Baby Bear My Dating Life 

Baby, Baby, Baby (Four Months Ago)

Following on from Baby, Baby, Baby:


Four months ago:

I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever be in the right kind of place to just say, “Let’s make a baby.” I know I want one. I think Bear will be a great father. In fact, I know he’s a great father because I see it every day. And he doesn’t just dote on his kids (the ones that do talk to him); he dotes on me too. There’s nothing he won’t do for me. Our problems aside, this is the happiest I’ve ever been. I hate him sometimes. He drives me mad. But he’s a good man — a GREAT man — and he’ll make me a great father and a great husband too. I love him.

Jeez, I’m sooooooo old-fashioned.

But … To actually say those words? To make that decision? I think I’d rather it happened “by accident”. We don’t use protection. We don’t deliberately TRY to have a baby either, but it won’t be the end of the world if it were to happen. It would be the beginning of the world, for me. The beginning of a brand new world that I can’t wait to be a part of.

But it’s not happening.

I just want to clear a few things up: I’m a little glad it hasn’t happened, yet. The baby thing, I mean. The money situation is a lot better than it was at the beginning, but we’re still struggling and having just as many bad patches as good. We’re barely making it through some months.

We are better than ever. I love that man more than ever, and I feel we understand each other better than ever. His son and I seem to be getting on a lot better since we had a few heart-to-hearts, and I’m really content. I’m still struggling with my anxiety daily, but that dark slump I found myself in a while back? I gave myself a good slap around the face, just like I needed, and now I don’t feel so shit. Things are starting to go up again, but it’s only going to be a matter of time before things head south again too. That’s the cycle. That’s life now. One or two days where everything seems positive and shiny, followed by 28 days of remembering that you’re a fucking failure as an adult, are worse with your finances now than you were when you were 16 years of age, and couldn’t make a serious life decision if your life depended on it.

At the same time …

Why hasn’t it happened yet? Pregnancy? At what point do I start getting worried about that, especially after the pre-cancerous cervix cells and all I went through with that shit? A year? A year and a half? Two years? Like … Am I meant to do something about this at some point?

Do I want to do something about it? 

Maybe I AM just meant to get a bunch of animals and live on a farm? That’s not far off my #lifegoals to be fair. I want to give a home to every kitten and puppy in the shelter, and I’d give my right arm to grow vegetables and to have some chickens too. Maybe a goat? I’d name it after Brown Eyes, because of a private joke that Bear and I have. Who’d have known I’d want to be such a self-sufficient little poppet? But that’s me, and that’s exactly what I want. Something as close to self-sufficient as I can get. I just need a decent wifi connection and some peace and quiet. Plus, everyone knows that animals are better than most humans.

I’m starting to worry that I will ALWAYS find a reason not to have a baby. Or that there will always be something that comes up to prevent it? Maybe that means I don’t really want one? So why am I broody as fuck, and getting more so with every month that passes? Why am I so disappointed when my period comes each month? Like right now, as I come back from the bathroom and *that* telltale flash of red that screams, “YOU’RE NOT PREGNANT!” 

Baby Baby Baby Four Months Ago

I want a baby, it just doesn’t feel like we are quite right. Like, I wish we had more money. I wish we’d already moved into a bigger house. I wish we had paid off a few more debts. I wish we were managing a lot of things a lot better than we are but isn’t that always going to be the case? I keep finding all these reasons NOT to have babies with someone, anyone, all of them — every guy. Even this one — the one that I think might just be perfect for me. Am I always going to do that? Find excuses?

Does that mean I don’t *really* want a baby?

The saga continues. 

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