Pinocchio No Strings — The Breath of Fresh Air Who Became Family

Yes.

Pinocchio No Strings.

One person.

One Facebook profile.

Possibly one of the most ridiculous names ever to appear in somebody's inbox.

And somehow?

That ridiculous Facebook profile would eventually lead to a fifteen-year relationship, a marriage, a blended family and another daughter.

But when he first properly appeared in my life, I knew absolutely none of that.

At that point?

I was actually happy being single.

I Had My Life Back

I'd moved close to Mum and Dad.

I had my three children.

My sister and my childhood best friend were around.

We went to the pub.

We went dancing.

We had nights out.

Nights in.

Sunny days sitting in the garden.

I was tanned.

I wore makeup every day.

I felt good about myself.

More importantly?

I felt like me.

After everything that had already happened — relationships, pregnancies, losing babies, the neighbour, rape, starting over, cheating — I had somehow got myself back to a place where life was genuinely good.

I wasn't sitting waiting for another man.

I wasn't desperately searching for a relationship.

I had my kids.

My family.

My friends.

And me.

Maybe that was enough.

Then Facebook decided otherwise.

He'd Messaged Me Years Before

Pinocchio No Strings popped up in my messages.

Except technically?

He wasn't completely new.

He'd tried messaging me years earlier when I was still engaged to my ex.

And I'd knocked him back.

I was engaged.

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.

Whatever else you can say about my relationship history, I wasn't interested in starting something behind somebody's back.

This time, though?

I was single.

And I thought:

Fuck it.

So I replied.

We started talking.

And he made me laugh.

There was something really easy about him.

Something different.

After everything I'd experienced, talking to him didn't feel complicated.

I remember the exact way I described him.

A breath of fresh air.

I actually told him that.

Eventually I gave him my number.

Then came the texts.

The phone calls.

More talking.

More laughing.

And eventually?

He asked me out.

The Most Romantic First Date Ever

Our first date wasn't exactly candles, champagne and somebody playing a violin in the corner.

We went to the cinema.

To see:

The Inbetweeners Movie.

And my sister came.

Along with the guy she was seeing at the time.

Romance, ladies and gentlemen.

But actually?

It worked.

There wasn't loads of pressure.

We laughed.

We got on.

And things between us started developing quite quickly.

But there was something important about both of us.

Neither of us came into this relationship alone.

I Had Three Kids. He Had a Son.

I had my oldest daughter and my two boys.

And he already had a son.

His son was roughly the same age as my oldest daughter.

That matters because from quite early on, this wasn't simply about two adults deciding whether they fancied each other.

There were already four children between us.

My three.

His one.

Two existing families that somehow had to fit around each other.

And amazingly?

They did.

The kids got on.

My children loved him.

His son became part of our lives too.

And gradually, without some big formal moment where everybody announced:

Congratulations, you are now a blended family...

that's what we became.

A big, mixed, complicated family.

His son wasn't just some child who occasionally appeared in the story.

He would become my stepson.

Just as my children were building a relationship with the man who would eventually become their stepdad.

And for a while?

It felt easy.

Natural.

Comfortable.

I was happy.

Four Months In...

Then came Hogmanay.

We had a party at mine.

We'd only been together for around four months.

At some point during the night, without me knowing, he spoke to Mum.

And told her something.

He was going to marry me.

Four months.

Yes.

Looking back, that sounds fast.

But when you're actually living something, you don't stand outside your own relationship holding a clipboard thinking:

Hmm. This timeline may require further assessment.

I was happy.

The children got on.

Our families were blending.

This man I'd once called a breath of fresh air seemed completely certain about me.

And I thought:

I've found my person. 

Then I Found Out I Was Pregnant

A few months later, everything changed again.

I was pregnant.

And we were delighted.

Genuinely.

There wasn't panic.

There wasn't doubt.

We already had our four children between us.

Now we were going to have a baby together.

A child connecting both sides of this blended family.

And around the same time, he decided to make good on what he'd told Mum at Hogmanay.

He went to my dad.

And asked Dad's permission to marry me.

Then he bought the ring.

He took me to Cathkin Braes.

And there?

He proposed.

Of course I said yes.

We announced the engagement.

But we kept the pregnancy to ourselves.

Our little secret.

So there I was.

Three children of my own.

His son becoming part of my family.

Pregnant.

Engaged.

Planning a wedding.

And absolutely convinced that after all the shit that had come before...

this was finally it. 

The Golden Jubilee

We started looking at wedding venues.

We booked a viewing at the Golden Jubilee.

It was a Tuesday.

I'd been at my friends that afternoon.

He picked me up and we went together.

We looked around.

We liked it.

And we put down a deposit.

Our wedding was actually happening.

Then I noticed I was bleeding.

And suddenly?

Nothing else mattered.

Not the venue.

Not the deposit.

Not the wedding.

Just the baby.

The following morning, I went to the doctor.

And I was told I'd miscarried.

He Drove Away

I needed him.

I had just been told I'd lost our baby.

The baby we'd been so happy about.

The baby we'd kept secret.

And instead of staying with me?

He dropped me outside the house.

And drove away.

I was left there alone.

Again.

There are little moments in relationships that seem different when you look backwards.

