Lucky no. 7

Seven is a lucky number.

When I think of the number seven, it's so simple. Childhood is simple. 

Yet the past seven years of raising the kid could not have been more complicated. When I used to hear parents vent about how fast their children have grown I kinda eye rolled. It couldn't possibly fly by especially since it's so hard, yet here we are seven years later. 

He's seven years old. 

Shit.

What the hell happened? 

Why did his happen? 

There's nothing like a growing child to remind you how quickly time can pass.

I get sad. 

I tear up.

The sort of happy cry knowing that I did it. 

I can do this shit with my eyes closed. The simultaneous cry knowing things have changed but in reality stayed the same.

Its human nature to put a timeline on life. As children our parents did it to us and they called it "a milestone", as we grew older we did it to ourselves, from preteen to teenage, 18 to party 21 to drink and then 25 rolls around and you're still safe but once 30 does you start to question where the hell all the years went and what did you spend them doing.

I almost immediately gave myself a timeline. 

To say I'd meet someone,  hit it off, date, travel, cohabitate, possibly marry - or not- have another child is just plain dumb. 

Life doesn't work that way.

I guess the entire part of my life changing is correct. It drastically changed. I woke up one day and had a seven year old, at least that's how it feels. 

The part of the inevitable change is still happening. 

I thought maybe the solo parenting mission part would be different.

All hope was lost with co parenting w the biological but that's an entirely different journey. 

Now the happy cry is back.

I look at the kid.

He is amazing.

He is thoughtful.

He is kind.

He likes to share his bagel with me. 

He values friendship and family. 

He has passions.

He has an imagination.

The way he high fives his teacher at school pick up when he sees me waiting makes my tears happy ones. 

And then I ask myself why the fuck are you crying? 

You have a good life.

What did I do to deserve such a good life? 

Lucky number 7 is a great sign of not wanting things to change for the sake of adapting but the adaptation of the life I have and making it the absolute best. 

to be or not to be

Does choosing happiness in life necessarily mean that you chose to be happy?

Is "Human flourishing"  a more accurate way to describe happiness?
(do not consult the dictionary)

I think I have made a conscious choice to be happy all the while finding happiness in the choices I've made to be happy.
I rarely ever self pity but I usually am suspicious of others pitying me.

the single girl.
the single mom.

There isn't a anything single about me.
I do double of what any non single parent does, then how come I'm deemed a single parent, I'm actually a double parent, even quadruple parent at times.

Truth is, I pity the crowd, the majority.
The ones who took the road of the expected.
The ones who took the road traveled by, worn paths and directions included.
The ones who chose to be "happy".

With their perfect married lives and their perfect two car garages, walking their perfectly behaved dog while their perfectly aged children run around the outdoor suburbs of their perfectly mowed lawn while the soundtrack to their perfectly timed lives is almost too perfect for the latest Jcrew Christmas catalog.

Are they really happy?
Does the sound of nothing keep them overjoyed with contentment by the positive, pleasant emotions they are overcome with?
Or is the picture perfect catalog shoot simply a photoshoot?
When all the photogs are gone, the costumes removed, the makeup washed off and the lights go out, when door is shut, is the same happiness alive?

Does looking at your spouse make your heart skip a beat?
Are you truly, madly, deeply in love with the person you vowed to spend the rest of your life with?
Or  has it merely become a comfortable routine?

The American dream.
The one in which boy meets girl, boy dates girl, boy proposes to girl, girl becomes wife, wife becomes mother and they live happily ever after.

The perfect groundhog day dream that you are forced to live in day after day after day after day.

Yup, I pity them.
I am just not the "happy" housewife type of woman.

I'm more of the looking for a really deep connection kind of bitch.
The one where we may or may not live in a big house, our apartment may be the size of a garage, my child may or may not be biologically yours but hey a badass blended family we have become...and we eat out ALOT...and we do non traditional things like dress up as a trio for Halloween and dance to Madonna and LFMAO naturally.

I don't want it all.
Not the traditional American dream, I want even more.....I want my twisted version of it.
The one where I am really happy.
I chose my happiness.
In all of its frowned upon glory, judgment passing, sympathetic smile invoking, I choose it.
Pity me and my single mom ass.