Friday. August 5, 2016

Let’s talk about the children for a second. I used to call them my offspring, but now I call them my progeny. Why, you ask, don’t I just call them children? Well they aren’t little ones anymore. My eldest is twenty-five and my youngest will be nineteen in less than a week. I called them offspring for so long that it got boring so my boyfriend and I came up with progeny. The progeny were the reason I put my name up on that dating website. They are the reason I hit that man up to chat. So, in essence, it is their fault that I am in a relationship at all.

But, boy, I think they forget that all the time. They liked him in the beginning—probably because we had all of our dates in his hometown. (We live over an hour apart from each other). They did text a great deal with numerous emergencies that could only be handled by me. My youngest had terrible panic attacks that exacerbated her asthma. Every time I left them, I felt like I was doing a bad job as a mother (even considering their ages). Yet, once I was out the door and driving east I couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. I wasn’t just a divorcee with three grown children; I was a sexual being again. It thrilled me. Christopher thrilled me.

Then I brought him home to meet the clan. Keep in mind that I live with my parents and my children so his coming took a great amount of courage on his part—to my way of thinking. They all told me something that is always gratifying for a forty-something to hear, “You look much younger than he does.” Beyond that, we kept to ourselves. He was the first man to have sex with me in my bed. He gave me the feeling that I was more than I had been for the last ten years. Now, even home was fair game for moving forward.