Dating an ambivilent man 2014 acm/icpc asia regional guangzhou online dating
It's entirely possible I don't like children because I prefer being the child, the charmer, the one other people find adorable and feed warm sandwiches to. He wonders what he'll have for dinner while eating breakfast. True—sleeping on the floor and dodging cottage cheese projectiles might make this considerably harder at times. But at what point does becoming a mother figure mean losing myself?
Stepparenting can be a daily exercise in humiliation and feeling like the third wheel. My friends say Bob's a package deal, and it's a deal I chose. Bob decided to be with someone who's ambivalent about children, just as I decided to be with a man who has a son.
It barely grazed his cheek, but we both burst into tears. But there are also Saturdays when my primary urge is to take off for a day of yoga, shopping, a manicure and lunch with my girlfriends, or to lie in bed all day and read.
Later, following a lesson about how it's not OK for anyone, even adults, to throw food (or anything else) at another person, we managed to have a laugh. In many ways, it's why I've remained so emotionally hands-off. I can enjoy his presence, but I don't miss him when he's gone. As he grows, his feelings about his parents, his home life and me will change. But I don't want to be someone I'm not; I don't want to have to conform to another's expectations or play nice. That's a job as a nanny or, at the very least, a one-way street.
(For a brief but emotionally charged time, that's what Noah called me: the other one.
But as we wait to marry, we increase our chances of partnering up with a divorc? Having a baby is an adjustment, and one you usually plan for; having someone else's child come into your life is a major shock, more by-product than intention. He takes what I call a skater-dude approach to parenting.
On the flip side, let's face it: No one wants a stepmother. Bob knew from the beginning that I wasn't sure about my own feelings about having children, but I think subconsciously he thought we'd be this instant family and that it would be easy for everyone to adapt. Daddy's house is the sort of place where no one thinks to lay a newspaper down on the vintage kitchen table before dyeing Easter eggs on it.
I feed her once a day, clean the litter several times a week and return her occasional affection. I blame my maternal deficiencies in part on the fact that I was the family princess while growing up.
Maybe I'm giving my parents purpose, or maybe I'm lazy and self—absorbed—not exactly qualities that make a person fit for taking on a child. He and his wife divorced when Noah was 1 year old, and we began dating shortly after. For a while, I could be just me, the same me I'd always been. Our relationship moved quickly; one minute, we were courting over meaningful conversation and too many glasses of wine, and the next, we were spending our Friday nights playing Chutes and Ladders and pleading with a 2-year-old to eat his green beans.