For as many years as I can remember New Year's Eve has been an evening of excitement, good times, laughter, and anticipation for me. Ranging from small to large get-togethers with good friends to standing in Times Square, shivering and waiting for the ball to drop, it's always been a joy. I can remember that feeling of newness and starting fresh surging through me for weeks after New Year's Day.

This year however, was different. In all honesty, it just kind of snuck up on me. And, with Adrian's birthday, the anticipation and stress of Christmas, and the subsequent sigh of relief after it was all over, it's no wonder New Years wasn't doing much for me this year.

I had to work on New Year's Day, so going out the night before wasn't the most realistic of options anyway, but as it turns out, even if I had wanted to go out, babysitters charge a fortune on New Year's Eve.  It just wasn't worth it to me.

My best friend is also a single mom. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?" she asked me. "Nothing." I replied.

She wasn't doing anything either, so she invited us to her house for dinner and suggested that we could watch the ball drop on TV that night.

So, that's what we did. It was a windy, freezing cold night in New York on New Year's Eve. We went over to Rachel's house and had a fabulous dinner. Adrian played for a few hours and was the first to conk out around nine. Then Rachel and I then climbed into her comfy bed and popped in a Desperate Housewives DVD (I'm getting all of my friends hooked on that show) with plans to turn off the DVD and switch to the Times Square coverage a few minutes before midnight. We were both asleep before the first episode was over.

I slept, for a solid eleven hours for the first time since Adrian has been born. I awoke feeling rested in a way that I never thought I could feel again. A new, rested, ready-to-go me in time for the New Year.

It was while wrapping Christmas presents that I thought of him. The memories tend to sneak up on me like that now; something unexpected will trigger this explosion in me and they come flooding back in.

I thought of our last Christmas together. The one where Adrian was just twelve days old. That one, where I was still white knuckled, sick to my stomach, clinging to the hope that he wouldn't do exactly what he's done: leave us. I did everything for him, his way, hoping that he would stay. Right down to circumcising my son (which I didn't want to do) and giving Adrian his last name (which I've come to regret more than you can know). I understand now that desperation will do these things to you; make you give parts of yourself that you otherwise would never consider.

I thought of that day, how stressed out my body was from just giving birth and the lack of sleep that ensued, but how in comparison that was nothing on how stressed out my mind was. 

I remembered how I tried to push everything away and fight the reality of the situation. How I tried to make myself believe that everything would be okay despite how wrong everything felt. Despite how it felt like my whole universe had come undone.

"That was two years ago," I said aloud to myself.

Wow, two whole years and sometimes it can still hurt like it was yesterday.

But the pain is different now. I'm no longer that tortured woman. Now I wish I could go back and shake that lady that was once me. "What are you thinking?" I'd say to her. "Can't you see this is all about him? Where the hell did you put your self respect? Why are you compromising yourself for someone who obviously doesn't love you?"

That's what two years gives you — a lot of perspective and enough time for a fresh start.

"Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired." —Roger Von Oech, A Wack On The Side of the Head

I read this the other day and have since been trying to keep it in mind as Christmas creeps closer and closer and my bank account gets lower and lower. It seems that once you have a child there is so much pressure on you as a parent to perform in many areas, and acquiring "stuff" is a big one.

It was at the mall last night, where I was desperately searching for "stuff" to buy for Adrian, that this quote helped me the most.

Looking at rocket ships, dinosaurs, train sets — all overpriced — and parents stumbling over one another to have them; I thought about all of the toys that Adrian has had since he's been born. Then I thought about where they all ended up: either broken and in the garbage or outdated and donated.

We don't have tons of money, at all. Levi is still not contributing and as Adrian's birthday is so close to Christmas I'm still stuck playing a little bit of catch up from that.

As much as I'd like to, I simply can't afford to have a dozen presents under the tree and besides which, are these monetary, materialistic values the type that I'd like to instill in my son, anyhow? The answer is no.

It took a bit of reasoning with myself but I'm feeling okay with it now. Adrian is getting four presents from me (well, two Santa gets the credit for) and we will spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company — and maybe playing in the snow.

Christmas will be about more than gifts. It will also be about appreciating each other and strengthening the bond of our family.

I wish you all a very happy holiday.

Faith

I wonder if men would change their behavior if they could be a woman for just one day.

This thought occurred to me as I was walking in downtown New York this morning.

Still in my pajamas, donning a big, billowy winter coat and hat with a cup of coffee in my hand waiting for the walk sign, a man stops his car at the light, rolls down the window and shouts, "Yeah, baby" and "I'd like to get a piece of that."

