Why I Never Intend to Marry

More than one man in this world thinks I’m crazy. Most of the time, I would have to agree. But lately, clarity rules in ways that are mystifying…and terrifying.

Strangely, pregnancy seems to both magnify and subdue my usual rants and tantrums. The words are more bitter, the reactions quicker and more fierce. At the same time, my blood pressure remains neutral, and a shocking lack of physical symptoms accompanies my outbursts. It is as though my emotions are reserved only for this tiny life inside me, and only my thoughts and words carry venom.

It  may seem as though this would be an advantage–except that my thoughts and words are particularly venomous toward one Baby Daddy.  Oh, sure, most women reach a moment during pregnancy where they find themselves screeching in anger, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!!”  It usually comes with labor, I’m told.  But for a five-week-old, sesame seed-sized, not-even-yet-a-fetus, this little guy or girl inspires a lot of suspicion and hatred.  And Baby Daddy, because I hold no illusions that he’ll be around for the delivery, is getting all of that rage right off the top.

Our situation is a complicated one, fraught with peril.  (For anyone thinking “rerun,” NO, he is not married!)  In the beginning, this added to the romance, I suppose.  (You know how I love my drama!)  Before I would even consent to a kiss, a plan had to be formulated that would un-complicate things.  We had to agree that yes, I am crazy, and yes, he could deal with it.   In fact, he seemed to think he was more equipped than any other man in my history to deal with it and to love me because of it.  Oh, ye of little reality.

Now he seems to want to hold on to the complications, without holding on to me.  NOW he thinks I am crazy, when he is only witnessing the same behavior I’ve always exhibited, but from a different angle.  It was cute when he wasn’t on the receiving end.  But now, not so much with the cute, he runs away as all the rest have done–aside from the World’s Best Ex-Husband–and leaves me with the best souvenir yet.  Not only do I carry a broken heart, I carry with it a second tiny heart inside of a life that will be lived without a present father.

Our relationship was probably doomed the minute he proposed, and the second I believed that yes, this could work.  I was meant to remain Lonesucky for life, and everyone knows this.  I know it better than anyone.  My attention span is too narrow, my fuse to short, my expectations too high to be satisfied by a mere mortal man.  Only George Clooney can satisfy me, and let’s be real:  the real George Clooney would no sooner commit nor dad-up than any of the losers I’ve encountered in my mundane reality.  Fantasy-George Clooney is only a boyfriend, anyway, with no potential for Forever.

The reason I never intend to marry is pretty simple.  I will always be looking for the next dramatic adventure.  My ideas of the perfect life are ever-changing, and there is not a man born who can keep up with their kaleidoscopic range and diversity.  A man cannot live up to my fantasies when my fantasies cannot hold static.  And I am far too obsessed with my own failures and disappointments to protect him from his.  Furthermore, who would put up with such nonsense from me?

There are two constants in my life:  cats and dogs.  They accept me for who I am, with little expectation and little disappointment.  I commit to them for the duration of their lives, and they commit to me the same.  As sad as I become at the thought of losing any of them–and yes, I’m aware that I will–I sometimes wonder whether I would be willing to make the same commitment if they lived as long as a sea turtle, or even a horse.  Committing to a ten-year-old dog was easy.  Committing to a pet, or a man, who could live another forty or fifty…now that is just insane.

Baby Daddy has some odd issues of his own, aside from his reactions to my anger.  He drinks.  He drinks a lot.  He drinks more than The Bill, and he seems to need it much more.  He seems to have no desire to stop.  He also has no desire to get help for his issues of guilt over past sins.  Though understandable, his pent-up emotions wreak havoc on the day-to-day necessity of having honest and open communication with a partner.  And we all know that a lack of honesty is the surest way to draw out my venom!

I don’t know what will happen with my Baby Daddy.  But one thing is certain:  we will not marry.  I will not be alone, of course.  I will have a bundle of what I can only hope will be joy.  Committing to her, or to him, for some reason, will be easy.  It is not as though there is a choice in the matter.