I woke up yesterday morning and realized LB wouldn’t be there to open the advent calendar with me. Due to family issues, Roofie has cancelled the last 2 weekends, so I have been with my daughter non-stop for 20 days straight. I printed someone’s version of the Christmas story off the internet and cut into 25 pieces. We’ve been reading bits of it every morning. I didn’t realize how much I had enjoyed it until yesterday’s silence.
I knew Christmas was going to be hard this year. It’s the first time I haven’t had my child with me. I try to tell myself its only fair, and that she will have fun with her dad, and eventually get her own Christmas with my side of the family, but I was hurting for sure.
I’ve also been sick. Baffled doctors ran urine and blood tests on me, trying to decipher the reason for my stomach pain, nausea and vomiting. I gave myself a home pregnancy test. They wondered if I had appendicitis. Upon further examination, the nurse asked me for my sexual history and frowned at my timid explanation of the situation I had found such empowerment through.
My body was telling me something different. It didn’t like my convenient solution to sexual satisfaction as a single mother. The nurse didn’t like what she saw either, and scheduled me for a colposcopy. She gave me some medication to get my pH levels back on track, and with a shake of her head, sent me on my slutty, irresponsible way.
I went to the office on Monday and stared at the stack of work I had missed, emails to be answered, messages to be checked, projects to be finished. An angry woman screamed into my ear, asking what was wrong with me and why couldn’t I figure out my own job?
I felt like telling her, Lady, I can’t even figure out my own life, how can I focus on my job right now?
I walked around the deserted parking lot at lunch, kicking the snow like a pouty 3rd grader, and letting the tears fog up my protective shades. I really thought I had found the key to my happiness as a single mom, where I had control over my time, my relationships, my sexual needs, my work, my kid.
Obviously not. My girly parts hate me. I’m still lonely. I’m still unsatisfied. I’m still wishing I had something more than just a casual orgasm once and a while. It made sense in theory, but in reality, my body is telling me I can’t do it anymore. But I don’t know what the answer is.
Should I run out and find the next reliable, responsible, sexually conservative guy and marry him because I’m afraid of getting AIDs, or Cancer, or HPV? Its seems like the wrong reason to be with someone, even if biologically it makes perfect sense.
Plus I don’t know if I WANT to get married. It doesn’t work for everyone. I no longer can define a normal relationship. I don’t even think monogamy is successful in most cases. Don’t married people go out and find other partners?
But having 2 Friends With Benefits isn’t working for me anymore. It’s not worth it if I’m getting sick.
I’m totally crushed and sad and I hate Christmas.