His hollering then provokes the other cat callers in the neighborhood, and trust me, there are enough of them.

Yuck.

All I feel is gross and embarrassed as I try to quickly scurry up the block.

And how else should anyone feel?

Do these people actually expect me to feel flattered? Does that man think that just maybe I'll approach his car window and give him my phone number — or even the time of day?

What's even more shocking is that this kind of behavior is everywhere. It's in the cities, the country, it's even in other countries. The fact that it's so prevalent leads me to believe one of two things: One, that someway, somehow this kind of behavior gets desirable results. Meaning that this kind of talk works on some women. Or, two, these people are just stupid — or worse. I don't know.

All I do know for sure is that now that I'm single, men not only look at me differently, they treat me differently. If I had been walking down the street with Levi this morning, nobody would have dared to say anything. (I wish I could say the same if I were walking with my two year old son, but unfortunately, a child doesn't deter them.)

I guess I had forgotten what it's like to be a single girl out there.

I'm not sure I like it.

Adrian's birthday is on Saturday. I'm going to have a party with my friends and family to celebrate on Sunday, but for his actual birthday I have planned for the two of us to spend a fun filled day together.

I mean really, its just been the two of us on this journey, so it seems right.

We're going to Manhattan to see a Dora the Explorer show — his favorite — and then I plan on taking him around to see some sights; the tree at Rockefeller center, to start with.

I can't tell you how excited I am for this day. Can't really express in words how much it means to me to see my little baby turning two. This has been quite the adventure so far. So many good times turned into wonderful, amazing memories; and I'm certain that there will be so many more to come. 

It's times like these, times when I start to reminiscence on all that has taken place over the last two years — from first foods, to first smiles, to first steps, to first words...all the firsts — that I have a hard time feeling anything but absolute pity for Levi. 

I must admit that there have been times, like where I've worked a 12 hour day, that I have been jealous beyond belief that Levi is seemingly living it up in Los Angeles. Jealous that he can sleep in, or take a shower when he wants to, or see a movie, or go for a walk, or out for dinner, or do any of the things you can do when you don't have any real responsibilities.

But now, when the jealousy comes I simply ask myself, would you trade any of the last two years for that?

The answer, of course, is no. I would never.

I am, simply put, totally ga-ga over my boy and probably more excited than he is for his special day.

Happy Birthday, Adrian!

As I briefly mentioned in my last post, "Getting Rid of the Husband, Getting Rid of the Bed," Adrian and I moved last week. It wasn't a huge move; in fact, we just moved upstairs in our building, but it was exhausting nonetheless, and as of now I have vowed to never move again.

My landlords live above us. I remember a time in my life where I never would have lived in the same building as the owners. Hell, I remember when I didn't even want them to be in the same state. But upon meeting these two you instantly get a good feeling about them — they're pretty great.

But come to find out, they may be those rare breed of people that are just too great. As a result of living below them — under them — I'm starting to develop a serious inferiority complex. I do my best. I know I do. I work my ass off so that I can pay all of my bills and I spend as much time as possible with my son. In my opinion I'm a pretty great mom.

But...my landlords are almost perfect. In fact, the only reason I'm throwing the "almost" in there is simply due to the fact that they're human. (I think.)

They have what appears to be a perfect marriage. They have two perfect kids — happy, good listeners, smart, and cute. And they raise their kids in ways that I wish I could raise Adrian: two parents, healthy food, happy family holidays, no television — the list goes on and on.

It's hard to not get the feeling that they are shaking their heads as they pass my door at 7 pm and hear the TV blaring. But I'm sure they're not. They're too perfect for judging.

Perhaps it's not inferiority that I'm feeling after all; perhaps it's just good old fashioned jealousy. It's tough to see two people have everything that you've ever wanted. Especially when you have to see those people every day.

I moved again. Second year without Levi and our second move. Man, I'm getting tired of lugging all of this stuff around.

With each move, comes new discoveries. Papers stuffed into desk drawers, Christmas and Birthday cards from happier times, pictures of Levi and I — our various vacations, our wedding, and several goofy ones.

The last time I looked at these things, I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. Who knows why — I guess there's just nothing like torturing yourself when your massively depressed.

But the somewhat remarkable thing is, that this time, they didn't sting as much as they did before. Actually, some of them didn't even phase me. This time I was able to throw most of them out.

I suppose this is yet another sign that I've almost worked all the way through this.

There is one thing, though, one overwhelming piece of furniture that I am quite sick of: the bed.

This bed is a monstrosity, an enormous king-sized monstrosity. I look at it as a testament to everything that I can't stand about Levi.

