“Just getting him ready.” My ex lumbered past the door and looked at me through the window pane,”Just a sec.”

I paused.

He doesn’t usually let me in to the front entrance of his home, he does not have a lot of love for me and has made it clear I’m not welcome in his home.  I haven’t said much, have been reluctant to stir the fragile pot, but at this point it’s winter.  It’s cold, and being left outside to wait while shoes and socks and pre-schooler lunch boxes are packed is actually…kind of embarrassing.  A little humiliating.

My son’s face appears at the door, and I can sense his confusion and so I wave cheerily.  He has asked me before why I do not come in his Dad’s house and I waver: should I tell  him or make up a story?  At this point, though it’s obvious, I would rather not say that his Dad doesn’t really like me very much.

There are reasons for the discord - my boyfriend, a move to the Coast that my son’s Father wasn’t keen on.  I have made my mistakes, so has he, and more than anything I just wish now that we could be decent too each other.  Not even kind, I’d take human.

In past I’ve tried many different flavors of white flags: blueberries from the farmer’s market.  I didn’t ask for child support for a long time.  I tried not saying much, I tried standing up for myself.  Nothing is working and now I suspect maybe only time might smooth the rough edges?

How did you make peace with your exes, Internet?  I suspect there’s not a formula, but at this point I’m willing to try anything.

He’s talking about his girlfriend, about a psychic she just visited after waiting for months on a list to get in the door.

“She’s apparently one of the best in the world,”my brother says,”She said all kind of weird and accurate stuff.”

“You believe in that crap?” I’m surprised, my brother is a cynic and dismisses most of the earth’s population as wingnuts and wackjobs.

“I don’t know, it’s just that she said some pretty accurate stuff about my relationship with my girlfriend and my past.”

“Hmm,” I replied.  Still skeptical.

***

Corey and I stood in the kitchen a few hours later, pouring water into plastic tumblers.

“Would you want to know your future?” I asked him, “If you could.  If you could know exactly what would happen to you tomorrow.”

“I think I know for the most part.”  He’s nonplussed.  I look at him, “Would you?” he asks.

“Yeah, for sure,” I reply and he furrows his brow:

“What do you want to know, ask me, I’ll tell you.”

“Will we be together in 10 years?”

“Absolutely.”

“Will we have a baby?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I thought you knew the future.”

He’s looking at me. “I don’t know about that.”

Corey has always been unsure about whether or not he wanted kids: he’s on the fence but I think he’d be very comfortable with our family unit as as.  But I can’t help but wonder if his ambivalence is simply because he doesn’t realize how amazing it is to be a parent. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, the staggering emotion of a newborn, of something born of you.

And he just turned 30 and he’s got so much kindness and talent and he is so extraordinarily good with Nolan.  Plus, he carries our kitten around like he’s a sweet human baby and it almost kills me, the exquisite cuteness.  I can’t even imagine how blown away he’d be by the real thing.

I’m not super set on having another baby myself.  A playmate for Nolan would be great, but the gap in years at this point might be too much for them to be really close, anyway.  I would love a little girl, maybe, but I struggled in pregnancy and nearly died from exhaustion in Nolan’s infant years.

But I feel that Corey might regret, eventually  it if he doesn’t have a kid, if we don’t expand our family to include his own genetic material.  I wonder if Nolan as his psuedo-kid will be enough.  I wonder if it’s any of my business, if it’s ever right to “encourage” someone to want to have kids.

“Can I watch a movie?” he asks in his lilting little boy voice,”And maybe…maybe do you have popcorn?”

“Mayyybe,”I say, smiling.  He is growing up so fast, with his serious face and long arms and curious questions.”Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,”he answers, smiling,”Woosy took me to Eat Fresh!  And we danced in Daddy’s living room.”

“Woosy?”

“Woosy.  Daddy’s friend.”

“Ah.”

I am quiet for a sec: that explains quite a bit.  My relationship with my ex, my son’s father, has improved quite significantly in the last several weeks.  He has been less angry, more agreeable: we’ve discussed issues like adults and last month he was able to contribute some money toward Nolan’s expenses.  I was surprised, perhaps, but didn’t want to question such good fortune.  But it makes sense: there’s a girl, a woman.  A woman who is buying Subway sandwiches for my son and treating him with kindness.

My first instinct: I’d love to meet her.

I don’t know how serious it is between my ex and “Woosy”, if at all.  I suspect he wouldn’t want me to meet her, as he’s expressed explicit desire to not meet my significant other.  But if it appears that he is in a serious relationship, I think I’d like to meet her.  I would like to know the woman who will be hanging out with my son on Sundays, who will be providing another layer of influence and hopefully, love.

I was discussing this with a close friend the other night and she thinks that’s a little crazy.

“Kristin: no one wants to meet the new partner of their ex.  You’re insane.”

But, she doesn’t have kids.

I won’t insist on meeting “Woosy”, of course, but I’d sure like to.  I hope she is nice, and selfishly, I hope her presence continues to help improve the relationship between Nolan’s father and I.  Because the well being of our son, ultimately, can only improve from our elevated civility.

I hugged him goodbye and called my best friend, breathlessly, after our first meeting.

“Wow,” is what I ended up saying,“I am scared to say what I think about this guy.”

But the truth was I was already thinking it: if he was as he seemed to be, I could fall in love.

