Dating with a daughter

There are many aspects to single parenting that can be a bit scary. I'm about to start sleep training in an attempt to get my little one to sleep in her own bed for the whole night. I'm not looking forward to the utter exhaustion that will bring about. Especially tackling it on my own. I know that I sometimes worry I don't discipline Ava enough. Or even properly. And I worry about that more now I am alone in doing it. But the scariest part for me personally has got to be dating. 

Because dating with a kid is weird.

 And a whole other kettle of fish.

I recall commenting to my sister (shortly after I split from Ava's dad): "who the hell is going to want to date a single mum with a toddler?". But at the time it didn't really bother me. Because dating was the last thing on my mind. However a couple of months later, after we were starting to feel settled in our new home and we found a pattern of nights Ava would go to her Dad's, I started to get a bit bored. And thought I might give this whole dating thing a whirl. I didn't even want a boyfriend. I was just curious. I had been out the game for a few years. I was interested to see what was happening.

The actual dating bit was fine. Obviously reserved for the nights my wee one was spending with her father. I would get dressed up, have a glass of wine, stick my lippy on and head out for a nice dinner or a few drinks. Given that it's not really the done thing to introduce your beau to your child on the first meet-up, Ava didn't really come into it. It was a world completely separate to her. None of the dates particularly stuck out to me. None went onto a second date. And so after each one I just got myself back on Tinder or Plenty of Fish and gave it another bash. However,  four rubbish dates in a row caused me to get right back off Tinder and back into a box-set and I abandoned the whole dating thing for a good couple of months.

But the New Year brought a new bout of boredom and I gave it another go. And this year I have actually met people I've liked. And discovered how complicated and tiring the world of dating as a parent can actually be...

• If you are dating a man who also has a child then you can be pretty sure that he will have his child on the nights you don't have your child. Laws of attraction. Laws of probability. Laws of typicality. Whatever. It makes it bloody impossible to see each other.

• If you are dating someone who doesn't have a kid or kids of his own then expect some lifestyle clashes. These guys tend to think it's cool to turn up at your door at 3am pissed. Or to walk around Ikea with you stinking of booze and still in last nights clubbing gear. You will constantly have to remind them that you are not 21 any more and that you have responsibilities which will make you feel like a boring old nag. And they will probably end up dumping you for being a boring old nag.

• Then there is the supremely utterly devoted Dad. Which is the Dad we all want to date isn't it? But how devoted do you want them to be? Obviously you expect to come second. And for their little bundle of joy to come first. That's a given. But at what length? What if their brat is completely rude to you every time they see you and thinks it's funny to spit in your drink and pull your hair? What if the love of your life sees no reason to chastise their child for it? You can bet your life that relationship is going to go downhill. Quickly.

• Then there's that sort of weird 'when do you meet the kids' type situation that always rears its ugly head. Obviously you want to. If you really like the person then the quicker you get to know each others offspring the quicker you don't have to get a taxi home from theirs at 11pm on a week night. Or creep around their flat like some sort of hidden fugitive trying not to wake the kids up. But it's difficult to know when the right time is. Too soon and you run the risk of 'confusing' them and too late and you start to wonder what the hell is so wrong with you that he doesn't want you to meet his kids. Suddenly those box-sets and M&S ready meals for one start to look more appealing again...

• And if you do both have kids then there is always the risk that one of you doesn't want any more, while the other does. I've been pretty much broody since I got pregnant. And it shows no sign of dissipating. A further pitter patter of tiny feet is something that I most definitely want to hear more of in the future. But if I met someone I really liked who felt that his child-rearing days were over - that would be a deal breaker for me for sure.

• On a plus side, if he does have kids, your prospective partner will be much more attuned to a Saturday night of take-out, Merlot and The X-Factor. And will be much more accepting when your attempts at getting frisky on the sofa are interrupted for the 13th time that night by a small voice shouting from the deep recesses of their bedroom that they need a pee pee. Again.

And I thought dating in my twenties was exhausting.

Fast Love

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If there's one thing I've noticed in relationships that's different now I'm older, it's that everything seems to move much faster. My first proper relationship was a slow burner. I mean I'm pretty sure at the beginning I was actually courting. There was one date a week to begin with. Then maybe two a week. And even after we officially became a couple it was still 6 months before either of us said the L word. At the time this seemed completely normal. I think it was. I think that's the reason we made it four years. Nowadays most of the relationships I get into seem to move very quickly. And it's got me to thinking. Are things that are rushed always doomed to fail? Is the old adage 'you can't hurry love' (thanks Phil) correct? I'm beginning to think so. I have friends who swear blind that any relationship that moves quickly is bound to end suddenly. My sister (the dating guru) has advised me many a time to never trust a man who is too intense or full on during those first few throes of a relationship.

But aren't those first few throes the best bit? When your stomach does that fluttery thing when he texts you and your knees go weak the second you see him. When you can't be away from each other for more than 30 minutes without texting. When you're nervous about cooking for him and you take yourself underwear shopping just to impress him.

But no matter how much he might make your eyes twinkle or your brain turn to mush, I think that it's important to keep your wits about you.

Why?

Because the evidence would suggest that fast love (thanks George) is doomed to fail. And usually does. Step up Britney. And Jordan. And John Mayer. For some it's probably an age thing. A desire to settle down. A fear that time may be running out. For others I think it's more about getting caught up in that heady rush of blood to the head you get when you first meet someone. But deciding that the love of your life is someone you don't even know can be dangerous. By the time you actually do get to know them you can be in for all types of surprises. That's if they're even still around by that point.

While I don't want to take aim at any gender in particular, I think that in these kinds of situations it is usually the women who get hurt while the man moves onto pastures new. Women invest more emotionally for a start. They believe everything they are being told. Because they want to believe it. And personally, I think that the man who commits too soon is someone to be wary of. And to be avoided at all costs. Generally I think one of two things is happening: the guy has an agenda (this can usually be sussed out by how quickly he moves onto another women after it ends) or the guy is needy and co-dependent. Neither look great for your future happiness though do they?

For the first time in a year I am truly at a stage where I can say I want to be with someone. The idea of a relationship is something I have become much more open to. I want someone to come home to after a night out with the girls. I want someone to cook for and someone who will look after me when I'm ill. I want a partnership and a friendship and all that comes with it. I want to be with someone who makes me happy and for Ava to see her Mum with someone who makes her happy.

