Adrian will be two in just a few weeks. It's hard to believe that it's been two whole years already. Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that I was that frightened, mess of a woman about to embark on what seemed to be this hopeless, depressing journey of single mom-hood.

Sometimes still, if I'm not careful, it's easy to revert back to that woman — let my fears get the best of me. But for today, I must say, that I am no longer her. 

This journey has transformed me, made me stronger, made me realize that I have potential far beyond what I could have ever imagined. And for that, I am thankful.

However, some of the transformative effects are not so great. This journey has rendered me guarded, cautious, and at times very cynical. Most of the time I am certain that I could never trust a man with my heart ever again. Other times, I have the clarity to know that I want to.

I suppose it's all part of the process of healing — working through the hurt — and when it's done, when I'm fully healed, I'll know and hopefully drop some of the cynicism.

For now, I need it.

Levi's mother emailed to ask what we were doing for Adrian's birthday, and if she could see him again. I told her that I'm taking him to the Dora show in Manhattan, and invited her to come along.

I must admit that it hurts to see her again. Opens the floodgates and all of the memories: hopes, dreams, fantasies of my perfect life with my son and Levi — my perfect family — rush back in. The reality that things are not what they were intended to be can feel like a smack in the face.

But I am trying to have faith, trying to be optimistic that although my life certainly has not gone as planned, it is good. We have a good life, and a wonderful family structure even sans Levi.

A funny thing happened on this journey from dutiful wife and devoted mom back to myself. Of course, I'll always be a devoted mom — but what surprised me, is what a dutiful ex-wife I've become.

The feelings of anger (on his part) and abandonment (on mine) have finally receded into a distant memory. The sense of competition between households (he with the most toys wins vs Ms Rules and Routines) have dissipated as the girls are now old enough to navigate back and forth: my house during the school week for regular balanced meals and so as not to be tempted by aforementioned toys; his place more on weekends and school breaks. 

We seem to have reached a comfortable détente. I took the girls to visit their older sister at college; he took care of our pets, sitting at my kitchen table, drinking a beer, picking ticks off the dog. Internet access in the house was achingly slow on the girls' wireless computers (nonexistent on my dinosaur Mac); so Ex the techno wizard came over, diagnosed the situation, and fixed it (no charge!). 

Conversely, when Ex explained some of his business woes, in this time of ever growing anxiety, I heard myself saying that I would cover more of the costs-that we could settle up accounts after the economy stabilized. That conversation wouldn't have been possible a year ago. 

Moving beyond simmering resentments is hard (breathe in, breathe out, let go for heaven's sakes), but makes life a whole lot nicer for everyone involved. Even Ex's Next, who had not spoken to me since that little unpleasantness regarding their nuptials, made an unprecedented move. A few weeks ago, she was coming down the driveway while I was picking my daughter up from her dad's house. Usually, she would just slink inside, averting her eyes. But this time, she walked over to say hello, as if nothing had happened.

I’m as traditional and nostalgic as anyone, and a damn fine cook. But even though l love setting a beautiful table, and making Thanksgiving dinner, my Thanksgivings have been a series of unpleasant experiences. When I think back, this is what I remember:

● I was a child at my grandmother’s house in Minnesota. The uncles hung out in the living room, watching TV. The aunts worked in the overheated kitchen. My mom and dad both came from families of seven, so there were lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, only one of whom went to prison, later, for killing his stepfather. The Thanksgiving meal was served, with all of its strangeness: green and black olives, or that odd cylinder of cranberry. Dinner over, the Canadian Club whiskey would come out so the men could relax. The women cleaned up as my uncles, red-faced and swearing, played poker at the kitchen table. They were loud and scary and we were devout Methodists, who didn’t believe in drinking, smoking, gambling, dancing or going to see movies (except The Ten Commandments). The aunts, armed with leftovers and sleepy children, had to drag the men away. Result: Fear of drunken uncles, fear of drunks.

● I was older, a teenager, and I helped my mother at her grocery store, open seven days a week, 12 hours a day, except for Christmas Day. We closed on Thanksgiving, too, but only between noon and four. Thanksgiving meant racing back and forth between the store and the house, tending the turkey, making sure the house hadn’t burned down. My half-brother, brother, uncle, dad, mom and I would eat around 3. Then we’d race back and open the store, so other people could get ice cream, sugar, pickled herring, coffee, pies, Tampax... whatever it was all those Scandinavians needed for Thanksgiving. Result: Class resentment.

I finally did it.  I met with Levi's mother yesterday.

Quick recap for those of you that don't know/don't remember: Levi's mother has never seen Adrian. In fact, Levi's mother is the woman that sent me an email just a few days after Adrian was born telling me that I should have given him up for adoption immediately and adding that my son was nothing I should be proud of.

