'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

I'm calling major bullsh*t on that notion. 

Next Sunday will mark eleven years since the love of my life committed suicide. Every year, I think maybe I can get through this without a total meltdown, but I'm already starting to unravel. I guess there is no expiration date for grief. 

I started dating someone about a month ago. I guess it's official now, as we spend pretty much every weekend together and he usually stays over one or two nights during the week.

But it has occurred to me--as it has with literally every romantic relationship I have ever attempted to maintain after Brad--that I'm not sure how much I really like this guy. 

Would I feel upset if I found out that he was seeing other women when he isn't with me? I don't think so. Would I feel guilty if I ended up cheating on him? I don't think so. 

This is why all of my romantic relationships over the last eleven years have fizzled out within less than a few weeks. Because I just don't care. I used to try very hard to care, but I gave up on that a long time ago. 

I actually thought I cared about this one in the beginning, but the more time goes by, the more I think it would be better if maybe I just cut him loose now before it's too late. Which makes me wonder, can I ever love anyone again? Do I keep trying to make relationships work just to avoid being alone forever?

And when my emotional meltdown reaches its peak next weekend, do I tell the new guy why? Do I tell him that if Brad had never died, there is a 99% chance the two of us would probably be married, maybe even with children by now? 

I try not to think of that alternate reality because no good will ever come of dwelling on such things. Brad is dead, and he is not coming back. Even typing that sentence makes it feel like my heart is being shredded to pieces with a blunt serrated knife. 

Turning my life into a shrine for my dead soulmate will never lead to anything good. The major depression I have suffered over the last decade just makes me want to pack it in and join him. I know I should probably talk to a professional about this, but at the moment, I can't talk about it without dissolving into a sobbing soggy mess. 

As far as telling the new boy about any of this, I have no idea what to do. But maybe it would be better to wait until after the anniversary of Brad's death has passed before I decide to end this relationship. 

I just don't know what to do. Sorry for the depressing post, but I needed to tell someone. 

potty mouth

A family friend has currently begun the ordeal of potty training her first child. It got me thinking of all the potty training drama I witnessed with three younger siblings, and how everyone must have at least one ridiculous potty training story in their family. I want to hear them!

My family's:

Big Sis#1, as is her general attitude towards everything in life, was potty trained on precisely the day she turned 2, and perfected potty-usage immediately.

Big Sis#2 had what I guess is the "normal" potty training experience. Some stress, some resistance, a couple bed accidents, but generally manageable until she eventually got the hang of the potty.

Here she is wearing her kiddie potty on her head:

circa 1973

Yours Truly was introduced to the potty at age eighteen months--my parents thinking that if they started early but very slowly, I could be successfully potty trained quickly and without incident. It backfired. I took to the potty immediately, and was so impressed with myself that I could control these things instead of needing a diaper that I apparently would get up like 10+ times a night shouting for my parents to take me out of my crib so I could use the bathroom. 

One time they (in all fairness, justifiably) got sick of it, and so just left me shouting. In an act of revenge, I went silent for a moment, then wet the bed. Then shouted that I had wet the bed. They replaced the crib with a regular bed the next day. That is my earliest memory.

As for Lil Bros #1 and  #2, one of them had the average potty training stage like Big Sis#2, and one took until like age 3 before he was fully trained, but no one can remember which was which. At that point, there were so many kids, I guess we stopped keeping track...

THEN there was Lil Sis. 

Lil Sis did NOT

like

the potty

AT ALL.

We tried everything. EVERYTHING. She was literally changing her own diapers towards the end, when she was 4 years old. I feel like maybe this was divine foreshadowing of how she would turn out as an adult.

What about all y'all? Share some fun potty training stories!