But I won't rush it.

Because you can't rush something you want to last forever.

Can you?

Top 10 signs you know you are in a new relationship

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1. It takes you twenty minutes to choose a bottle of wine.
2. Things suddenly start to go missing. You can't find your bronzer brush and you've lost your favourite pair of knickers (probably under his bed).
3. Your eyes twinkle when you talk about him. And you talk about him. A lot.
4. Take away suddenly becomes the dinner of choice every weekend. Often twice.
5. You no longer put your phone on silent when you go to bed. Or leave it in the other room.
6. You start reading your horoscope. And his.
7. You check your phone about 216587861 times a day more than usual.
8. You've checked out his ex-girlfriends on Facebook.
9. You stop replying to those Whatsapp photos of your ex looking seriously buff with his shirt off.
10. Fake tanning becomes a thing again. As does waxing.

Admit it girls - we all do it.

NB: Please don't get too excited, I am not in a new relationship. These observations are purely based on past experiences only ;)

He's just not that into you

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There are many things my 30 year old self knows now that I didn't when I was 21. I know a weekend drinking session will inevitably leave me in a state of exhaustion until the Tuesday. I know that I am comfortable with myself and my body in a way that my naive and inexperienced person wasn't 10 years ago. I know that it doesn't matter what other people think of you so long as you are kind and I know that the secret to being happy is to always look forward and to never look back. But there's something else I know now that I didn't fully comprehend when I was 21.

That when it comes to boys, sometimes they are just not that into you.

Although I wouldn't say that I spent my twenties being messed around by many blokes, I definitely allowed a couple of people to hang around my life for longer than I really should have. You know the ones. The ones you only ever hear from when they are drunk. Or the ones who blow so hot and cold it's hard to know if you are coming or going. I remember those midnight calls to tell me he loved me then hearing nothing for days, sometimes weeks. I've been the girl who has sat in front of her friends and insisted he cared when it was obvious to all he was messing me about. I've sent the texts demanding to know where I stand only to be met with nothing but silence. And I don't regret those dalliances for a minute. They taught me everything I needed to know about the big bad world. These guys are a rite of passage for girls growing up. They teach you how to hurt and get over it, what signs to look out for as you get older and how to deal with people who play games.

So to the two in particular who messed me around for that tiny bit longer than I should have allowed: 

Thanks boys.

I was 17 with you and I was 25 with you. And I still think about you sometimes. But just mainly when I am laughing at you for still sending me Facebook messages at 2am.

My point is not to have a go at any of my questionable ex-boyfriends. My point is that now I am a bit longer in the tooth I just can't be bothered with messing around anymore. Just like I no longer have any interest in bitching behind people's backs or wearing ridiculously dark lipliner, I really don't see the point in entertaining someone I genuinely care about if they don't feel the same way back.

I'm kind of aware of the fact that it will be a year soon since I became single and that I haven't entered into another proper relationship yet. There's been some first dates. But hardly any second. And I'm currently trying to work out if this is because I need to stop being so picky or if it's because deep down I am still not ready for another boyfriend. 

I do know this though and I believe that every single girl who genuinely cares for someone should remember it. If he cares, he will call. If he wants you, he will text you. And if he needs to prove this to you then he will bend over backwards just to do so.

And if he doesn't?

Then he's just not that into you. 

It's going down, I'm yelling Tinder...

 

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So let's talk about Tinder. Having previously put it down as a casual sex app, my impression started to change towards the end of last year when I saw more and more of my fellow single female buddies tweeting about it. Girls that are not likely to be using booty call phone apps. I was sick of Plenty of Fish. My love/hate affair with that horrible app was angling more towards the hate side. Not only was I getting approached by an inordinate amount of chavs but I had even managed to get myself into a situation, without any encourage from myself I might add, where one guy had started emailing me slightly disturbing messages in the middle of the night.

So I deleted my POF account and I joined Tinder. I loved the idea of it. That only men you had said 'yes' to could message you. Therefore if you had approved their picture you were essentially 'approving' contact. No more worrying about steroid pumped crazies with muscles bigger than my thigh messaging me casual threats when I didn't reply to them quick enough. And likewise no more weirdos with no profile picture pestering the life out of me for a date. 

'Shopping for boys', I thought. This is going to be fun.

And it kind of is. Although I tend to treat it more like Candy Crush than an actual dating app if I'm honest. Usually I pick it up when I am laying on the sofa of an evening and Eastenders are labouring another boring and far too lengthy storyline involving Dot Cotton. I find my mind start to wander. I check Instagram, have a nosy on Twitter, then find myself on Tinder casually swiping one way or the other. Admiring the hotties and wincing at the crazies in the S&M gear in equal measure.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news - but the hot to not ratio of men generally leans towards the not side. Get too into swiping no and it becomes almost robotic. No, no, no. Swipe left, left, left. Before suddenly some dark Italian with eyes you could drown in and shoulders broader than the Thames jumps into view and in your robotically hypnotised state you accidently swipe to the left. And that's it. You can't get him back. He is gone forever. Lost in the hot boy abyss as you scream 'nooooo' at your phone before throwing it at the telly in a fit of rage. The same applies the other way too. I have hit 'yes' accidentally on one too many occasions only to have to ignore their messages and file them in the 'pay more attention' file I have created in my inbox. I'm aware how absolutely superficial this all sounds. But come on, we are talking about an app that asks you to choose a mating/dating partner based solely on what they look like so what do you expect?

I deleted Tinder back at the beginning of February because I was becoming bored with the whole online dating thing. I had went on a few dates with some really nice blokes but no-one had particularly prompted me to want to see them again. And I wasn't having enough fun at any of the dates to warrant continuing on my quest. As always when I delete these things, I happily mosey along for a few weeks quite content with cosy nights in with Ava and reruns of Rebus, only to eventually get a bit bored. The memory of my last tedious and uneventful date with someone who bore no resemblence to their profile picture starts to fade and I think "bugger it, I'll get back on the dating wagon'.