The over-indulging. The need to have the "best" of everything or rather, the need to have...everything.

I can't stand the damn thing.

My ex-boyfriend, on the other hand, loves that bed. So much so, that after listening to my complaining about it he offered to trade. He has a brand-new queen-sized bed that he's willing to trade for my king.

Awesome.

It wasn't until it was pointed out to me later that I got the irony of the whole thing: Ex-boyfriend inherits ex-husband's bed.

Adrian will be two in just a few weeks. It's hard to believe that it's been two whole years already. Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that I was that frightened, mess of a woman about to embark on what seemed to be this hopeless, depressing journey of single mom-hood.

Sometimes still, if I'm not careful, it's easy to revert back to that woman — let my fears get the best of me. But for today, I must say, that I am no longer her. 

This journey has transformed me, made me stronger, made me realize that I have potential far beyond what I could have ever imagined. And for that, I am thankful.

However, some of the transformative effects are not so great. This journey has rendered me guarded, cautious, and at times very cynical. Most of the time I am certain that I could never trust a man with my heart ever again. Other times, I have the clarity to know that I want to.

I suppose it's all part of the process of healing — working through the hurt — and when it's done, when I'm fully healed, I'll know and hopefully drop some of the cynicism.

For now, I need it.

Levi's mother emailed to ask what we were doing for Adrian's birthday, and if she could see him again. I told her that I'm taking him to the Dora show in Manhattan, and invited her to come along.

I must admit that it hurts to see her again. Opens the floodgates and all of the memories: hopes, dreams, fantasies of my perfect life with my son and Levi — my perfect family — rush back in. The reality that things are not what they were intended to be can feel like a smack in the face.

But I am trying to have faith, trying to be optimistic that although my life certainly has not gone as planned, it is good. We have a good life, and a wonderful family structure even sans Levi.

Well, it's Thankgiving again, a time when we reflect on all of the things that we have (rather than what we don't have) and remember to be grateful for them. 

This year has changed me in so many ways; molded the clay of my being in ways that I would not have imagined, but now, cannot live without. I've met a lot of amazing people and I've been moved beyond belief by the kindness that these people have shown us. I'd like to take a moment to thank some of those people now. 

To my very best friend Rachel: Thank you for standing by me for all of these years, but especially this year. You are my angel. 

To Adam: Thank you for showing me the way — "my way." 

To all of the wonderful people at Adrian's daycare center: I cannot find the words to express how truly grateful I am to all of you. Putting my son in daycare was a very scary thing for me, as I'm sure it is for most mothers. The support, encouragement, and general help that you've given me is astounding and I am nothing short of exceptionally thankful. The kindness, love and respect that you have shown my son has helped us both to grow. You feel like part of our family now. Thank you, thank you, thank you from both of us. 

To all of the First Wives World readers:  The community of women gathered here are all unique and all equally amazing. Thank you for sharing your experiences with me and thank you for allowing me to share mine. 

To Maureen, FWW editor: Thank you for fixing my punctuation. (You have no idea how much this means to me!)  

To everyone I've dated, even if it ended badly: Thank you for the experience, thank you for your interest and (maybe) thank you for putting up with me. 

I finally did it.  I met with Levi's mother yesterday.

Quick recap for those of you that don't know/don't remember: Levi's mother has never seen Adrian. In fact, Levi's mother is the woman that sent me an email just a few days after Adrian was born telling me that I should have given him up for adoption immediately and adding that my son was nothing I should be proud of.

Yeah, I met with her yesterday. It's been a long time coming.

We were to meet in the main lobby of the museum at 11:30. As I walked into the lobby amongst a huge crowd, I spotted her immediately and my heart started racing.

"What am I doing?" I thought. "Why am I putting myself through this?" I turned around, pulled out my cell phone and phoned my very best friend, Rachel, and told her what was going on — by this point I was practically hiding in the bathroom.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, Faith. Just get out there and get it over with, and remember, you are the one doing her a favor," she said. "If anyone should be nervous right now, it should be her."

So finally, I took a deep breath and marched over to her.

It was awkward and filled with that fake niceness that makes me sick to my stomach but I suppose there are worse things...

She told me that Erica, Levi's sister, was also coming but was running late. She told me that she already purchased the tickets so I should just go on in with Adrian and she would meet me in a few minutes. Then she handed me two tickets.

"Thank you," I said and handed a ticket back to her. "Adrian doesn't need a ticket," I told her.

"Why not?" She asked and added that every child aged 2-14 needs a ticket. "Adrians not two yet," I told her.

"He's not?" she asked, surprised.

"Nope," I told her. "He won't be two until December thirteenth."