At the time, though?

I was grieving.

Except a few days passed...

and something wasn't right.

I Still Felt Pregnant

My body was telling me something different from what I'd been told.

I still felt pregnant.

So I did another test.

Positive.

Back to the doctor.

And that's when we discovered something neither of us had known.

Twins.

Again.

I'd been carrying twins.

I'd lost one baby.

But there was still another baby there.

I was still pregnant.

How are you supposed to process that?

I'd been grieving because I'd been told the pregnancy was gone.

Now I was being told yes, I had lost a baby...

but not both of them.

One little baby was still holding on.

Heartbroken and relieved at exactly the same fucking time.

The Pregnancy Wasn't Straightforward

The pregnancy continued.

But apparently straightforward pregnancies weren't really my thing.

There were things happening outside the relationship which meant I barely saw him at times.

Then I started thinking I was leaking fluid.

I went to hospital.

And was told:

I was peeing myself.

Right.

Okay.

I'd already had three children.

I knew what fucking pee was.

But apparently that was the medical explanation.

Until an antenatal appointment when the midwife became concerned.

The baby felt small.

She was worried about the amount of fluid.

So she arranged a scan.

On 10 January, I went.

And guess what?

I wasn't peeing myself.

There was hardly any fluid around the baby.

I was going to need to be induced.

I was put on a drip as a precaution.

Baby coming.

Hospital.

After everything we'd gone through with this pregnancy, surely now my fiancé would be glued to my side.

Surely.

Nope.

She Decided She Was Coming Herself

Our daughter apparently had absolutely no interest in waiting for an induction.

She decided she was coming.

I went into labour.

They took me through to the labour suite.

And my fiancé?

The father of the baby?

The man who had proposed to me?

He decided this would be a good moment...

to go home for a joint.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

I was in labour.

And he went home.

For a joint.

So there I was.

Again.

In labour.

Alone.

There really was a fucking pattern forming.

And he very nearly missed it.

Thankfully, he made it back.

Just.

And I mean just.

He got there in time to see our daughter being born.

And Suddenly There She Was

After the bleeding.

After being told I'd miscarried.

After discovering there had been twins.

After losing one baby.

After worrying about leaking fluid.

After being told I apparently couldn't recognise my own piss.

After her dad nearly missing the birth because he'd gone home for a joint...

there she was.

Our daughter.

Alive.

Beautiful.

And ours.

Our already blended family had grown again.

I had four biological children now.

My oldest daughter.

My two boys.

Our new baby girl.

He had his son.

Five children connected through this relationship.

Different mums.

Different dads.

Different biological relationships.

But family.

And I thought we were about to enter the happiest stage of our lives.

Except bringing a baby home makes you very quickly discover who is actually there when the photographs are finished.

For the First Few Years, It Was Mostly Me and Her

Our daughter and I became incredibly close.

And there's a reason for that.

I mostly raised her myself.

Her dad was hardly home.

And when I say hardly home, I mean there were days when he didn't even see his own daughter.

He'd leave before she woke up.

Come home after she had gone to bed.

Meanwhile?

I was there.

Every morning.

Every meal.

Every tantrum.

Every bath.

Every bedtime.

Every ordinary little moment that actually makes up somebody's childhood.

Me and her. 

She was my wee shadow.

And she was absolutely fucking mental.

I say that with all the love in the world.

She was a crazy wee child.

I knew her moods.

I knew her routines.

I knew when she was about to kick off.

I knew how to settle her.

I knew her.

Because I was with her constantly.

On the occasions her dad did take her somewhere by himself for a few hours?

He'd sometimes come back angry because he couldn't cope with her.

And I'd think:

I've been dealing with this tiny lunatic all bloody week.

Welcome to Tuesday.

But that was the relationship me and her developed.

Very close.

Me and my girl.

And Sometimes He Found Time for Other People

One of the things that hurt was watching him be so absent from his own daughter's everyday life...

while sometimes appearing to find time for other people.

There were periods when it felt like he took more to do with his friend's daughter than his own.

And that was hard to understand.

Because our daughter was right there.

His child.

Growing up.

Needing him.

Meanwhile I was doing the mornings.

The nights.

The meals.

The tantrums.

Everything in between.

And it wasn't easy for me either.

Postnatal Depression

After she was born, I developed postnatal depression.

I was struggling.

But I kept going.

Because that's what I did.

Thankfully, I had help.

Mum.

Gran.

My sister.

They were there.

They helped with the children.

They helped me.

Because although technically I had a fiancé...

in many ways, I found myself feeling like a single parent again.

I had this man beside me in the family picture.

But that didn't necessarily mean he was there for the everyday reality behind it.

And still?

I loved him.

I wanted our family.

I wanted the wedding.

I wanted to believe the hard bits were simply the hard bits every couple goes through.

We had five children between us.

A wedding being planned.

An entire future ahead.

Surely we could make this work.

And then I needed some dental treatment done under sedation.

My fiancé came with me.

Which sounds supportive enough.

Except while I was literally unconscious having dental work done...

he was sitting in reception talking to another woman.

And that woman?

She was about to become a contact in his phone under one of the most ridiculous names imaginable.

Red Diesel.

Next: Red Fucking Diesel.