But my problem is this. And this might come across as a little harsh but let's face it, there's none of us getting any younger here so I am just going to put it out there. I cannot be bothered messing about talking to someone for two weeks only to meet them and discover they are a tosser in the space of two minutes. However there are rules. I don't message a guy first and until recently I would never ask them to meet me first either. Mostly because I'm old-fashioned but mainly because I don't want them to think I'm a hooker.  But recently, after 7 days of pissing about asking me 'what I like to cook' and 'what star sign I am', I have found myself saying to them in an exasperated fashion:

 'SO ARE YOU EVER GOING TO ASK ME OUT FOR A DRINK THEN?'

Thankfully the answer has always been yes. So far. And thus you meet and you can actually have a face to face conversation and work out if you really do have a spark with someone or not. And therein lies the rub - and my real problem with online dating, I just don't have the energy for 'the chat'. In my experience, when you meet someone you know. You can tell instantly if there is chemistry or not. And so I download, I peruse, I hit like and then I usually end up ignoring. Cause the truth is I am just not really in the mood for dating right now.

Tinder can be fun. It most definitely has a time and a place. And when I start waking up after a night out too terrified to look at my Whatsapp and then spend the entire day with my mobile in the freezer cause I'm too scared to see what can of worms I have drunkenly opened now, then I most definitely will be getting back on that Tinder wagon.

But for now I think I will just stick to flirting with the hot UPS guy.

And repeats of old Scottish detective dramas on telly.

If you enjoyed this post then you can read more about my experiences with online dating right here.

Free yourself from Facebook

I have a love/hate affair with the internet. On the one hand I adore it. I'm a self-confessed Twitter addict, I'm never off Instagram and Pinterest lets me indulge my girly side perfectly. The internet is a valuable tool for me. It's how I promote my blog, how I find writing jobs and it's also where I do my banking, where I salivate over shoes I can't afford and where I look to for advice on things from cooking to parenting.

However....

When it comes to relationships (and dating in general), I think the internet can be a strange and daunting place. I have always preferred not to put too much of that side of my life onto the net. I've never been the type to post smug lovey dovey photos on Facebook and if I wanted to tell someone that I cared about them I would definitely rather do it over a steak and a bottle of Merlot than through the power of a social media platform. Of course you can't be with someone for a long time while being an internet addict such as myself and not expect them to run into each other now and again. However, when it comes to this blog and my Twitter timeline, I tend not to say too much. I have an appreciation of how alien and personal writing about yourself can be and just because I choose to do it, does not mean that I have the right to talk about other peoples lives all over the old www.

In terms of new relationships I prefer to say very little because you never know what is going to happen. Things can move very quickly and then end just as suddenly. The last thing I would want to be is that girl who has to explain to 1400 twitter followers why she is suddenly single again. That's not to say I won't write about the highs and lows of life, love and relationships. Cause that's just what I do (and I will get that column eventually - so screw you stream of rejection letters....).

But I never name names. I never recount personal events and my writing is always about me. It's about my thoughts, my feelings and my take on situations. Nothing more, nothing less. Who said blogging was narcissitic?

The point of this post, is that my love affair with social media always dwindles when you have to deal with ex-etiquette. I've dated guys who were desperate for me to 'tell the internet' about them. Who relished the idea of my throwing their name about online and who were dying for me to tell all the two-dimensional people that I was in love. Alternatively, I've had boyfriends who weren't particularly arsed. Who found the whole 'blogging' thing slightly daunting and weird and who rarely read what I wrote (and truthfully, I preferred these ones).

But what happens when these people become ex's? Whether you were dating for a short period of time or were together for years - what's the best way to deal with it? Is there some manual? Some code on how to behave in a mature and dignified fashion without looking childish or bitter? I'm not the kind of girl who likes to torture herself. I've seen way too many friends spend way too many evenings staring at their ex-boyfriends Facebook wall with only a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a Celine Dion album for company. And I just think - what's the point? Don't get me wrong, it's never a bad thing when your ex's new bird turns out to be a little bit chubbier than you or you discover through some casual late night stalking that he got dumped on a plane or something. But as much pleasure as this brings - it's not going to help you move on is it?

And if his new girlfriend happens to look like Sienna Miller and the only plane chat is them discussing their upcoming holiday to Dubai then really, it's better just to let it go. Don't you think?

So I choose not to be reminded of stuff. I unfollow and I unfriend. Although I worry it makes me look spiteful. When I am far from that. But I just don't think social media and ex's work. That's not to say that you can't reconnect with someone at some point. If you are grown up enough to end things amicably and there's a chance that you might be friends in the future then by all means give them a poke. 

Just make sure it's of the Facebook kind yeah?

The Single Life

Come on, you all knew it was coming. In fact you must have been positively wondering where on earth it was. I've been single now since July and I haven't written one anecdotal and sarcastic piece on single life yet. Possibly because it can take a while to recover from a bad break-up. Possibly because I've genuinely not really had much time to think about being single and what that means. But mostly because the biggest aspect of my being single is the parenting part. And sometimes I barely have time to brush my teeth.

In truth being a single mum is up there with period pains and deadlines. Not nearly as painful as I make out and if honest, I love the attention/pressure. But being a single parent is not what this post is about.

It's about whether or not I want a boyfriend. And for the most part I'm pretty nonplussed either way.

But then stuff like this happens...

I get in the bath only to discover I have left my towel in the bedroom. Not such a big deal in summer but in winter? Brr. But this was never an issue before. A quick text (yes, I text from the bath) and I could step into the waiting arms of my beloved and the warm towel he has so lovingly brought through for me. But is that reason enough to want a boyfriend?

Probably not.

Speaking of baths, I definitely miss not having anyone to top my wine glass up when I'm in there. And I'm in there a lot. Obviously Ava is getting better at this but I just feel really bad waking her up at 9pm to refill my drink ;)

I miss Sundays. A Sunday off work is the one day that you will find me feeling a bit sorry for myself and missing a relationship. It doesn't matter how I fill my day -soft play with penguin, lunch with the girls or shopping in town, I still miss holding hands in Queens Park and walks to the pub on cold afternoons for a pint. I miss cooking a Sunday roast together. A Sunday roast for one? Just not worth the effort. I miss lazy long afternoon baths (we're on baths again) whilst I listen to the murmurs of  Ava contentedly playing as someone else watches over her and lets me relax. So yeah,  I said it. Sunday's suck a bit. But as long as I am quite happy being on my own Monday to Saturday then I can definitely handle the odd angsty holy day.

