I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 23

I always said that being responsible for taking care of a small human scared me more than labor. So I felt very blessed that Caleb was an easy baby. There were only three things that made him cranky:

1.      Too hot

2.      Hungry

3.      Tired

When he was about two months old, I flew to Florida with him to meet my father for the first time in over 30 years, since he and my mother had split. Caleb never had a problem flying.

One night during my visit, he got cranky. We were in the dining room of my father’s mobile home. I’d lain him on a blanket next to my chair as we were playing cards. When he started fussing, I looked at him and thought, “You can’t be hungry I just fed you. I know you’re diaper is clean and you’re not tired.”

That’s when I realized that I was sitting there in short shorts and an oversized t-shirt from when I’d been pregnant and I was roasting. He had on a cute little onesie outfit that snapped closed. I leaned over and the moment I started unsnapping his outfit, he got excited. The moment I had it off of him, he settled down and was fine.

During my pregnancy, I’d made arrangements to go back to school. I knew that my current skill levels wouldn’t get me a job that could support us both. I also knew that I couldn’t count on his father paying child support. After we got back home, I started college.

For the first quarter, a good friend of mine watched over him while I was at school. Then that arrangement fell apart and I had to find a daycare quickly. I called everything within a reasonable distance of home and school starting in the “A’s.” I was into the “S’s” before I found one with an opening for a child under a year old. Thankfully, I liked the place, but I did put my name on a waiting list at another day care just in case.

When I first put him in daycare, I would walk up to his room at the back and observe through a window in the top half of the door. He was always fine till he saw me, then he’d start crying. He was there from the time he was about eight months old till about two years old.

Several months after I graduated college with an A.A.S. in paralegal studies, I switched daycares to one that was closer to home. It was difficult to find one with an opening, even though he was now a toddler. The one I chose, looked good on the surface, but soon revealed that it wasn’t.

At this point, I was using cloth training pants with plastic covers as Caleb had outgrown diapers. One night I walked in and was informed by the young woman in charge that she’d thrown his training pants out as they were so messy “that I wouldn’t have wanted them.” I was angry about that as she effectively threw my money in the garbage. I’d been using cloth in the hopes that it would encourage him to potty train. Shortly after that I switched to Pull Ups to prevent such things happening again.

I walked in another time and found a worker sitting a chair sleeping. Given that she was the only adult in the room, I got upset. When I complained to the manager, she told me that the worker was working two jobs. That just made me more upset. I don’t care how many jobs someone is working. If you’re in charge of a roomful of children, you shouldn’t be sleeping on the job!

Another night when I walked in a little boy had a ball in his mouth. I managed to get it away from him, but he should never have had access to a ball that small in the first place.

There were two things that caused me to start looking for a new daycare within two weeks of me putting him in that one. The first was that Caleb had started telling me on the way home that he didn’t like his daycare. I knew that he knew the difference between going in and going home, so I took him seriously. The second, which really clinched it was when I walked in one night to pick him up. He came running over to me just as happy as could be with first aid packets in his hands. I was horrified, especially when I realized that at least one of them contained first aid ointment of some kind. Thankfully, he hadn’t opened them. If he had, that daycare would have had a law suit slapped on them for as much as I could get out of them. When I handed over the packets to the person in charge and explained that my son had them, she said, “Oh, someone didn’t lock up the cabinet.”

I looked at her and thought, “Really? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Those damn packets shouldn’t have been on a shelf low enough for the children to reach them regardless of whether the cabinet is locked up!”

Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to find another daycare. It was further away, but still not an unreasonable distance to drive. One morning I got about 2/3 of the way to the daycare when Caleb said, “Thank you, mommy.”

Puzzled, I said, “For what?”

“My daycare.”

He said that a few times over the course of the time he spent there. It really helped me to know that I’d found a good daycare for him. He still had days when I’d have to peel him off me and then I’d see him crying in the front window as I drove away. That always made me want to go back and get him, but at the time I had to work to support us both.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 22

I was at my friend David’s house when my water broke. At first, I thought the baby had hit my bladder really hard. I waddled into the bathroom only to learn it wasn’t my bladder and silly me; I hadn’t bothered to wear a pad of any kind, so there was water everywhere. I started yelling for my friend, but it was summertime and the windows in his house were open, so he didn’t realize at first that it was me yelling for him. One of his sons mopped up the water, while I called the doctor. He told me that although labor hadn’t started, to go ahead and go to the hospital as the sac is the baby’s last defense against infection.

