After spending close to ten years in a relationship, and living the life of an SAHM for six of those years, I found myself separating from my husband. And to be candid, six years with babies, toddlers and then elementary school aged kids, does zilch for your dating game. Furthermore, the trial of going through a divorce does absolutely nothing for your confidence.
Despite my self-doubts, there I was, back on the market, insecure, a belly full of stretch marks and the baggage of a single mother, the baggage being two kids, literally, hanging of each tired arm.
At thirty-two, I found myself wondering what in the fresh hell I had done and whether I would ever find someone to love me again. Or if it was worth the effort at all. Either way I found myself DATING, and I had no damn clue what I was doing. Is the word even dating? Hooking-up? Whatever it was, I was doing it, and I wasn’t doing it well.
I had worn the same sweatpants for ten years, a t-shirt stained in spit-up and my hair, oh god my hair, I hadn’t taken it out of a messy bun in almost a decade (a-and I just realized why I got divorced).
There I was, a divorced mom, two kids, with only six years of floor play on my dating resume. Not to be confused with foreplay, foreplay had become a thing of the past. Wait, sex itself had become a thing of the past, and when it did happen, it was more like removing a band-aid from a toddler. First chasing them around, finally grabbing them, and as quick as it began, it was over.
With a tonne of anxiety, I leapt head first into a world of unknowns. I felt I was treading uncharted waters, and I might drown.
Consequently ladies I am here to save the day or at least let you know you aren’t alone. But I must tell you, getting dolled up for a date, wasn’t like it once was. So much had changed since my fleeting twenties. Getting ready for a date was a whole other monster.
Preparing for a date when in my twenties, without two kids and before marriage, (from what I remember), went a little like this:
- A trip to the mall, to find the perfect outfit, money, not an object.
- A quick shower.
- A Wine Cooler in hand, most likely some type of apple cider.
- Every piece of clothing I own strewn across my bed.
- An on looking roommate, helping me to choose the exact outfit to accentuate my ass, and help my tits look bigger than they actually are.
- At least three to four outfit changes.
- Another wine cooler.
- A couple of “When I bend over can you see my g-string” conversations, the determination being a “No.”
- A fifth outfit change resulting in me wearing one of my roommate’s dresses, for the win.
- Make-up taking no time at all, because I was twenty and what the fuck is a wrinkle.
- A quick hair styling because I could afford a two hundred-dollar hair cut and color.
- Another wine cooler, while relaxing on the couch for my date to arrive and listening to music with my roommates.
Preparing for a date after a decade of marriage and two kids was extraordinarily different, and it went something like this.
- A shower with two toddlers locked in the bathroom, who are now drawing happy faces with Mommy’s eyeliner on the shower door and each other.
- A glass of red wine in hand, and the bottle waiting patiently on the bathroom counter beside it.
- The five dresses that still fit me in a pile on the floor, I am now using as tissues to dry my tears.
- Two on looking toddlers wondering why Mommy was crying.
- A phone call to the babysitter, ensuring she will arrive soon.
- A quick run to the kitchen, to make sure I am not burning the kid’s dinner.
- Tear filled cries from my son because his sister just stabbed him in the eye while trying to put eyeliner on him.
- A short lecture to my children, explaining this is Mommy’s make-up and it’s not a toy.
- Another glass of wine.
- Four outfit changes, resulting in a tear-filled phone call to my old roommate.
- Three applications of make-up, because I am sweating my ass off trying to parent two toddlers, make them dinner and fit into a dress that people can see my g-string in when I bend over, but fuck it, my ass looks hot and my tits ARE actually bigger than they look.
- A chug of wine from the bottle, because I left my glass downstairs while checking on dinner.
- Dinner! Fuck!
- Another run downstairs to save what’s left of dinner and to greet the babysitter at the door.
- Finally getting to style my hair, and realizing it has been in a towel too long, so I end up putting it in a messy bun.
- A fifteen-minute conversation, explaining to the babysitter everything I can and think, she will need to know about my precious children, while drinking another glass of wine.
- Five minutes at the door, with two toddlers hanging off each of my legs crying “Mommy don’t go.”
- Finally out the door, I realize I left my purse inside the house.
- Another three minutes of toddlers crying “Mommy don’t go,” as I try to leave one more time.
- Ten minutes of waiting on the front porch, because my date is late, and I won’t dare go back inside, to the hell of two toddlers.
It may not be easy, this dating after a divorce, at least not the getting ready part, but in the end you may indeed meet the man of your dreams. So keep on keeping on women, if I got through it, you can too.