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Jacey Hill lives in the northern suburbs of Westchester, New York, with her two beautiful daughters, where she witnesses their tremendous growth into strong, young women daily. She continues to rely on the love and support from her parents and the special relationships she has with her closest friends.

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Chapter One

It was a difficult time for me. I was in a lonely funk still trying to absorb the reality of my impending divorce. I was living a life that I thought belonged to some old maid who chose loneliness and cats over affection and companionship with an actual human being. Granted, I didn't have cats, in fact, I don't even care for cats due to their quiet sneakiness. And, I wasn't exactly lonely either. Not yet, anyway. I had my two children, my two parents, and my many friends. I was just sad and hurt and getting through life day by day. In my heart I felt young, in my mind I felt old, and in the mirror I felt ugly. No wonder I felt alone. The feelings I had about myself were isolated and nothing blended together anymore. That was lonely within myself.

Each day I rose, lethargically, out of the right side of the bed, still not daring to touch the left side. The left side was his side, my ex's side. It remained untouched and fully made every day, even after I had had a full night's sleep. Each day I rolled out of the right side, swinging my feet to the cream bedroom carpet, pulled and tightened the covers to make the bed and then off to the sweet bedrooms of a new baby and a chipper toddler.

These little girls were ready and eager to start their day every morning as if yesterday never happened. I wished I could to that. I would awake to the baby talking to herself in her crib, bed head sticking up in every direction. She would hear me in my bathroom brushing my teeth and hop up on her little feet, grab onto the crib railing and eagerly await my arrival. I would open the door slowly, gently peer in to see if she noticed me right away, and then we would lock eyes instantly. The first thing I would see was her dark, thick baby hair all over the place which caused me to hold back my initial giggles, but then I would see those baby blue eyes staring at me with the sleepy puff surrounding her lids, searching for recognition. She would look at me and her smile would stretch as far across her face as she could stretch it, revealing a mouth of empty gums and two giant dimples denting the center of each cheek. Immediately, her reaction was to start jumping in her crib, smiling, and laughing to be lifted out into the new day. Walking closer to her and watching her try to balance on the unsteady mattress with her chubby feet while she attempted to raise her hands to me, I lifted her out of her crib, snuggled her sweet baby smell and kissed her from her velvet neck right into the depths of those dimples.

"Good morning, funny face", I would say in her little ear.

"How was your sleep"? I would ask as she batted me with excitement and nuzzle her kissy, drooling lips into my neck.

This was how she greeted every morning, most of the time. She greeted me with the innocence of baby, the security of mommy, and the happiness of the moment. At what point do we lose that in life? When do those magical qualities just vanish and disappear?

Next I would hear the little pitter patter of three year old feet running across a carpeted room. My senses were heightened every time I honed in on the footsteps of my sweet girl. My first born. She was the most angelic thing I had ever laid eyes on when she was born. Perfectly flawless skin with the glow and quiet peace of a newborn. A small tuft of light brown hair that didn't require primping until she was over a year old. A smile that encouraged twinkles of love and laughter in her rich, brown eyes. She was happy, smart, and friendly, surrounded by an aura of peace, sensibility, and reason. There were no temper tantrums, just unconditional open arms of love from this child. She, too, was comforted with the sense of security with mommy. She, too, was clueless of her parental surroundings that were filled with angst. She, too, eager to start her happy-filled day of whatever it had to offer. Every morning, my three year old would try to teach me to greet each day with new hope, minus the resentment, without ever realizing it. I believe her aura is surrounded by angels helping to guide her emotional mother.

I would stand and look over at the baby's bedroom door as I changed the early morning diaper of the day. There stood my toddler with that beautiful twinkly smile on her face. Her brown hair tousled by a peaceful nights sleep in her big girl bed, her flowing princess night gown that probably encouraged the sweetest dreams of castles and white knights, and the bare little feet with painted pink toenails, squishing into the plush bedroom carpet. Usually carrying a book, toy or a pruned thumb and blankey, she would hug me, kiss me, and greet her sister with all the unconditional love and innocence of a three year old.

"Good morning my sweet peach"! I would say

"Good morning, Mommy", she would reply with a sleepy smile.

"How was your sleep, Honey"?

"I slept good, Mommy. I had dreams. My bed is a mess, Mommy".

"That's okay", I would reply. "Mommy'll fix it in a bit".

This was the morning, every morning. The three of us, the quiet of the house without anybody walking through the front door, or the telephone ringing, or the cartoons blasting from Nickelodeon. Every morning, this was the calm before the storm for each day. Before the splattered baby food all over the floor and the million slobber-dried cheerios stuck to whatever the baby could get her hands to touch. Before brushing knots and tangles out of a toddlers hair for preschool, causing unwanted tears from a little girl who always seemed cheerful. Before the rush to get two little ones loaded up in the car and to preschool on time. Before the gym class I wanted to make so I didn't feel like such a fat ass anymore. Before the expected, but unwanted, arrival of my soon-to-be ex who would show up for a brief visit with the girls. Before the endless phone calls from my mother at home, my father at the office, my lawyer in the lion's den, and my friends from their cell phones, all wanting know to know, 'how I was doing today'. Really, it felt like Groundhog Day. Again.

Regardless of the obvious commotion all day, I was still wandering around in a daze. I attempted each day in a fog of astonishment, confusion, and self-pity. I was clearly surrounded by love and support from every angle, yet, I still felt terribly alone and I was convinced that my childhood fear was coming true. I was going to be the "Old Maid". I was going to be that dreaded card of the Old Maid, staring back at me from my hand, while my friendly opponent was going to get the happy ending. The Old Maid, rocking in her rocking chair, knitting booties for her cats or something. I hated knitting, almost as much as my dislike for cats!

I was so relieved when I met my husband 7 years ago, overcoming that fear of Old Maid-ism. I felt like I was showing the world `See? I wasn't gonna be an Old Maid! Ha!'. Now, I was just feeling betrayed and insecure. I was questioning everything about myself that I had always felt secure about in the past. There I was, wondering how the old Maid snuck up on me without my knowing. Was I not paying attention? Was I taking it for granted? Was I too consumed in what I thought was a perfect start to a perfect life? Was I a shitty wife after all? Maybe I wasn't cut out for it? All I knew was that I was waking up to these two precious gifts of children and I had to keep...