***

And I did: 6 months into this and I am still aghast that I have found this man who is intelligent, charismatic, beautiful — and amazing with my son.  And he is gainfully employed!  And he digs me too!

I  didn’t foresee this.  I spent 2 years single, just my son and I, and I expected I’d nurture him, raise him, and then surround myself with cats, bobby pins and fuzzy pink jogging pants.

***

“So…do you think you’ll marry him?”

This is the question I’ve been deflecting lately: from good friends, readers, relatives, everyone.  It’s meant in good spirit and in all honesty: I think I would like to marry him, eventually, there couldn’t possibly be anyone more compatible with Nolan and I.  But, then, maybe not?

I have some friends in Europe, most of whom are in long-term relationships with men: the father of their children, in many cases.  When I think of long term Hollywood couples, I think: Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins.  Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.  Neither of these couples are married.  Coincidence?

I’m hurtling toward my mid thirties, and I’ve been engaged, but never married.  I’ve seen friends get married young and go through agonizing divorces.  I have acquaintances stuck in loveless marriages, I have trusted confidantes who whisper: “Marriage ruins it.”

I get that marriage signifies a commitment to the greater world that two people are in love, committed, believe they will be together for the long haul.  But is that reason enough?  With a 40% divorce rate, does it mean anything?

If my four-year old son weren’t part of this picture, I’d be inclined to say that I probably would rather commit myself through actions and conduct over marriage.  But with my status as a single Mom, I’d fear the stigma - and associated reflection on Nolan - if my boyfriend and I lived together indefinitely, without permanent legally recognized status.  And so, yes, I do think that marriage is probably in the cards for us, if things continue as they are.

But if it weren’t for societal judgment, I’d tell you that I secretly don’t believe marriage is necessary.  Do you?

“My throat’s a little sore,”I told Corey, adjusting my scarf against the chill October wind,”And I just finished talking about how long it’s been since I’ve been sick.”

The next morning I woke up unable to swallow, and I ran to the bathroom mirror and opened my mouth: terrorized and eager to inspect the grossness on the other side.  I wasn’t surprised at what I saw: swollen, white disgustingness.  I’d perspired through my bed clothes the night before and my body suddenly realized: I totally shouldn’t have sprinted into the bathroom.  I’m toast.

I went downhill quickly from there and had to forcibly restrain myself from googling “Oh my god do I have swine flu?”

In the past two years, being sick has meant relying 100% of my poor beleauguered Mother to help me function, but these days, I’m paired, and Corey was eager to help.  He heated soup, made pasta for Nolan, and cleaned the dishes after dinner.  I wanted to cry in gratitude but it meant I’d have to swallow my tears, and that would hurt.

***

“I have to go to LA tomorrow,” I croaked, sitting in front of my computer in a pool of sweat and mire.

“You can’t go to LA tomorrow!”

“I don’t have much of a choice, this is an urgent account and a last minute request.  Can you — can you drop Nolan off at school for me?”

My flight would leave at 6:30 AM and so I’d need to leave the house at 4 AM: obviously much too early to drop my son off.  It felt like an important step asking Corey to do this: dropping off a kid at school is a parental thing.

“Of course I can,”he said,”Do you think he’ll listen to me?”

“I’m not sure.” I grinned ruefully,”I’ll tell him he has to.”

***

One of the most difficult things we’re experiencing as a new little family unit is boundaries: Corey is not sure where his are, as the not-quite stepdad, and Nolan has never had a man tell him what to do (besides his Dad.)  We’re all shuffling and fumbling and hoping that simple love and logic will carry us through.

In the meantime, I’m going to suck on a lot of lozenges and refrain from boasting about my good health.

When I moved in, I was slightly self-conscious.  What would the neighbors think of our odd arrangement?  There was this guy in his late twenties, with an embarrassingly loud yellow truck, living in the basement.   There was a woman in her early thirties with a young son, living upstairs.  She was at home all day, hunched over her computer with a wool cap and dirty yoga pants. She stayed there all day, even though she dropped off her son each morning at daycare. 

I was certain the neighbours would think we were conducting an illicit marijuana operation.  This was such a nice, quiet suburban neighborhood.  Full of such normal families.

***

I quickly learned two things:

1) No one cares about my living circumstance.

2) None of my neighbors have normal situations.

My 14-year old babysitter is the product of the marriage of her Mom and Dad.  Her Mom was married twice previous and she has several half siblings.  There is a quiet gay couple two doors down with an adopted daughter.  There are old people across the street and their daughter visits frequently: I am not sure whether they are married, divorced, or three-toed and I really don’t care.

I’ve explained a few times that I was never married to the Father of my son, that we were only briefly engaged after a long relationship.  But it happens rarely, and when we are out in public now, many assume that my boyfriend, Corey, is the Father of my son.  There have been a few stilted conversations and muttered corrections, but for the most part, that’s fine with me.  What I’m struggling with, and what I’ll be writing about here:

-The feeling of continued 100% responsibility for the care of my son, even though I’m coupled and we’re now a “family” of sorts

-Household responsibilities in a non-biological family

-Second children, different parents.

-Relationship strains and triumphs with the ex parent now that I’m coupled with someone new.

-Fiscal issues.

Is there anything else you’d like to explore?  I can’t wait to embark on this new journey with you.