Now I am sure there are a few single (and co-habiting) mums out there who will be with  me on this one. Some days you put the kid to bed, sit down and think what a complete massive bloody failure you have been that day. The kid has whined and moaned. You have whined and moaned. You skipped an educational afternoon full of animals and fresh air for a day of cBeebies and the sofa. You made her chicken nuggets instead of a healthy cottage pie and you gave into every single request for biscuits/crisps/chocolate because you just couldn't be bothered with the aggro. These are the days when I'm a bit pathetic and need someone to remind me I'm a good mum. That I'm doing ok and that I shouldn't beat myself up too much. Anyone who knows me knows what a massive guilt complex I have about OH PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING I do/don't do/should do. For the most part I fill our days as best I can, limit the telly and keep her diet healthy. But on the days that I don't and I feel myself clock watching till 7pm so I can finally have that glass of wine, I feel like a big fat failure and it is kind of nice to have someone give you a cuddle and a little bit of reassurance on those days.

This guilt complex also applies to the fact that I don't have to feel bad or lie when I buy new clothes now. Not that I ever did that either you understand, ahem.

It's also pretty special having someone who knows you inside out. Having someone who knows that a L'Occitane hand cream or a few Lush bath bombs will always put a smile on your face is a nice thing to have. I know, I know, romance doesn't always mean presents (it does), but still. And it's nice at Christmas to have someone who knows exactly what make of face serum you love or what kitchen appliance you have been dying to get your hands on for ages. I'm not saying I miss presents. I'm genuinely not that superficial. But it is nice knowing you have someone who knows you so well and always gets it right. Apologies in advance to any girls out there whose husbands bought them a filing cabinet for Christmas.

Finally I keep cooking too much. Single girl problems. But every time I cook something for dinner I end up with masses that has to be frozen. Given that I like to cook at least 3 new recipes a week, I seem to be finding myself eating the same things more and more just to use them up. And this annoys me. But again, it's not really a reason to want a boyfriend is it?

So there it is. That's all I got. That's the only reasons I can think of to not want to be single.

For now, I can live without sex. Which'll be thanks to Ava's new habit of getting up at 5.30am (kill me now).  But if I'm still saying that in three months then for goodness sake someone get me speed dating or something. I can live without romantic dinners (I go on enough dinners with the girls and really I'm only about the food anyway). Of course I miss getting flowers or someone buying me the CD I mentioned I wanted last week but in all honesty I really don't have a problem with buying those things myself. In fact at the moment I kind of like it.

A girl of the nineties, The Spice Girls must have left their mark.

I was never a big cuddler in bed (apart from that awesome beginning bit) and now I have Ava sleeping in her own bed, I'm kind of enjoying the space. Don't tell Germaine Greer but I've always quite liked being a bit motherly so whilst I don't actually mind doing housework or ironing shirts, I sure as hell can't be bothered with the football always being on or having to hear about what hilarious thing 'Jennifer' in the office said today. That's never actually happened. There is no Jennifer. But you still get my drift.

I can sit in front of Celebrity Big Brother squeezing whipped cream straight into my mouth without anyone judging me. Not that I ever do that either.

Even bigger ahem.

I have a family visit over to Cyprus with Ava booked soon, a whisky and wine night in Dunoon coming up with one of my favourite girls and a week in Portugal hopefully happening later in the year with my bestie. And I'm not missing a man's company or attention one iota yet. I even went to a wedding on my own recently and never batted an eyelid. I did get extraordinarily drunk though and miss half the night so in retrospect maybe a date to keep an eye on me wouldn't have been a bad idea....

So there's where I'm at.
I'm done with the internet dating because all I ever get is Norman Bates with an iPhone.
I'm not looking but if something comes along then it comes along.
And in the meantime I will just stock up on whipped cream.
And buy lots of new clothes ;)

V-Day

Love it or loathe it, it was Valentines Day on Tuesday and half the world was getting schmoozy and exchanging gifts/bodily fluids. I'm in the first camp. I love Valentines Day. Yes, I know it's commercialised nonsense. And that you shouldn't have to have a particular day of the year to show your other half how you feel about them. But so what? It's an excuse to drink champagne on a weeknight. An excuse to remind each other how much you mean to each other. To give (and get) gifts and to just have a nice time. Goodness knows we all take each other for granted from time to time. So why not embrace the opportunity to make someone feel special.

Tuesday was a little bit of a wash out for us. I was having a bad day. Any planned hanky panky was quickly replaced with tender hugs and my (as always) understanding boyfriend and I formulated a plan to postpone Valentines until I was feeling a little bit better. My guilt about ruining our night was heightened when I answered the door to sign for a massive bunch of red roses. It's always so much more lovely when you genuinely aren't expecting it. I also received a surprise little email with an appointment to get my hair done at a salon in the city centre. We don't always go totally mental on Valentines, I promise. My boyfriend just wanted to make me smile and he did.                                  

Valentines was rescheduled for Wednesday. I woke up in a much better head space and the day was spent a happier one. Although by the evening time, someone wanted to stay up and play with Daddy's glasses and teased us mercilessly that she wasn't going to go to bed when she was supposed to.............

But she did.

Eventually.

We still had champagne in the fridge. And a Momma who actually squealed with delight when she managed to squeeze herself into some pre-Ava La Perla.

My great plans for cooking on Tuesday night never came to fruition but luckily we still had this stuff in the fridge to ensure our post-Valentines celebrations were completed with a nice meal.

When you have no idea what to buy my boyfriend always go for booze. A good Gin or a bottle of Lagavulan 16 are a failsafe.......

And a boyfriend who notices that you have run out of body scrub, yet still have half a tub of the body butter left................



..............now that's love.





Although it bombed on Tuesday, we kind of made up for things last night. I know there are lots of haters out there. But I've spent single Valentines out clubbing with the girls and had an amazing time. I've also spent a couple  with a face mask, a movie and my only company a bottle of chilled Chardonnay. And thoroughly enjoyed those nights too.

                             Valentines is what you make it.

I hope you all had a good one................

I'll be announcing the winner of the Carmine Giveaway this weekend. There are only a few entries so if you still want to enter you will be in with a good shout. Please note though, only actual followers are eligible.

Throwing the baby out with the bath water?