Yeah, I met with her yesterday. It's been a long time coming.

We were to meet in the main lobby of the museum at 11:30. As I walked into the lobby amongst a huge crowd, I spotted her immediately and my heart started racing.

"What am I doing?" I thought. "Why am I putting myself through this?" I turned around, pulled out my cell phone and phoned my very best friend, Rachel, and told her what was going on — by this point I was practically hiding in the bathroom.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, Faith. Just get out there and get it over with, and remember, you are the one doing her a favor," she said. "If anyone should be nervous right now, it should be her."

So finally, I took a deep breath and marched over to her.

It was awkward and filled with that fake niceness that makes me sick to my stomach but I suppose there are worse things...

She told me that Erica, Levi's sister, was also coming but was running late. She told me that she already purchased the tickets so I should just go on in with Adrian and she would meet me in a few minutes. Then she handed me two tickets.

"Thank you," I said and handed a ticket back to her. "Adrian doesn't need a ticket," I told her.

"Why not?" She asked and added that every child aged 2-14 needs a ticket. "Adrians not two yet," I told her.

"He's not?" she asked, surprised.

"Nope," I told her. "He won't be two until December thirteenth."

There's a new billboard on the highway that I drive to work every day. It pictures two pairs of feet: one small pair standing on top of a big pair. The caption reads, "Have you been a dad today?"

This one, simple thing provokes an enormous amount of thoughts and emotions out of me.

I suppose the most obvious situation I think of is my situation, Adrian's situation.

Levi has not been a father today, he wasn't a father yesterday, and I've got a feeling he won't be being a father tomorrow.

This kind of thing, this totally 100% single parenting thing has felt at times, really lonely and incredibly isolating. I've cringed when people have asked about Adrian's father. I've spent countless hours trying to think of the perfect response to that question, yet, there really isn't one.

But today I'm sitting here thinking to myself that if they've got a billboard on the highway asking men if they've been a father today, well then, I must not be as alone as I feel.

I wonder if it's done any good.

I wonder if a man has driven by that and thought to himself, I should be more of a father.

I wonder how Levi would feel if he drove past it.

My guess is that he would be underwhelmed.

We haven't spoken in a while, Levi and I. It's been peaceful that way but also really sad. It's as if I've finally accepted that he won't be Adrian's father, no matter how hard I try.

I guess I'm glad I've accepted it, but there is something about that acceptance that feels really shitty. Really final.

I wonder if they have billboards like these in Los Angeles.

My dad and stepmom met Mike last spring, and they said they liked him, but, really, what else would they say? Since they visited my sister last week, I figured I could check in with her and make sure.

So I checked. And, yes, they do. But...

"They think you're getting married," my sister said.

"What?" I squawked.

This is me we're talking about. Put aside that whole not wanting to get married again — this relationship's barely a year old! We haven't even lived in the same city yet! We're not even ready to live together! Plus that whole my-divorce-isn't-even-freaking-final-yet thing.

I casually mentioned this.

"I know, I know," she said. "But Dad thinks so, because you're coming to visit me."

Since Mike and I will be spending Christmas on the East Coast, part of our travel plan involves stopping in Boston to see my sister.

"SO?" I asked.

"Well, when I said you were both coming, he got all thoughtful. You're at his place, then Mike's parents', then here. He said maybe you were making ‘the family rounds.' ‘She must have something to announce!' he said."

"Don't worry," she said hastily, as I started sputtering. "I set him straight."

"But, but...how could he possibly think that?  Doesn't he know me at all?"

"Please," my sister said, "this is our dad. He asked me my senior year of college if my boyfriend and I were pinned. His world is a different place than ours."

Thank God their conversation happened. Otherwise, Thanksgiving might have been awkward, without me even realizing. 

Welcome to my recipe for disaster. On Thanksgiving Day this year my daughter will be 21. I am trying to combine a milestone birthday, a holiday, the umpteenth anniversary of my father's death and a tentacled divorce. I can't even tell you the half of it because doing so here would compromise the privacy of people close to me. I'm leaning toward Jet Blue. I will focus instead on stuffing.

My favorite stuffing story was the year I decided to make the bird at my house and transport it to my late brother Stephen's home. People were not relaxed. I was never known as the turkey girl and I that year I was going to show them! 

Everyone at the table watched in awe as my mother pulled a plastic bag of innards out of the stuffing cavity. I can still hear my brother's hysteria. This year I'm at it again...shoot me.

