Paul Stanley might have warbled “I was made for lovin’ you baby. You were made for lovin’ me” but I’m not sure that’s entirely true.
People aren’t “made” for each other. It wasn’t “meant to be”. You chance upon someone who lights a spark and you nurture it into more.
You can do all the imagining in the world about what (and who) it will look like, but love invariably comes along in a different form entirely.
DD would have never expected to be dating a redheaded journalist chatterbox. I would never have expected to date a shy, retiring man of science.
We never would have met if online dating hadn’t artificially brought us together. Technically even that shouldn’t have happened, since my profile was so terrible and his was private.
And I wouldn’t have chosen some of the travails that our relationship brings.
But we’ve made it work despite our many differences and obstacles.
I put a photograph on Instagram for Valentine’s Day (above) of the two of us. My friend Sue took it at the Newport Arms one golden afternoon. I appear to be gazing adoringly at DD. I probably was … I love looking at him. It’s far too long between gawping: on my new co-parenting schedule – it can be five days between meetings.
My former colleague Angela wrote a comment on the Insta photo saying: “What a truly lovely pic.”
DD doesn’t think so, he’s not happy with how he looks in it. But I think he’s gorgeous.
We send each other the occasional selfie during our separations, to remind each other of what we look like. The most enormous smile creeps onto my face whenever his arrive.
I wrote back to Angela that “love at almost-50 is a bit of a revelation.”
The last time I fell in love was 25 years ago. I was a completely different person and love had completely different aims. The road inevitably lead to marriage and children.
Those milestones are no longer relevant. This time it’s about companionship and fun. It’s not without challenges – being separated/divorce and juggling family issues and commitments is never going to be a totally smooth run.
But I feel very lucky to have the chance to fall love for the third time.
My teen love and my twentysomething love were such different affairs.
Finding love at 49 is like being given a time machine and getting to relive your youth with the wisdom of age.
It’s a giddy combination and I hope the “honeymoon period” never ends.
On an equally soppy note, I went to the youngest’s year 6 information session last night and spotted a mobile she’d made hanging from the ceiling. Here’s what it said …
I almost got teary, I was so impressed that a little person who feels far more comfortable on a sporting field or with a skipping rope in her hand would put so much stead in succeeding at schoolwork.
I’m going to credit love with that win too.
The youngest totally adores her new teacher and is desperate to make a good impression. After 10 years of avoiding books like they were carrying the plague, she’s taken to swinging in her hammock each night this week, immersed in reading because Mrs C expects 20 minutes of book time a night.
When I texted her dad to tell him he replied: “No. Way!”
So many reasons to smile, despite the financial hiccups.
Song of the day: Kiss “I was made for lovin’ you”