So it's been a while since my last blog. And by a while I mean a while! Why? Well my life has taken a few dramatic and unexpected turns over the past few months. Some exciting, some harrowing and some just downright scary. One of which being the awesome news that I am with child.

Awesome news now, I hasten to add. However, it wasn't too awesome when I first found out. That sounds like a terrible thing to admit doesn't it? But I am not ashamed to say that I was less than enthused when I first found out this rather life changing event. The reason? I had only been with my bloke since last November. Which leads me onto the subject of my next blogpost. Getting pregnant so quickly into a relationship and the pitfalls that surround such a scenario.......

My reaction upon finding out that I was pregnant ranged from shock, to denial, to downright terror. It wasn't that I didn't want a baby. I'm 28 this year. While I'm not exactly what you would call an old maid, I'm not getting any younger either. It was more that I wasn't sure I was ready to have a baby with my boyfriend. I wasn't totally sure I was ready to have a boyfriend.

The bloke and I met through work. I say work. He was my boss and I was on the payroll. However we remained good friends solely until the day I went off to work for someone else. Thus how our relatively new relationship only really started in November. Once I had gotten over my reluctance at entering a new relationship (or any relationship for that matter) and chilled the fuck out, the couple of months that followed were fun, frivilous and enjoyable. Romantic nights away to the Isle of Arran, a New Year spent supping Champagne and finding out more about each other, more romantic nights away in Edinburgh and even meeting the fam at a posh family event. Things were good. We were having fun. He was an unexpected boyfriend choice for me which only made him all the more refreshing. And we got on like a house on fire. Probably down to our shared love of Gin, cigarettes, music and talking about everything and nothing until the early hours of the morning. And he is probably the most caring, loveliest and genuinely good person I have ever been with. For the first time I was with someone who genuinely and quite altruistically, only wants the best for me. Even at the sake of his own happiness. And this is a new thing for me. He also regularly buys me little gifts and flowers. And lets me watch the soaps without moaning. The only thing I haven't quite got him to do is make me toast at 5am when I wake up feeling starving, but don't worry. Plenty of time.

But then the worst that could happen happened. After a couple of weeks of feeling sick and trying to ignore the weird metallic taste in my mouth, I bought a test. And I never expected the result to be what it was. He'll tell you I knew. That he knew I knew. That I knew he knew that I knew. That I was in denial. But I swear, when I did that test my heart of hearts believed that it would be negative. So at 2am one Sunday morning my boyfriend of only 2 months and I found out that we were going to be parents. And I did was any other responsible, sensible expectant mother would do. I sunk half a bottle of wine and smoked 5 cigarettes in quick succession. Not too clever I know. But I was dealing with the shock. Before you start picketing my house, I have been off the tabs ever since.

The period between finding out in January and really accepting that I was pregnant and getting excited has been a long and arduous one. However, no matter how much I sometimes wished I hadn't gotten pregnant (and I admit I did) and berating myself for being so foolish, abortion was never an option. Never. I knew that deep down I was just going to have to suck it up, get over it and start buying baby grows. But in that period my life quite literally flashed before my eyes. And the sheer horror at the prospect of having a baby with someone who, lets face it, I still hardly knew, filled me with utter terror. How could I raise a child with someone who I didn't even know I would still want to be with in 6 months time? Don't get me wrong, I love my boyfriend and want things to work for not only our sake but for the sake of our unborn child. But we were still in the honeymoon period. There was still so much we needed to know about each other. Instead of planning steamy weekends away and spending all our extra cash on expensive romantic dinners, we were now looking at life insurance and working out how to budget nappies and babyfood into our expenditure. And I admit I got scared. And all I could think was how this man was the wrong man for me. The freedom and security of always being able to walk away whenever I wanted to had been snatched away from me. And the prospect that we HAD to make it work convinced that we could NEVER make it work. Crazy rationale huh? But my hormones were all over the place. So I freaked out. And in a way I ruined the past couple of months of my pregnancy worrying and creating problems that just weren't there.

And now? After some serious time out and time to reflect, the bloke and I are getting on great. I love him and can't wait till we become parents. I'm 5 months gone, the bump is getting bigger and the fatter I get, the more excited I get by the day. I was so busy convincing myself there were problems in the relationship that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. And while he is busy doing up the flat, I am flicking through baby magazines. I am content. I fully intend to enjoy the rest of this pregnancy. To enjoy the social life we still have left together before it comes to an abrupt end. To get excited together picking out baby names and looking at prams. Because it will all be over before I know it and I'll be kicking myself if I wasted it worrying about a break-up that might never even happen.

And I'm keeping this positive attitude with me. Upon picking up a recent copy of Closer magazine and flicking to the story about Kelly Brook and Thom Evans expecting a baby (they also started seeing each other in November), rather than remarking on my initial response, that I would give them 6 months, I bit my lip. Because you know what?

They might just work.

Age to women is like Kryptonite to Superman

During dinner with a friend the other evening the topic moved onto a date I had coming up over the next few days.

"What age is he?", my friend enquired, as she sipped her Pinot Grigio.

"24", I replied.

My friend nearly dropped her glass of wine.

"24! But thats 3 years younger than you! You only ever go out with old people. I thought you were just going to continue to go up a generation every time. I was expecting the next one to be in his fifties"!

Once I had finished laughing, I realised she was right. I am sort of known amongst my inner circle for usually ending up with men who are rather older than me. Why? I have no idea. I don't see myself as the cliched 'looking for a father figure type'. I have a fantastic relationship with my Dad and really don't believe there are any unresolved issues lurking in the background to make me seek a boyfriend who was already in his thirties during the original Live Aid.

I've always been told I'm mature for my age. My first, albeit casual, relationship was with a guy who was 8 years older than me. Not that bad a gap if you forget that I was only 17. At the same time I was mildly infatuated with another bloke who was also 25. Boys my age just didn't to it for me. They still don't. And I have tried to give them a chance.

Both significant long-term relationships of mine have been with someone who was 10 years older than me. It worked perfectly. They were old enough to know what they wanted. Mature enough to invite me along to the pub on a Sunday to watch the football. Wise enough to know that them going out every weekend and pulling random tarts does not a stable relationship make. In short, they knew what they wanted. There were no games. No messing around. And this is the problem I find with men in their twenties. They are too young to know who they are yet. To know what it is they want from life. And the result? Mind games, unreliable relationships and (I'm sorry to say it) but slightly boring chat.