So, I borrowed a towel, we went to my house to grab another towel and my hospital bag, then drove to the hospital. I had my mother page Ricky to tell him what was happening.

When we arrived at the hospital, a nurse brought me a wheelchair to take me to a room. She looked at me and said, “You’re not in labor.”

I said, “How do you know?”

“When women in labor come in, they’re preoccupied with what’s going on. You’re not.”

“Oh.”

I was taken to a room and hooked up to monitors. Then I was told they could either induce labor or I could get up and walk around for 20 minutes or so in hopes of starting labor on my own. I chose to walk around. I’d walk around for 20 minutes or so, then go back to the room. A few times I started feeling like labor might start, but the moment I stopped walking, labor stopped, too. I finally said I’d like to be induced. I learned from one of the nurses that my doctor used the medication that starts labor to mimic natural labor, which was a good thing. Apparently some doctors will use it to “rocket” babies out.

While I waited for labor to get started, I dozed. It was late in the evening and I was tired. I was very glad I got some sleep while I could. When the labor really got going, it was intense. I’d had monthly cycles that were so painful it was all I could to stand up and function, so I figured labor wouldn’t be that bad. Wrong! I had back labor so bad that I felt like I had a miniature Mack truck trying to come through my spine.

My friend, David and my sister-in-law, Danice were in the labor room with me. When the pain got really bad, they’d take turns making a fist and pushing on my spine to mitigate the pain. It worked for a time and I was grateful for their efforts while it worked. When it stopped working, I asked for pain killers. They told me I wasn’t dilated enough, but they could give me something called, “Stadol (I have since learned that this drug is no longer used).”

It didn’t stop the pain, but it made it so that I didn’t care. I thought of it as being drunk without the hangover. The next contraction came along and I thought, “I’m in pain and I don’t care.”

Eventually I was dilated enough for the pain killers. Once that happened, everything was easy. When my son was part way out, one of the nurses said, “This baby’s so pretty, it just has to be a girl.”

I said, “No! It can’t be! It’s got to be a boy.” I couldn’t prove it as when the day for the ultra sound came that might allow me to know my child’s sex, his legs were crossed and the umbilical cord was in the way. I’d just always known. Don’t ask me how I knew, I couldn’t say, but I do know my mother had the same instinct about the three of us and she was always right. I think she even knew what the sexes were the two times Danice was pregnant. I had a girl’s name chosen just in case I was wrong, but I wasn’t.

There was one time when mother was wrong. A few months before I announced that I was pregnant, she called me at work to tell me that Mike and Danice were going to announce that they were pregnant again, around the holidays. I told her no way: that they were done.

She said, “You think so?”

I said, “I know so.” Well, right idea, wrong person. I was the one who announced a pregnancy just after the New Year that year.

Being a single mom was something I didn’t plan, but other than the fact that his father was not involved in his life, I have no regrets. Having my son, Caleb rearranged my life in ways I didn’t expect. Suddenly I went from “wild and free Mayone” to being “a single mom with her hands full taking care of her baby.”

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 21

By the time I did have contact with him again, I’d had a child (more on that later). Several years after that conversation, I’d done enough healing to feel comfortable having contact again. I’d heard from mother that he’d remarried, but figured I could handle that. So, I looked him up on Facebook. His profile is locked up tight, but at the time there was an e-mail address, so I sent him an e-mail asking how he was doing. Minutes later I received a new friend request on Facebook from him. I was so excited I nearly did a happy dance around the house.

For the next six weeks I was walking around in a happy fog. I didn’t find any sign on his page that he was still married, so I wondered how things would be between us this time. Not only that, but he posted something that I believe was directed at me, even though I can’t prove it. During this time, I sent him a message asking about his aunt and her children, which he never responded to.

Then on Valentine’s Day he posted something I liked, then wrote in the comments, “For my wife.”

