I am a daughter of a single mother. And the single mother of a single daughter. And today I had an interesting brush with mortality.
My mother and I are on a trip to Ireland. We have been touring the country for the past week. This morning she was not feeling well, but we pushed on our long 3 hour drive to Newgrange- the site of a 5000 year old burial mound. And just as the tour guide was telling us about the site- my mother sat down and told me she was going to faint. In time it took me to turn around and ask for help my mother lost consciousness and fell to the ground. She was unconscious for about 10 seconds - which may as well have been 10 minutes. The minutes that followed were excrutiating. We were lucky enough to have no less than 3 doctors in the crowd who came to help, an ambulance was called and within about a half an hour my mother was looking better. Although as I write this she is in our room in Dublin in a cold sweat, claiming a bug or food poisoning. Tomorrow may require a full on hospital visit.
I feel helpless. And for the first time I glimpsed my mother's mortality. And I didn't like it at all. She looked up at me, pale , frightened, disoriented and sick. And I felt alone. When I grew up I knew that my mom and I could take on the world. What will happen when she isnt there to take it on with me?
And then I thought About my own mortality, and my daughter. One day she will have to look into my eyes and she too will feel that loneliness that comes from being the only child of a single mom.
My mom is young, she is healthy, I am pretty sure this is a bug that will pass. But someday it won't be. And today outside the burial mound at Newgrange I took a cold hard look at mortality. I did not like anything I saw.

So - the divorced dater strikes again.
Last night I went to see a fantastically funny cabaret show at joes pub called No One Sleeps Alone! It was great. The premise is loosely that you are all at a workshop to promote this sex therapist's book. And it is participatory. Audience members are made to get up and kiss, play twister and give head to a strangers lap banana. All in all it was fun. Then there is an after party. At which I decided to be bold. And fueled by 3 vodka sodas and the support of a good friend- I asked a boy to dance.
Now, I use the word boy in the truest sense of the word. I am pretty sure this guy is a solid 10 years younger than me... Cute in that dorky young guy kind of way. And Sweet. And A decent kisser.
We danced and talked and made out on the dance floor for about 20 minutes. Then he took his very drunk friend home.
About an hour later I got a text. From him. Which was cute.
I kissed a boy and I liked it. It felt good.
We have a date - tomorrow- and I have to be honest. I am nervous. I am having a problem remembering how to manage expectations while dating. Either I am not interested at all (see previous posts about my first post divorce sex) or I'm thinking way too much. And my expectations run too high.
I think I was better at this 10 years ago- or maybe not. Right now this cute make out guy and I have lived out an entire dating cycle in my mind (we break up because of the age difference and the fact that I dont want any more kids).
When you only date one guy every 3 months it is tough to keep your expectations in check. Maybe that was the key. Not sure. Any serial darters want to weigh in?

Regardless I am Trying to live in the moment and say... I kissed a boy and I liked it-- and beyond that I just don't know.