Don't be fooled. There is such a thing as too old. A fling with a man in his mid forties when I was 24 was a mistake. Another with a 43 year old when I was 25 was another mistake. Its not that there was anything wrong with these men. But they quickly became a little bit obsessed. I'm not talking stalker situations here. But their infatuation quickly became apparent. And a problem. But what aging bloke in their forties wouldn't be chuffed to have a 24 year old blonde on their arm? But the second they get too keen? I clear off. Can't help it. Just is.

I did try the younger thing. An extremely cute lad with an equally sexy job caught my attention in the pub one night a couple of years ago. And what followed was about 6 weeks of casual dating and very good sex. But the conversation was a low point. Eventually I had to call it a day when he asked me why I always enquired as to whether or not there would be a bar wherever it was we were going . I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was because I needed a couple of glasses of wine just to listen to his crap conversation.

I think if I'm honest, the reason for my penchant for the older gent lies in that age old cliche of wanting to be provided for. Of being looked after. And an older man already has the tools to do just that. Most are established in their careers. Have mortgages. Are dependable.

One guy I was seeing had no direction. No motivation to further himself and was happy sitting on a distinctly average wage packet in a distinctly average career plan. As much as I told myself it didn't matter. That it was him I was interested in. It did matter. And I believe it contributed to our downfall.

I'm not a golddigger. Quite the opposite in fact and I have always prided myself on how self-sufficient and independent I am. But I am old school. And I want a man who wants to buy me flowers. Not a shot of Sambuca.

So maybe my reasons for going for older blokes are the typical, entirely unfeminist, ones of wanting to be provided for. Or maybe I'm just a bit of a perv and that's what does it for me.

After all, I do fancy the pants off Larry Lamb.

The Single Life

I'm pretty sick right now. Anyone on Twitter or Facebook will probably have picked this up from my perpetual moaning through the medium of social networking. It's this sickness that caused me to comment to a colleague the other day that I was really pleased I was single right now. I mentioned this as I had just nearly choked whilst in the midst of trying to blow my nose. Not a sexy situation to be in, you might conclude. Thus my comments about being pleased that I had no boyfriend to witness such unsexy scenarios.

It kind of got me to thinking though. In truth, and in general, I'm actually quite pleased I am single right now. Why? I don't know. Am I supposed to be continuously yearning for a boyfriend? Spending my nights worrying about being on the shelf? Cause I'm not. Not at all. But should I be?

The reason I ask is that I'm a bit of a cynic. When most of my single female friends say that they "love being single", I tend to view them with a suspicious eye. Maybe I am being too harsh. But I generally don't believe most girls when they say they are "quite happy being on my own". Mainly because I am the one wiping away their tears 10 hours later when they have had too many vodkas and are wailing about how they are going to die alone. See, what I have found, is that most females PRETEND they are happy being single, but in reality are desperate for a boyfriend. But society has made it so that to admit such defeat would make one pathetic and a bit desperate. So they don't. They pretend they love the single life.

This leads me onto my point. I'm worried that I am kind of the reverse. Because.....

I really am happy being single.

Really. I love it. A little too much I fear. I love my own company. A little too much I fear. And this is what scares me. It's been a while since I have had a proper boyfriend (over a year). Shouldn't I be craving some male companionship by now......?

Maybe I should start by listing some of the reasons I like being single?

We'll start with the obvious and what led me to this blogpost.

I'm ill. Like really ill. Like the type of ill where you don't want to share a house with someone, never mind a bed. My symptoms currently range from the ordinary to the downright disgusting. The disgusting, hacking smokers cough is doubled with bringing up phlegm. Not something any man wishes to be woken up with at 3am. No-one wants to visit the bathroom after I have been in there. My body is currently running out of orifices. I have a slightly worrying rash, which I have been told is nothing more than viral and nothing to worry about. But regardless I feel disgusting. And the unsexiest I have felt in years. Do I really want a man here trying to help? Making me cups of tea and bathing my clammy brow with a wet flannel?

Do I fuck.

I want to be on my own so I can be as ill, disgusting and downright unsavoury as I deserve to be in such a state. I don't want to be worrying about whether he is slowly going off me in my oversized mans shirt or thinking that our relationship might be a bad idea because my hair hasn't been washed in over two days. I want to be alone in my misery. In short. Right now. I want to be single.

And not just when I am ill. I love the fact that I can binge on carbohydrates on a Sunday to the point where I can't breathe without worrying that someone is going to want to get jiggy later and I am going to have to suck in my food baby. I love that I can deep exfoliate as soon as I get home from work and then chill out in front of the TV without worrying about looking like a burst tomato. I LOVE that I can fall into bed at night and sleep like a starfish without having to worry about anyone hogging the duvet or snoring into my ear. In short, I am far too happy being single. And it's concerning me.

The thing that led me to this concern happened a couple of weeks ago. I had started a new job. And I was tired. VERY tired. I was putting in alot of hours and not sleeping great and the effects were starting to become apparent. Whilst sitting on the sofa on my laptop at 12.30am trying to sort out some music for the new bar I was struck by a thought that chilled me to my very bones......

I thought:

'I wish there was a gorgeous hunky bloke sitting next to me and I could just sling this laptop, crawl over to him, and cuddle up in his arms and fall asleep'.

Now. Maybe not such a crazy thought. I'm sure we have all had them. But the difference for me is that I never really have these thoughts. And that's what worries me. Maybe I should? I'm worried there is something wrong with me. And most likely so is my Mum after this little conversation:

Me: "Man, I would love to go out with someone who was in the army"

My Mum: "How come? Is it the uniform?"

Me: "No. It'd be great cause they would be away for half the year. You would hardly get to see them".

You see my problem?

Anyway. I'm not saying I am a committment phobe. Or so cynical, bitter and twisted that I could never venture into another grown-up relationship again. Far from it. I'm willing to grab one with both hands should the right guy come along....

I'm just worried that I should want one a little more than I do.

But then again, maybe I am just thinking too much.

Again.

Flirting with Danger?

I have a confession to make.

I flirt.