I was shocked and hurt. Then I got angry. I was so angry that if I could have physically slapped him, I probably would have. I couldn’t sit still, so I went for a walk. I remember at one point glancing at a stranger. I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t want contact with me. That’s when I realized that if someone looked at me wrong or said the wrong thing to me, I was likely to go off.

When I got home, I sent him a message on Facebook in which I told him off. I told him that his profile should reflect the fact that he was married, as the lack of any relationship status made it look like he was looking for someone.

He replied that it was a privacy issue. I told him that everyone knew you could set up your Facebook profile so that only your friends could see anything. He blocked me after that. Shortly after that he sent me an item for a game we played on Facebook. I’m not sure he was paying attention because it allowed me to go to his profile and undo every like I’d ever done on his posts.

A few years later I was talking to a sweet lady who also turned out to be wise, when for some reason I told her about my last contact with Dorn. She looked at me and said, “You can’t control what he does. You can’t control whether or not he responds to your messages or tells you he’s married.”

I looked at her and realized that she was right. Then I felt like I wanted/needed to apologize to Dorn, but since it’s been a few years since we’ve had any kind of contact, it wasn’t a good idea. So, I got a journal and wrote out what I was feeling. Later, I found another journal where I write letters I know I won’t send and wrote one to him in there.

Several weeks after I left his house for the last time, Ricky, an employee at a gas station I frequented gave me his pager number and asked me to call him. I didn’t plan to as I knew I wasn’t ready for another relationship, but after a couple of weeks, I figured, “why not?”

He was surprised when he realized it was me on the phone. He said that I’d taken so long to call that he didn’t think I was going to. I just said that I’d been busy. We started hanging out. He played darts in a league, so I learned to play and eventually bought my own darts because I enjoyed playing so much. I even tried to join the league, but none of the teams had openings and I didn’t know enough people interested in darts to form one of my own.

We became sexually involved early on at my request. He was kind enough to ask if I was sure. I said I was, but now I wish I hadn’t. Every time we got together anywhere private after that, he wanted sex. We used condoms, but as happens, one failed at the right time of the month for me.

By the time I learned I was pregnant, I was thinking I needed to break up with him. I knew by then that we weren’t going work out. Finding out I was pregnant was a shock. I’ll never forget that night. I’d just gone back to work after being out sick for a week, but I was still tired. I’d had suspicions based on things not being “normal” with me, but was planning to wait to see if I missed a second monthly cycle. Being sick made me realize that I needed to know ASAP.

So, I bought a test on the way home from work that night. When I took it, I got the shock of my life. I was pregnant! I looked at the test, went through the steps again in my head, looked at the test again. There was no doubt in my mind. I then paged Ricky to tell him. He asked if I was sure. I said, “Yes. Do you want to see the test?”

“No, that’s all right.”

From then on, everything I did was to ensure a healthy pregnancy. I even ate bananas, which at the time were one of my least favorite fruits, but it was better than no fruit at all. It didn’t take long for me to start showing. I was wearing sweat pants by the end of my third month because my jeans no longer fit. Thankfully, as long as my clothes were clean and in good condition, I could wear what I wanted at work.

I was lucky with the morning sickness. I’d get up and be slightly nauseous, but as soon as I ate breakfast, I was fine. A couple of my friends were pregnant at the time and they had it bad. Neither of them could eat much nor stand the smell of food.

Ricky asked me not to tell anyone outside of family that I was pregnant as he wanted to be sure I’d carry the baby to term. That made for a couple of interesting situations at a bar where we hung out and played darts. One lady looked at me in passing, then paused. I asked her what was up. She just shook her head, then said, “Are you pregnant.”

I confirmed that I was and told her we were keeping it to ourselves for now. She understood.

Another night I went to the bar for a dart tournament or something immediately after work. I was exhausted, so I sat in one chair with my legs on another. After being on my feet all day at work, I needed to put my feet up. One of the other dart players came by and offered to buy me a drink. I said, “Some grapefruit juice would be lovely.”

He looked at me like I was nuts and said, “I said, ‘I’m buying.’”

I repeated my order and he said, “What’s the matter? You pregnant or something?”

