Posted on | February 10, 2014 | 7 Comments
Lately, my dating life has felt a lot more like a cooking class. Strewn around me are all the ingredients for something wonderful but I’m having a difficult time mixing them appropriately into something that resembles delicious more than disaster.
Banks and J have a good relationship.
J and I have a good relationship.
Banks and I have a good relationship.
But the three of us together are basically running full speed towards the same point, heads down, eyes closed, desperately trying not to slam our heads into each other but failing at almost every turn. People have told me that “when it’s right, it will just work” and I’ve got to be honest… I think that’s horse crap. NOTHING just “works.” That’s like saying if you marry the right person, you’ll never have problems.
This is life.
It’s not a picture perfect fairy tale.
And y’all, I love the hell out of Banks and I think we make an amazing team along with J. But to say that it will just fall together? To BELIEVE that it will just fall together? To say that a four year old child will just happily accept a new authority figure in his life who is not his father and who is sort of infringing on his time with his mother is just asking to be disappointed. Blending a family takes work, whether it’s just a man and a woman or a freaking Brady Bunch. And we are all working so very hard at this.
The thing is, Banks is a single guy. He doesn’t have kids. He’s never had kids. And though he loves kids and loves my kid in particular, he is stepping in at four, not at t minus one hour. It’s tough to sidle into a child’s life. It’s tough to be a child and have someone else sidle into your life. And though I think both of my guys are doing really well with the changes, I’d be lying if I said it was seamless.
I struggle with letting go of some control over J and sharing that responsibility with Banks. I struggle with hearing him tell my child “no”. I struggle with knowing that (hopefully) from here on out, there’s going to be two of us, playing a “good cop/bad cop” routine with my child. I just… struggle.
Because it’s hard to share what has just been mine. It’s hard to share this sweet boy and watch him cry when he hears “no” from Banks. It’s hard to not rush to his side and sweep him up in my arms… it’s just … hard. I don’t like giving someone else any part of my child… even someone I love as much as I love Banks.
So I find myself standing here in this over-crowded kitchen, sprinkling a dab of understanding, splashing a cup of kindness… and I wonder if we’re doing it all right or all wrong. I stir and sift and start again, over and over, wondering if this is working… wondering if we can make anything special out of this craziness.
Yesterday, I watched from the wings as J ran to his bedroom and slammed his door after Banks told him he’d done something wrong. I clenched and flexed my muscles, every bone in my mother’s body wanting to say “DON’T YOU HURT MY BABY!” and run to his aid. Then I watched Banks calmly walk down the hall after him, knock on the door and let himself in. I listened to the murmur of voices and then watched as they both came from the room, all smiles. They left, arm in arm, back outside to play another round of “Power Rangers Attack” and I looked back down at the bowl before me. It was still lumpy, still bubbled up with strife and a dash of conflict, but when I dipped a finger into the smoothness, I tasted that it is finally right.
Yes. It is finally (mostly) blended, though the baking will still take some time.