s kids and whatnot. Oh, and probably bring Kevin to the hospital, as I am sure he probably had an aneurism while reading this.

Boom.

Olivia