How did it all begin? No, not all the way back to the beginning otherwise thoughts of my parents making babies would compel me to get a brain transplant. No one wants to think about that shitstorm.
So, over a decade ago, I had gone through a bad break up, messy moments and awful mental health problems. The arsehole ex even took my fricking budgie!
Enough was enough. I went back to the beginning, swore off men altogether and focused on myself being happy and having some crazy fun times. A few of which are not repeatable!
Friends aplenty, I had giggles leading to shits and shits causing giggles. I travelled solo and had an absolute blast but ever present was the niggle in the back of my mind as I always knew I wanted a family.
However, being on the wrong side of thirty and years suffering with endometriosis meant it was highly unlikely. I thought I would be a family of one for the rest of my life. Until fate intervened.
It was a Friday night, pub night. Awesome. Lets’ get the session on! I met friends old and new and that’s when I sat down, pint in hand, on his coat without realising it! I was just impressed that I didn’t spill any of my beer.
A flurry of apologies later, we really began to click. Played pool, had a cracking laugh until a mighty truth bomb emerged. He had two children from a previous relationship aged 7 and 9. I had never contemplated this sort of scenario.
When you are younger and your tits still defy gravity, you tend to think of the fairy-tale relationship. Have fun, mess around, meet someone, marry, have the 2.4 children and off you go.
Expectation versus reality is so very different and frankly disappointing. Do not believe the romantic comedies, they lie I tell you! Being with a person can be tough and I have screwed up on many occasions. The wrong guy, the right guy, the wrong me and before you know it, you are single, zero mingle and not even a budgie to show for it!
Yet here I was facing a man who had children with someone else. In all honestly, could I cope with that? Relationships are difficult enough but then add to that equation small children and the curse of an ex, it was seriously screwed up. Hell, I could barely look after myself, I’d even stopped wearing knickers as I was fed up with trying to retrieve them out of my arse crack!
Subsequently, I did the grown-up thing and went to the bar for a shot. In hindsight, not my cleverest move as I was fairly merry at that point, though I will add not quite drunk enough to get my fun bags out and start waving them at people.
Fuelled and feeling fantastic, we carried on talking until the late hours and, like a gentleman, he walked me home. Just to put your minds at rest in case my dad is reading this, there was no horizontal jogging that night, definitely no diving suit required.
That’s when I realised that this, whatever it was, felt different, though ten years later we still affectionately call each other knobhead and resting bitch face most days.
The morning after the night before, it dawned on me that this could be a complicated situation. I had a great deal to think about. Back to the beginning had begun!
