I didn’t date while my kids were growing up. Well, I haven’t introduced them to anyone I’ve dated in 14 years. Their father and I divorced when they were young and didn’t date where they could see That’s a real source of pride for me when I think I’m not doing something quite right. Too broke, too tired, too cranky most of the time. But at least they saw me as theirs and theirs alone.
As it turns out, this was also a mistake.
The thing is, my mom had boyfriends when I was growing up. The number of boyfriends is not unusual, probably just the normal number an attractive woman in her 30s might have. Two, maybe three. I hate it. I’ve always hated the feeling of searching in our family, like we would never truly be a big F family until we found a man who would legitimize us. My mother didn’t want her to live in a world without men. She was generally considered too beautiful, too young, and everything too perfect to remain single. In this way, one boyfriend became her fiancé, another boyfriend almost became her fiancé, and the last one became her husband.
When I left my husband with four kids at age 30, I knew what was coming. My mom knows it too. “This is your final kick in the can,” she told me, she didn’t elaborate, but we all knew what that meant. My ex might be the one for me. My last chance. Because who wants a single mom with four little boys? There is no one but that person. Especially single moms who tend to let go easily. So I just let it go. I stopped shaving my legs, it wasn’t as liberating as I thought, it was just itchy. I settled into just being their mom.
I decided that being alone with my four sons was enough, because it was. We’re happy, for all the reasons we probably shouldn’t be – borderline poverty, bad jobs. I told myself we didn’t need anyone else, and I guess I was mostly right. I probably laugh when people ask me if I ever feel lonely. Who has time to be alone? I volunteer at their school. I made mom friends, non-mom friends, work friends, and book club friends.
Yes, I go on dates sometimes. only. Someone who lives two hours away. He was in politics and we met through a friend of mine and we met about once a month. It all ended one weekend when he called me to tell me he had just seen a Russian puppet opera, but I was busy picking lice out of my sons’ hair. All four of them had lice, which they then passed on to me. Our worlds were so different that I couldn’t muster the energy to care.
For 14 years I dated regularly. Almost reluctantly. Friends would remind me that my life was passing me by when I was busy living my life and I would mindlessly go on dates. The child never knows. Little did I know.
Then the man I love now came along. I guess it was a surprise for me and it was a surprise for him. Being a childless man, I never really considered this disagreement until I realized I loved him, and then more importantly, I realized I wanted my children to meet him. They are older, two of my four sons are almost grown. Their eyes were no longer looking at me, but looking over my shoulder at their own futures.
So they met. Everyone was polite and looked at me to make sure I saw how nice they were. This new man I love and the four men I have always loved. Everyone had nice things to say afterward, and I blushed at the thought that I might have accomplished the impossible.
But I was wrong.
My sons have many reasons to dislike this man. He was too old, too different, not like the rest of us. He doesn’t have children of his own, and he doesn’t like movies the way I do. They decided he wasn’t the guy for me.
But I suspect the problem is simpler: they can’t imagine me with any man. They really had no memory of me being touched by a man. Be hugged. They never had to share me with anyone. I think it’s the right thing for them. I think it would make them feel safe and never have to worry about a man coming in and changing our family. I drew a picture of myself for them as an intangible source of comfort, especially for them—an invisible entity in the kitchen stirring sauce and baking cookies. It turns out it’s really hard to repaint that painting after all these years.
I thought it might eventually change, but it’s been 10 years and it hasn’t. I am still with this man and we are happy together. I’m still a mom to my kids and we have a lot of fun together. But we haven’t settled into a whole new family yet. My kids and I have been a unit for so long that I have no ability to change that—not even for him.
Jane McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with her four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she’s not traveling as much, she tries to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
