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Here's the truth: dating while divorcing with young kids is complicated.And when I say complicated, I don't mean the setting-up-IKEA-furniture definition.Despite my wish for a personal life, my children have always remained my number one priority, and I refuse to loosen my grip on that, to compromise their emotional security so I can meet my own (or someone else's) selfish needs.I want them to know that we all have the power to bring what we want into our lives and remove what we don't.There's also the physical element of dating when you're a mom.I might only be 26, but I've had twins and my body likes to exclaim it.I'm not going to claim that's a typical situation, but it was one that I demanded; my kids deserve peace, and that doesn't arise from two sides pointing canons at each other.Ultimately, I wasn't going to have anyone in my life who didn't understand or support that.
I want them to experience firsthand that despite what TV shows and movies tell us, a boyfriend and an ex-husband, or a girlfriend and an ex-wife can actually get along with each other because above all they want peace for the children caught in the middle.
It turned out to be a gamble worth taking; after his first day with the three of us, my boyfriend turned to me and said, “Syd, those girls are amazing and the fact that you're a mom is one of my favorite things about you."But it hasn't all been so easy; there's still the ex-factor.
I am lucky in the way that my former husband and I have a good relationship, talk regularly about our kids, and he comes to my place almost every weekend to pick them up.
Initially when I compared my life (and my appearance) to my boyfriend's, I saw myself beside him as some wrinkled old mom, hunched over and using my last breath to order another time-out; I was sure there was no way he could really love me if he was introduced to that bipolar love-my-kids-to-death-but-sometimes-want-to-kill-them persona that goes with parenting.
Because it's not cute; there's legitimately nothing endearing about my greasy messy bun, eye bags, and frequent hoarse yelling at my girls to “Share!