The One

I am surrounded by beautiful marriages.My parents (though not to each other), my older brothers, my best friend – all seem to have found “the one.”I however was never a believer in “the one,” especially after moving to New York.

I participated in the New York dating scene for several years, occasionally settling down with a guy for a month or two or nine, but never longer, and mostly cavalierly dating several men at once.Each man was interesting and sexy and perfect in their own way, but none unequivocally the “one.”

When I met Chris he immediately seemed different. He wanted to dive into a relationship with me, wanted to declare exclusivity days into our courtship, moving in six weeks after our first date.In New York, this is unheard of.With literally millions of single, smart, successful, sexy women parading on our streets, New York men like to keep their options open.

Chris wanted to narrow his options down to exactly “one.”And that one was me.

I was unsure, but excited about the prospect of quieting down with someone.The revolving door of dating had grown tedious as I stared down the barrel of my mid-thirties.I was ready for a time out.Chris and I were compatible and we agreed on the big life decisions:kids were in our future, marriage was not.

Chris was excited about having children and didn’t hesitate to broach the topic. I held back a bit, wanting to make sure he was the “one” I wanted to share this journey with.After two years of (mostly blissful) cohabitation however, I was ready to consider parenthood.We had lengthy discussions around childcare and parenting styles and agreed on most everything.We talked budgets and preschools and discipline– we prepared as much as any couple can.

Shortly after our second anniversary, I stopped taking the birth control pill.I thought we could try this for a year and if nothing came of it, could seek out fertility treatments or adoption.I had read the literature and understood that women in their thirties had a hard time getting pregnant.

The literature in my case however, was wrong.I got pregnant almost immediately.My pregnancy was as good as pregnancies go.I didn’t throw up.My ankles never swelled.I gained a total of 20 pounds.I was able to stay active and aside from minor setbacks like constantly wanting a nap, I couldn’t have asked for a better nine months.

Chris was supportive with frequent compliments and backrubs.He was almost more excited than me.I always wanted to be a mother, but was rather indifferent about infants, and downright paranoid about giving birth.Chris however, was excited about the entire journey and couldn’t wait for the due date.He worked nights and spent his days alone while I was at my desk job.Part of me wondered if he was eager for a child or a companion.Perhaps it was a bit of both.

By the time March 24 rolled around, my fear of giving birth was gone.I didn’t care how painful it was going to be – I was ready to push this life into the world and out of my womb.My belly had swollen to a point bordering on freakish.I had taken to long walks to encourage contractions.Sleep was rather miserable.So was being awake.

When I went into labor four days after my due date, I felt nothing but relief.I had Calvin Dean 12 hours later.He was magnificent.He had big brown eyes, a bald head, and was immediately inquisitive.I fell hard.

In the hospital Chris was in and out and mostly seemed distracted, checking his phone or staring into space.Even sitting adjacent to my hospital bed, he felt far away.

It didn’t seem like Chris understood or cared about what I was going through.I was terrified.I was sore and unsure of the damage I had done to my body.Calvin was a beautiful mystery.Breastfeeding felt like geometry, something I never could quite master.I was frustrated and lonely and scared.

When we got home I started to feel a bit better, but I still couldn’t really walk. My body felt broken.I stopped sleeping with any regularity.Everything became blurry.Coherent thoughts were not only gone, I would at times wonder if I ever had them at all.

In this fog of self-doubt and depression and deep sleep deprivation, a friend reached out to me inquiring about Chris.And asking why he was on the dating site Tinder.

I had no answer for her.

So I posed the question to Chris.At first, he denied it, and then he admitted that not only was he on the site, he had been actively pursuing extracurricular affairs my entire pregnancy.He was unapologetic, saying that he had always known this about himself: that he was incapable of monogamy.If I wanted to keep him in my life, we would have to open our relationship.As the foundation of our three years crumbled beneath my swollen, ripped body – our son slept soundly in the room adjacent.

He was three weeks old.

I asked for a month to think about things.I spoke to my friends, my mother, a sex advice columnist.I made transcontinental calls to old friends I hadn’t spoken to in months.I reached out to anyone and everyone for what I was incapable of:perspective.

In my postpartum haze, with every molecule in my body wanting to hunker down and create a family, I seriously considered his offer.Perhaps I could be in an open relationship.I never thought Chris and I would be together forever, he certainly wasn’t my “one.”And I considered myself accepting of different romantic arrangements.Relationships were not one-size-fits-all.

When the month ended however, I knew it wasn’t for me. I didn’t want to share the father of my child with other women.We were in love, we had a beautiful son, we were happy together.If he wanted to choose sex with strangers over that, then he wasn’t a person I wanted to be with.So I told him my decision with a heavy heart and he announced he was going to move back to Long Island and take Calvin with him.Chris took care of Calvin full-time at that point and his work was in Hicksville.I could see Calvin on the weekends, he announced, but Monday through Friday my child would be raised in Long Island.

I hadn’t spent a single night apart from Calvin.I couldn’t imagine him going away for a day, never mind 5 days a week.It was if Chris was announcing that he was going to take my lungs away from me 70% of the time.But how will I exist?How will I breathe?

So rather than lose my son, I agreed to the open relationship.

It lasted three weeks.

The jealousy was toxic.He was online, checking his phone, chiming every time someone “liked” him on one of his dating apps.We would be discussing Calvin’s sleeping schedule and his phone would ping with another text from a stranger. He came home late at night, climbing into our bed freshly showered after his dates.And a rage started to replace any love I had left for him.

I found myself, a new mother, flirting with strangers and sipping cocktails in a pathetic attempt to try and keep up with him.I refused to be a martyr, but going out on dates, I felt like an imposter; an actress in an odd play where I pretended to be sexy and fun and carefree.I was none of those things.I was a fraud.

Chris and I grew bitter.We got petty.I told him he was short.He told me I looked old.

After three years void of conflict, we became downright brutal.

Twenty-two days into this grand experiment we endured another night of vicious fighting and tears.I felt I was either going to lose my mind or lose this relationship, and I needed to save myself.I was a mother now.

I threw in the towel.

I woke up the next morning, called my old landlord, secured a place to live, got daycare for our son, and scheduled the movers.I ran around our neighborhood, on foot and in taxis, collecting baby things from kind mothers who answered my pleas.

I was out of our house and in my own within three days.

Once I allowed some space to grow between us, I wrestled with feelings of anger and despair.Loneliness and depression rested on my shoulders in quiet moments of solitude.I walked through the steps I had taken to get to where I was and questioned every decision made.How had I not seen this?How had I made such poor choices?How was I going to raise a man in New York on my own?

Several weeks after I moved out, I crept into my son’s room after he was sleeping.He really was a treasure.He smelled like heaven and woke up every morning, literally, with a smile.He was starting to crawl and explore a bit more, seeking out trouble and finding the mundane – labels, envelopes, spoons,– absolutely fascinating.All babies are full of wants and needs, but Calvin seemed to downplay his.He displayed levels of care and compassion that seemed extraordinary for someone who had only been alive six months.

When we were apart, I longed for him.When I woke and his face was next to mine, my heart would flutter like I a teenager with a crush.I was completely enamored.

That night, I stood in the silence of his room and marveled at his beauty.I watched his flushed cheeks fill with sleepy breathing and fell even deeper in love.And I realized, with a start, something quite remarkable.I had found my “one.”