Don't wage bets on no practice shot.

Yesterday, I spoke with a friend who spoke with a friend.  This is the divorce era for many of my friends' friends.  They already got married, had them a child or two, or maybe not, and it just ain't working out.  Folks is parting ways and moving on up.  This one particular friend of a friend was looking to "sell the house" and move back home.  I thought, "Damn, it's that easy?"

But it ain't.  I remember in my first grown up relationship when we parted ways after 

five plus years.   I left the relationship dishonorably.  I remember going to pick up my stuff.  How sad it all looked, the tee shirts, the tooth brush, the jeans, the sneakers, neatly piled for my arrival.  I remember, despite choosing to end the relationship, "This is a terrible feeling."  And it was just some trivial stuff that, truly, he could've trashed.

Since then, I have played married twice--meaning, I lived with someone, or, more specifically, my then boyfriend lived with me.  The first time, when we broke up, I swore I knew it all.  I thought, "Damn, this is what marriage is like?"  He packed his stuff, and in a few days was gone just as he had come.  The story wasn't this simple and I'll explain why later on.

The second time, I knew I wasn't grown.  In fact, I knew I was a baby trying to wear big girl britches.  He moved in.  I still had me a home, I owned a car, I had my two degrees.  And I was somebody's mama.  We took vacations together.  We left the country two times.  Strangers would ask, "Are you married?" to which I swiftly responded, "No." By the end of the second attempt, which is now, I am done with playing pretend.  The conclusions I've drawn both times is that "We weren't married and weren't on track to be married.  This relationship was just two people who fell in love who, at the end of it all, were not good for one another."

In my first fake marriage, which I also terminated dishonorably, I remember sobbing when he finally came to get the last few bags.  He hadn't lived in the house for months.  But when the last of his things went, it was final.  I choose to end the relationship and was heart-broken behind the feeling of being "left", even though it was at my request.

In my second fake marriage, I remember coming home every day, looking for all of his stuff.  I wasn't ready for the relationship to end.  I remember looking in the corner to see if his laptop was there.  Opening the closet to cry at the thought that his shoes weren't neatly placed.  The fridge, which had no remnants of his presence.  I cried every day for more than two months.

But there's a difference between the first fake marriage and the second one.  I still speak with the man from the first fake-marriage every day.  We still make transfers to and from our bank accounts.  We still speak on every holiday.  Every birthday.  We have discussions about the future.  But we aren't together, and likely, won't ever be.

Why?  We entered into a binding legal agreement.  We made a huge purchase together.  We co-signed on a baby.

And unlike my friend's friend who could pay for the divorce, sell the house and split the debt, that baby wasn't going anywhere.  Even though our relationship had come to its end, he still has to be fed, clothed, insured, schooled and loved.  We still have to negotiate visitation on both ends.  We still have holiday moments that are awkward.  I spent my first Christmas perfectly alone.  He still sees my family to drop off or pick up the baby.  The break up is anything but clean.  Why did I ever think having a baby was less permanent than getting married?

Cause I didn't know any better.  And, after speaking with some of my older friends, they don't get it either.  Much of our (Brown) culture has children looking less scary and less permanent than marriage.  How, I simply do not know.  You are permanently bound to the people with whom you procreate.  Period.  If you're not ready to be permanently bound, regardless of how the relationship fairs, don't do it.  Make children when you're ok with permanent.  If marriage is important, try that first.  Don't put the cart before the horse.  I'm preaching.  Wellll...

In the future, I'm not co-signing on anything unless I'm co-signing on a marriage.  Not a lease.  Not a baby.  Not a car, house or credit card.  Not furniture.  You bring what you bring, and if it don't work, you take what you brought.  Forget being heart broken behind picking up a pile of clothes, watching the last few bags go, staring at the now empty spaces.  Nothing hurts more than a child who looks at you while jumping up and down crying, "Mommy, don't let daddy leave me.  Please don't leave me, daddy."  Particularly when you know daddy is a good man and never wanted to leave.

I need to invest wisely.  I never ever want to see another child crying for his parent behind my actions. No more bets on practice shots.