For decades it was my mother's Italian egg stuffing recipe. A combination of, roughly, a dozen large eggs, a handful of grated Locatelli cheese, a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley, enough plain bread crumbs to thicken the mix till it drips off a spoon and a little salt and pepper. This then blows up inside the turkey and is absolutely delicious.

My sister-in-law Susie started going with her sausage & chestnut stuffing and my stuffing allegiance is now challenged. Actually, I am open to stuffing suggestions. Got any?

It is happening. The great Family Holiday Trade.

Mike and I started dating a little over a year ago, a month or so before Thanksgiving. I ended up spending my Thanksgiving break in New York that year, but we went our separate ways on the actual day. There was no way I was taking the train to DC with him to his parents'; we had just started dating. We hadn't put a name on this. We were still holding things at arm's length. Just meeting parents at this point would have been too much.

This year he's coming to my dad's for Thanksgiving and I'm going to his parents' for Christmas. It feels at once completely logical and the Scariest Thing in The World.

Before you scoff at this 33 (Gah! 34!) year old woman's panic at bringing a boy home, at spending a week at a boy's parents' house, let me remind you that Jake and I started dating when I was 15. This is all new to me.

I don't have a childhood home at this point, but my dad's house has always been the place to go when things are hard. He and my stepmom are a happy little island of normalcy in my otherwise questionably functional family. It's quiet there. People are nice to each other. Jake hated it, so I tended to visit alone. I don't think of it as a place where I have a partner.

I'm stupidly nervous about Mike coming with me. What if he hates it, too? There's nothing to do — my family and I play cards, watch movies, putter around the living room. That's what I like about it. What if he doesn't? What if he's bored and cranky?

Plus — there's something so definite about this. If he comes to my parents' house, he's for real. He'll get to know my family. They'll know him. Every step in this direction makes an ending that much messier.

I suppose, at some point, all of these "first things" will be over and then I can stop worrying about them. Right? 

The family joke is that if I had stopped at two children, I'd be the most insufferable mother who ever lived. My two oldest daughters have never given me moment's pause — well maybe a few moments — but I saw none of the screaming, slammed doors, sullen withdrawals or general obnoxious teenaged behavior I've heard about (or exhibited myself as a self-absorbed young lass). Never had to set curfews, never had to mete out punishments for missing said curfews. How clueless I was.

But daughter number three — bless her little heart — has given me a run for the money from the very start. Didn't want to be born; we had to induce. Once born, she didn't want to leave my arms — or the house. Where most babies are lulled to sleep in their car seats, K would scream bloody murder the entire time. I remember one wretched ride where I compulsively kept reaching for the radio knob, as if that could turn her volume down.

Now it's just the opposite. At 15 with her first beau, it's all about The Boy, and she can't wait to get into his car. She doesn't want to spend any time with me — and certainly not with my beau and His Boy, four years younger. And I understand her need to be with her guy, her first love, so it's a delicate dance between her legitimate needs and ours.

So I thought she was being particularly magnanimous, when S and his son came over one Saturday afternoon and she agreed to go iceskating with us at a nearby rink. Afterwards, we came home, baked cookies together. When she said she'd like to skip going out to dinner with all of us to meet her guy, I thought it was a reasonable request. But S got a little pissy, which annoyed me, so I sweet talked her into it. We had a lovely dinner, then she went off with The Boy, S and I retreated up to my room for a movie, his son settled with video games downstairs.

I awoke at 3 am with a start. I was sure K was home by now, but something made me check.

Not in her room.

I have decided to take Adrian to meet Levi's mother. I actually had decided this a few weeks ago, but hadn't said anything to my friends about it just yet.

She has asked to see him a few times now, and it occurred to me that I would like to treat her in the way that I would like her to treat me. I can't really explain it, but it just feels like the right thing to do.

I was going to take Adrian to the Museum of Natural History (the butterfly exhibit open again!), so I asked her if she'd like to come along. We'll be meeting next weekend.

Last night I attended a group meditation/message circle in upstate New York. It was a lot of fun; they did tarot cards, meditation, and then the medium gave people messages.

Immediately the medium looked at me and told me that he had a message from one of my relatives in spirit. He asked, "Are you planning a trip to the city soon?" "Yes, I am," I replied.

"Yeah, this is going to be a huge step for you," he said, adding that the message from my relative was, "Don't worry, she knows her son is an ass and she will like your boy."

Wow. Had I known before that psychics could be this dead on I might not have spent so much money in therapy.

Today I got an email from the medium. He said he saw the Statue of Liberty — and that's what tipped him off that I was going to the city — but he thought that was an odd reference for New York. He said that he thought about it more and decided that the message meant that this meeting with Levi's mother will be very liberating for me.

Liberating? We'll see.