Today is D Day. I’m not sure what the D stands for in this context, but it has that certain ring to it – a monumental day that you’ve been building up to.

Maybe I should call it P Day. It’s the day I meet Paul, my Mom’s new boyfriend. Everyone else in the family met him while I was wandering around Africa, and all I had to go on were their brief descriptions of him on the e-mails I picked up in internet cafés. Now I get to meet him myself, form my own opinions, and then somehow prepare myself for Mom’s expectation that I tell her what I think of him.

It feels like a little too much pressure being the ONLY one who has yet to make his acquaintance. I’m having mini panic attacks thinking about it. This is probably the man my Mother will spend the rest of her life with. Yes, it’s true, they’d only spent a few days together and were talking about marriage already. How’s THAT for a heavy message to get when you’re in Africa thinking more about whether you’re getting a sunburn than about the realities of home and family?

So far, everyone has described him as fairly likeable and, in the words of my eldest brother (the man of a few words) “he’s a nice enough guy”. I have this fear that when he walks into the house, the pressure will get to me and I’ll clam up and not be able to say a word in his presence. Or worse yet, the opposite will happen and I’ll talk a blue streak out of nervousness.

It’s all fine and good that Mom should find another man – someone to bring her happiness and companionship. But no one can prepare you for the day it happens. As far as I know, they don’t write self help books for adults whose parents start dating when the other parent dies. Part of me feels like a little kid – “Hey, get away from my mom! She’s MINE and you can’t share her!” Part of me feels like a Mother to my own Mother – “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? I mean, after all, we really don’t know very much about this young man. Are you sure his intentions are honourable?” Yup, I’m schizophrenic. (But at least I have each other.)

And next week, they’re off to Minneapolis to meet one of HIS daughters. Mom could soon have 4 step-children, and a whole whack of step-grandchildren. I’m a little sad for my kids as well – that they may have to share their grandma with too many other kids. Now that she’s become a more regular presence in their lives, I don’t want that to change.

Aaaahhh! Yes, I’m resisting change and I wanna stomp my foot like a 2 year old!

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