I flirt alot. In fact I am one of the flirtiest people I know. And I know alot of flirty people. I didn't actually realise just how much I flirted until I had a conversation with a good friend when I was about 19 years old. It went something like this:

Him: "So anyway, I didn't think much of it cause like, it's pretty much taken for granted that you flirt with everything and anything anyway. So I thought..."

Me: (cutting him off) "Woah, woah, woah. Go back. What?"

Now. I don't think there's actually all that much wrong with flirting. If you do it right it can reap many benefits, whilst actually making someone else feel a little good about themselves at the same time. I learned this a long time ago. Around the same time I learned that sometimes acting dumb can get you exactly what you want in life. Do I sound manipulative? I'm really not. But lets put it like this, I've never had to change a tyre or wire a plug in my life. And I don't apologise for it. Use it or lose it is my motto. If you don't like it, you are definitely reading the wrong blog.

But, back to my original point, I've recently become a little wary of utilising my amazing flirting skills. Why? Because certain situations over the past few years have caused me to ask a question which won't go away.

When is flirting just flirting and when are you actually leading someone up the garden path?

Many a time my flirting situations have just been a bit of friendly banter. A giggle with a married boss at work. Or a sneaky hands round the waist when trying to squeeze past the hot new barman. Nothing in it. But other times my flirting has got me into some difficult situations. The flirtee has become a friend. I've started to enjoy their company, want to spend more time with them and get to know them better. But just as a friend. And as this friendship gradually grows I start to realise that maybe my previous flirting exploits might have given them the wrong idea. So I put them straight. I explain to the bloke in question that I just want to be friends. He agrees. It's all good. I continue to flirt (naturally). And then a few months down the line there's a bitter fall out when he finally comes to accept that nothing will ever happen between us.

Now don't get me wrong, I've been on the other side of the situation. The flirting has made me want more from the bloke in question. Causing utter disappointment and hurt when I realise, that while he probably wouldn't be averse to a cheeky kiss or something more, that thats all he wants. And I have to take my feelings and scuttle back into my corner rueing the day I every allowed my little crush to develop.

But here's a perfect example of when my flirting can get me into trouble. I flirt with a guy, someone I know well, see often. Then I do something stupid like get very drunk with him and we share a kiss. We agree it's not a good idea and continue to get on like a house on fire and put our little clandestine rendevous to one side. And because we get on so well, and are able to continue without it being awkward, well Dawn continues to flirt. Cause that's just what I do right? But then it gets difficult. Lines get blurry. We're going for something to eat. "As friends?" I ask. "Of course", he says. I worry. He reassures me. I still worry. Cause sometimes you just know don't you?

So in short, I think I sometimes lead men on. And I really don't always mean to. But by admitting this at least I have some sort of self-awareness. I'm really not a bitch. Far from it, I've been told. And I've asked. Alot.

But double standards allow me to let myself away with such behaviour. If a guy leads a girl on, continues to sleep with an ex or just uses a girl for sex, then he's a bastard. A girl leads a guy on and it's not nice. But she's not really looked upon in the same way. I mean what's the big deal? She was just flirting....SHE didn't know the guy was secretely choosing all their kids names and deciding which kind of dog they are going to get.

So why do I sometimes lead blokes on? Attention maybe? Maybe I just love the drama? Maybe for an esteem-boost when I am having one of those awful 'Should I have a mortgage by now' moments?

Who knows?

But it's got to stop.

Sometimes I just miss, missing you.....

You can see the title of my latest post is the name of the new Saturdays song. Before I go on I just want to reiterate a point I have stressed many, many times before....

This blog is not highbrow.

Back to the Saturdays song. I'm unsure who has heard the song (I like it, but don't hold it against me), but the lyrics got me to thinking.....

When is nostalgia just that? Nostalgia? And when is nostalgia something more?

Everyone likes to reminisce and remember the good times. Get that warm fuzzy glow remembering entire days spent in bed with a loved one, drinking wine and watching movies. Or the way you were with an old boyfriend. When you could turn something as menial as standing in the queue at the Post Office into an immature, gigglefest. But when are you just missing the memories and when are you actually missing the person? This little conundrum has been annoying me for months.

For example, one ex of mine I had a blast with. We spent many happy days and intoxicated nights together for about a year in total (it was on and off to say the least, I was digging the drama at this point in my life). Whilst I look back on my time with him fondly, I don't really miss him as such. Well, apart from when I have had 3 bottles of wine, but thats not really the same is it? I don't get a pang of regret when I hear a familiar song on the radio. Or wonder 'what if' when something on TV reminds me of him. I miss the fun we had you see. I miss the way I felt about him at the time. But I don't feel that way for him anymore. I just miss MISSING him so to speak.

A different, shorter-lived affair, I miss in a different way. I do sometimes wonder 'what if'. I do get a pang of regret now and again that it didn't work out. I do occasionally allow myself to imagine what it might have been like had we not been such fundamentally different people. But I don't wallow in it. He's not on my mind 24/7. I'm not consumed by grief and heartache that it didn't work out.

But the feelings I have when I DO allow my mind to wander onto this person? Is it nostalgia or do I still feel something for them? And how the hell do you tell the difference?

What I am sure about is the truth in the saying 'There's a fine line between love and hate'. Because I believe that there is just as much passion with love as there is with hate. When I look back on the big ex, the big long-term one, all I feel is indifference. I don't feel angry anymore. When I was mad, hurt and confused, the idea of smashing his head in appealed to me. Like I said I was mad, hurt and confused....give me a break. But that passionate desire to hurt him only existed because my real feelings were much clearer. I still loved him. And out of this ongoing love bore a desire to hurt him so much that he would probably never be able to reproduce.

Now? Nothing. Nada. I'm not mad at him anymore. I'm not still in love with him anymore. In the wise words of Girls Aloud, it really doesn't phase me how he spends his time. Oh God this is unacceptable.....I'm really an Indie girl, I swear.

So I guess what I am doing is kind of answering my own question. The difference between nostalgia and ongoing feelings? Passion. I think. If I feel emotional then maybe there is a little more to it than just reminiscing. If I feel a little pang of guilt or sadness at what could have been, then maybe deep down there are some feelings still there.

One thing is for sure. I bet Socrates didn't get his philosophical inspiration from the Top Ten.

Cheap thrills???

