OK, so last weekend? Was totally fabulous until Saturday morning, at which time it took a distinct nosedive. I flew out Friday afternoon to visit Dad & Stepmom in Arizona, and as expected, I shriveled up into a raisin as soon as I stepped off the plane. It is just SO damn dry out there, y'all.
Friday night we had a lovely scotch-tasting party, which consisted of four people getting royally hammered and ended with Dad and I variously 1) giving D hell on the phone (Dad actually used the words "I hear you're fucking my daughter" - I was mortified); 2) playing cribbage (at which I had a few spectacular hands although I think he still beat me twice, or maybe thrice); and 3) getting all fucking maudlin and crying and telling the other person how much we loved them. You know. Much alcohol is imbibed, and the world's problems are miraculously solved. Or at least the past problems between my father and I, which are generally rehashed each time we get sloshed together. ;-)
Saturday morning dawned with a loverly hangover, and me waking up at about 8 and unable to get back to sleep. The hangover went away, but in its place I developed a nasty cold which kept me up shivering half the night and only getting about 2 hours sleep before my flight home on Sunday. I do not ever recommend flying when you have a fever. It is brutal. I was completely discombobulated, and it took about 2-3 hours after I landed in Oakland to FINALLY get my ears to pop.
So then I spent two days laying on my couch, and in bed, and trying to recover some sort of normal life. Of course I called D on Sunday and told him it wouldn't be a good idea for him to come out, unless he was actively trying to get sick. Turns out his daughter was sick too, and he ended up keeping her home with him Monday anyway, so the usual Sunday night meetup wasn't going to happen anyway.
And now we get to the real meat of things which is the fact that things are going SO well with D that it is downright frightening. We had a little discussion last night in which he told me that he's not going anywhere, and I told him how good he makes me feel (get your mind out of the gutter) and that he makes me want to be a better person. Blah blah feel-good-cakes. And today there was some discussion of meeting our respective progeny. I think it would be better (less pressure on the kids AND on us) if we are able to get together, all four of us, in a way that makes it seem more like a casual playdate and less like "OMG, I'm meeting my mom's boyfriend." You know? So it may still be another month or so, because our schedules still conflict. And there was some talk about pets, and how Rugrat really wants one, and I really DON'T want the responsibility to fall on me, because dammit, I just don't like animals. And he said something about how he could help out with the cage cleaning & feeding and stuff (we were discussing lizards). And I just stopped the conversation right there, because he was going to have to go back in to work and there is a whole thing here that I just wasn't ready to open up for discussion and be able to deal with in like five minutes.
And that thing is: commitment. Because that is what is going on here, isn't it? And we've only been dating two months. It feels like forever, and it feels right, but it's still only been TWO MONTHS. And I cannot make plans based on things someone says only two months into a relationship. I cannot get a lizard for Rugrat based on the fact that D says he will help me take care of the thing because who knows what's going to happen in six months or a year? We have not seen each other at our worst yet. We are still in that googly-eyed sex haze where the other person is the most fabulous human being on the planet. You know? We haven't pissed each other off yet. So as much as I would love to just float and let myself believe that these feelings will last forever, I am too cynical now (or too pragmatic) to just live completely in the moment. I have a child to think of, after all, and I cannot allow my hormones to override my common sense.