Solo Mother

so, I bet you’re dying to hear about the visit

by christina on March 1st, 2007

I wished, not for the first time, that the King of Everything’s father lived closer. They have their own relationship, and the KoE is getting better about expressing what he does and does not like, and how he expects to be treated. I hope he can continue to do so, as he grows up, in a respectful way that aims to resolve the conflict, not add flames to the fire. I cleared out of my house for the weekend and left it to the boys. I had a myriad of reasons for doing this: I didn’t want to hover and try to mediate for the two of them, or try to make them treat each other the way I wanted them to, and I didn’t want to fall into old, hellish patterns from the marriage like waiting on the ex and cleaning up after him. I didn’t want to have to talk to him, really. He has made it abundantly clear over the course of our marriage that he doesn’t really have much respect for women, not really, though he’ll debate that… but I say, look to how children treat their parents (and how parents treat each other), and you’ll have a pretty good idea of how they will treat their spouses. And quite frankly, I’ve been raising this kid with minimal input from the dad since the kid was born–the father certainly hasn’t been there every day for us. I wanted my ex to know what it was like to have to be responsible for a curious, talented, bright little boy 24/7 with little hope of a break.

What did he do? He went to my parents’ house every day.

I feel for the man. I really do. If the ex had had a low-maintenance child, perhaps he would have been a ‘better’ father. I doubt it. I, on the other hand, might not have gotten so burned out. I don’t regret a minute of the time I spent with my baby, helping him grow confident and independent. And oh so extroverted. But oh, he was a high needs baby. and he’s still a social butterfly who needs at least one, preferably two or ten, other peopleoid around to ricochet his energy off.

At lunch with friends on Saturday (an awkward but not altogether uncomfortable experience), I mentioned that I’d have to get my laptop from the office, as I had a ton of work to do, even on the weekend. The ex gave a derisive laugh. Later, he said to me, “You’re doing exactly the same thing you used to get so mad at me about.” I held my tongue. But I’ll say for the record that no, I’m not doing the same thing at all. I work my butt off, yes. But I am always home for dinner with my son, unless he’s spending the night at his grandparent’s, which is heaven for him. I am always there to tuck him in, read him a story, give him hugs and kisses and snuggles. I am there for him. His father rarely was. When the kid goes to sleep, I work, from my laptop at home. Until midnight, one in the morning sometimes. But I’m always there to wake the kid, help him get dressed, eat breakfast, walk to school. Our day has telescoped into about an hour of togetherness every day. It breaks my heart, but I hide it well. My kid is happy. He gets his mama love every day. It’s not the same thing as going to work before the boy gets up, coming home after he’s asleep in bed, and bringing him to a play park on your only day off so you can read and not have to actually interact with the kid.

The night before the ex left, he cornered me on the way out the door to my temporary sanctuary, and asked if I was sure this was what I wanted. “What are we talking about?” I asked. “My staying at a friend’s house, or divorce, or what?”

“Is this really what we’re going to do, we’re going to end it, is what I want to know,” he said. I thought about it for a moment. go back to you? and endure that hell? when I look around at all I’ve accompllished in the last five months without you to slow me down or belittle me or try to take credit? what are you nuts?

“Well, let me put it this way,” I said, as honest as I know how. “I’m never moving back to Dubai.”

“And I’ll never live in the States again,” was his reply. Well, there you have it. I might not live in the States all my life, but I’m sure not going to put myself in the position of being isolated, alone, and miserable again. If I move, I’m moving to a place with history, with culture. With places to walk and weather to walk in. And a funny, charming man to walk with. I might not know what I want, yet, but I sure know what I don’t want. I don’t ever want to be with someone who doesn’t appreciate me or my son. I figure I’ll always be single. I’m going to work on that premise and be pleasantly surprised if I’m wrong.

When the King of Everything’s papa said goodbye and made his way, alone, to the airport in a snowstorm, I asked him if he was sad. “Yeah,” sighed my little boy.

“Are you sad that papa’s going back to Dubai?” Nod.

“But it’s ok, papa can go back to Dubai and we can live here.” He started dancing, doing figure eights on the train platform, waiting for the subway to carry us home, to snow and hot chocolate and neighborhood kids. “Papa lives there. We live here. He doesn’t really know how to talk to me, anyway. Can we build a snowman in the park, mama?” For a moment I worried that my little boy was building walls, compartmentalizing his life and his emotions. I’ll keep an eye out for the fallout, but so far so good. I just wish there were some way to have changed all this. We are such a little family, for all that we have friends, grandparents, and relatives to keep us company.

Tags: children, long distance father, memories, motherhood, sharing the load, single mom, single mother, visitation, work

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POSTED IN: blame, career, divorce, parenting, sharing the load, spouse