The other day I found myself in a slightly nerve-wracking situation. I found myself in the company of someone I wasn't expecting to see. In retrospect this was silly, it actually made a lot of sense that the person would be there. I just hadn't expected them to be and it took me by surprise. After walking in and clocking their presence I found myself jittery. My palms started to tingle and I felt nervous & awkward. My desperate attempts to make sure that no one else noticed this only amplified my nerves. Luckily I'm a good actress and was able to pass myself as cool and relaxed, even though inside I was a bit of a jittery mess.

When I told my friend about this later that day his response shook me a little. Hardly containing his surprise, he commented that he would never have predicted such reactions in Dawn “the man eater and heat seeking missile of a woman”. His comments knocked me for six a little. Although I do make an effort to put that impression across.....it's not really me......it's purely for self-preservation...

And the reason its not really me? Ok. I'm just gonna say this quick, because I'm sure some of you won't like it but.....

One night stands make me feel cheap.

There. I said it. I know, I know. Its 2010. Gone are the days when a man was a stud for sleeping around yet a woman was a slapper. In these modern days, to say such a thing is almost an admission of inequality. I know that women are supposed to be liberated now. To embrace sex in the same manner that men have been doing since the dawn of time. But I just can't help it. One night stands make me feel bad.



But thats not to say I judge others. I really don't. I have one fabulous friend who is completely sexually liberated and totally open about it. She enjoys sex. She enjoys one night stands. And she's careful. Never once have I thought about her as being a slut, or anywhere near in that context. She's safe. Sensible. She doesn't fuck about with her males mates. She's fabulous. And I admire her.

But on the other hand I have another friend who (every now and then) gets herself into a bit of a drunken state and ends up going home for a bit of hows you mother with a guy she's just met that night. Although we have a giggle about her exploits the next day, there's something in her voice. Something there that tells me that behind the laughter she's a little bit upset with herself. A little bit disappointed in herself. I pick this up only because I am someone who loves her dearly.

The point is, each to their own. And for me. Well....I just feel like a bit of a bloody tart....

I've genuinely only had a few one night stands. Lets just say we can keep it on one hand. And they have mainly been with someone I have already known in some capacity. A friend (that was awkward). A colleague (also awkward). But you get my gist. I'm not one for going home with random strangers I just met in a club. Mainly because I don't fancy being front page news the next day. Believe me. Knowing my luck I would end up going home with Norman Bates with an I-Phone. But it's the horrible deflated feeling I get the next day that's my point.

I'll reference a certain one night stand in particular. The person in question I have to see every so often in a kind of social setting. This one night stand was never going to lead to anything else. We both knew that. In fact the ground rules were pretty much set before the deed had even been done. See, I'm feeling ashamed and cheap already, just talking about this.....

Anyway, the problem is, that every time this guy looks at me now, I feel dirty (and not in the good way). I worry about what he thinks of me. Does he think I'm a cheap dirty tart who would sleep with anyone? I'm not, by the way, for any guys out there who were just about to IM me. But what we did makes me worry that he thinks I'm easy. That I'm 'up for anything'. One of THOSE girls. Thing is, I don't want to marry him, nor him me. I'm not even sure I even want to marry at all. But I still want him to see me as the marrying kind. Does that make sense?

Which leads me onto dirty girls. I have enough male friends to recognise these 'dirty girls'. You know the ones, the girls 'who just look dirty' ala Megan Fox. Stacey Slater and Carla Conner are perfect examples. And I know all you blokes don't have to watch your soaps to know exactly who I am on about. See I wouldn't say I am particularly dirty looking. But I'm not exactly the sweet, girl next door type either. But whether I want to be with a bloke or not, if I have slept with him then I don't want him to look at me and think 'She's a right goer in the bedroom'. No. I want him to look at me and think 'She's a right goer in the bedroom. But bet she'd make an excellent Mum and still look smoking in 20 years time'. You know what I'm talking about girls........

So anyway. After all this mulling. All this analysing about sex, coming across as cheap, protecting my reputation, I have come to one conclusion that is definite and crystal clear:

I definitely think too much.

Why Facebook & alcohol should never be mixed....

So I am going to tell you an embarrassing story.....

When I moved to Glasgow I joined a gym. Quite a posh gym in fact. Frequented by many a Scottish soap star & football player. I loved it. The personal trainers were fit and the sauna was lovely. One of the personal trainers was really fit in fact. And I started to get the impression he was giving me the eye. He would pull me aside to tell me I was doing my obliques wrong or occassionally glance in my direction when I was walking past. Such flirtatious behaviour continued for a couple of months. Sometimes I thought 'He bloody well fancies me' and other times, (when I caught sight of the latest skinny gorgeous WAG he was mid-sesh with), I thought 'Mmmm maybe not....'.

Anyway it never came to anything more than a couple of shy smiles. And then the worst thing happened.

I got drunk.

I got drunk and I went on Facebook. I found his page (come on girls we all know Cyber-stalking is easy these days) and I friended him.

I went to bed amused at my cunning yet endearing attempt at a first move.

I woke up mortified. Frantically I went on Facebook to see if it had been accepted. It hadn't. And worst of all my friend request seemed to have disappeared. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I tried to deduce why this was. Either one of two things had happened:

1) I hadn't actually friended him. I was pretty drunk and technology and me get blurry after too many wines.

OR

2) The mortifying bit. He had seen it and declined me.

I appeased my worries by convincing myself that there was no way he could have declined such a lovely offer in the space of only a few hours? During the night? Surely not. 'It's fine', I thought. Until my friend kindly pointed out the next day, "He probably gets his friend requests emailed to him. Everyone has an I-phone or Blackberry these days Dawn". Great, I thought. He declined me. The bastard declined me. And me, just trying to be friendly.....

So I did what any other mature, sensible, laid-back girl would do. I quit my gym. A MASSIVE over-reaction you are probably thinking. But I couldn't face the thought of seeing him. Of him looking over thinking "There's that idiot that tried to pull me on Facebook". The shame, the embarrassment, the utter mortification!!!!

And so I haven't been back in that gym since. Am I idiot? Does such dramatic actions make me vain and conceited? Or severely self-conscious? You decide.

I know one thing for sure. From now on, when the vodka comes out. The Facebook goes off.


P.S. For those who care theres a detox update coming your way very soon.......