So. I did it. I took the plunge. After a year of dating, I moved in with Bear.
This was a terribly hard decision for me. Heart-wise it felt very easy. Brain-wise…well, my brain is super proud of it’s ability to scare the shit out of me, raise What-If Monsters from the dead, and completely squash any hopes and dreams my sweet little heart might be dreaming. I didn’t want my son feeling as though I was forcing him into my relationship, nor did I want him feeling like he was less than the very most important person in my life. I figured it would be a good thing to ask him how he felt about moving in with Bear, so I did.
“Abe, how would you feel about moving in with Bear?” I said it in a really excited way.
“I’m not sure. Soon? Maybe in a few weeks?”
He wasn’t really seeming to care, or get it, so I went on. “We would move all of our things there and then we would live there, not at mommy’s house anymore. How would you feel about that?”
“What about my toys?”
“We bring them.”
“What about my trucks?”
“We bring them, too.”
“What about my clothes?”
“Everything. All of our things come with us.”
“I want to bring my rocks.”
“Ok,” he said. It was quiet for a few seconds.
“So, Abe, I’m asking how would you FEEEEEEEL about moving to a new house and living with Bear?”
This is literally how the conversation went. I desperately wanted to have some kind of deep, connecting conversation about how he felt about moving in with this man and he wanted to make sure he got to bring his stuff and then told me he was hungry.
He’s 4. I don’t know what I expected.
I moved all of our stuff with the help of a few friends over the course of a weekend while Abe was with his dad. When I picked him up from school Monday afternoon, I brought him back to Bear’s house expecting a LOT of questions. I mean, the child asks 100 questions about the microwave when it beeps. I was prepared for an entire night devoted to questions about this move. And so we walked into the house, I gave him a snack, and he went into his new room and played with his toys.
That was it.
Oh, and then when it was dinner time? He came out of his room and ate dinner at the dinner table.
As usual, all that fear and concern I had for the well-being of my son was for naught. He couldn’t care less. We’ve been here in Bear’s house for several weeks and it’s like nothing changed. Things are just as normal as normal can be. I am both grateful and baffled. And I suppose occasionally I could take a lesson from the four-year-old in my life that as long as I have my rocks and I’m hungry, life is moving along just fine.