I just grinned at him. Then I told him that I was and that we weren’t telling anyone till I was into my second trimester. Once I hit my second trimester, there was no hiding the fact that I was pregnant. By the time I was in my third trimester, people were telling me I’d never make it to my due date. I’d tell them to hide and watch. I was almost right: he came three days early.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 20

The tension between her and I might have gone on indefinitely if not for an incident that occurred when I stopped by one night. The moment I walked in, I saw a lovely painting on the wall that was mostly obscured by a statuette of an owl. I teasingly said, “Why’d you put the owl in front of the painting?”

            He shrugged as he said, “I don’t know,” then he handed me a hammer and said, “but, if you can find another place for the owl go ahead.”

            As I took the hammer from him, I heard Debbie say, “Not that again. We’ve already gone round about it once tonight. Leave it alone.”
            I ignored her, but inwardly I seethed. “How dare she tell me what to do?! This isn’t her house!”

            I knew then that I needed to talk to Dorn privately. I called him and arranged a time to see him alone.

            When I walked into his house, he said he needed to work on something while we talked. I followed him to a computer he’d set up in a room off the living room. He brought a chair in for me and I sat. I asked him how he’d felt about what happened between Debbie and I a few nights prior.

            He told me he’d noticed and he’d made it clear to her when she left that night that she was out of line. He then told me that he’d given her a key to his house so that she could come and go as she pleased and that she took care of his dog if he needed to be gone. That when they said “good night,” she often kissed him. I became jealous, but hid it as best I could.

He also said he saw what was going on between us and that if open war broke out between us, he’d lock up the house and disappear so that no one could find him. We talked a little while longer. When I left that evening, I felt gratified that he’d told Debbie she’d been out of line for ordering me around as she’d tried to do. I also decided I needed to back away for a few weeks. I knew if I stuck around, things would just get worse. I figured it was better to find other things to do till I could either handle being around both of them without wanting to throw her out or worse. So, I went to work, then found other things to do while I tried to work out how best to deal with her presence without driving him away.

            A few weeks later, I called him to see how he was. He asked me why I hadn’t been around. I told him I’d been busy. I wish I’d told him the reason wasn’t that “I was busy,” but that I thought it best to back away rather than risk driving him away. I was afraid if I did that though, he’d think I was more interested in him than I could even admit to myself. I asked him how Debbie was doing.

            “Why?” He said, suspiciously.

            “Oh, just curious.” I said. He told me that he’d taken his house key back and she’d quit coming around or returning his calls. I was thrilled. I could now go back to seeing him without fear of running into her.

            I got back into the habit of going to his house after work. After a while, he started asking me about my feelings for him. He was offering to help me out, but I told him that he couldn’t. I had to learn how to deal with my feelings for him on my own. I sometimes wish I’d asked him how he thought he could help, but I think I was afraid to.

            I was visiting another friend one day when I recounted a conversation with Dorn to him. I said that I’d told Dorn that I wanted to see his marriage come back together, regardless of how it affected me. He looked at me and said, “You really love him don’t you?”

            I just stared at him as my jaw hit the ground. “I what?! I love him?”

            I walked out of his house with my head spinning. Over the next three days, it sunk in. I’d fallen in love with Dorn. The part that really surprised me though, was that in the past when I’d “fallen in love” with someone, it was because we’d had a sexual relationship. Dorn and I had never done anything more than hug, except for the one time I kissed him on the cheek for his birthday. 

The hardest part of that was that I couldn’t have him not only because of his marriage, but because he’d told me that he didn’t see us ever getting together as more than friends. Unfortunately, the heart wants what it wants.

A few weeks after I realized that I’d fallen in love with him, I knew that I needed to cut our friendship off. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew that the more I hung out with him, the more I’d want him. The more I wanted him, the harder it would be for me to contain my feelings.

I went to his house one last time and told him that I was cutting off our friendship. I didn’t tell him I was afraid my feelings would overwhelm me and that I’d do something we’d both regret, but rather that I had other emotional baggage to deal with and I couldn’t handle how I felt about him, too. He tried to talk me out of it. It would have been so easy to let him do so, but I knew it’d be dangerous for both of us if I did.

As I drove away that night, I had to hold back tears for fear of not being able to see properly. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him or have any contact with him again.