Solo Mother

Swimming with Rollerskates

by christina on October 8th, 2006

Like I have time for another learning curve. Sheez.

I’m trying to find the time to find my way around b5media and get the hang of Wordpress while also: going back to work after three plus years out of the steno pool; trying to negotiate single motherhood without a map; getting a crash course in DC public schools… I’m sure there’s something else that looms foreign on my horizon (like dating, shudder to think) but if I take on one new thing, I’m going to have to start forgetting stuff, and I worry sometimes that, with my penchant for never doing things halfway, I’d forget something important like my name, or where we’re living this week.

Where was I going with this post? Ah yes, it’s 9PM and I’m so exhausted I’m going to crawl right in beside my snoring boy and hope that tomorrow I find reserves of strength I never knew I had. One of the first problems of being a single parent is that there’s no one to whom you can hand off the squalling kid , no relief pitcher, no seventh inning stretch. It’s all me, baby boy: it’s all mama, all the time.

Let’s face it,  your kids get sick of you sometimes, too.

When I was married, there wasn’t much in the way of help, but if I felt like fighting it out, I could win an occasional weekend morning of pretending I wasn’t responsible for my offspring. OK, so I wouldn’t actually be able to sleep in, since my husband would start yelling at his three year old to go back to bed, and because I was the only one who actually seemed to know where the kid’s clothes were (undies in the top drawer, shirts in the second drawer, trousers in the bottom drawer, whodathunk?). But if and when they got out the door–without breakfast, dressed in whatever could be thrown on, no plan but to get out of the apartment and leave mom the hell alone for a few hours–if that door actually closed behind them, I could count on a few hours of me time.

So I need to find my tribe. Single parents, listen up. It DOES take a village to raise a child. Start pounding the pavements until you find one. Single parent groups abound (I’ll start putting together resources for you folks, whenever my last, functioning brain cell can pry its tired eyes open), and I’ll bet if you start asking your best married friends, they’ll know at least one fabulous single parent they’ll introduce you to. Bond. Go to soccer practice, swim meets, the park together. Split Costco (or Sam’s Club, or insert favorite warehouse membership here) run or do it together. Take turns sitting each other’s kids. Go to the grocery store together. Bring coffee to the park and sit, jelly-like, on a park bench while the kids run amok. But find some alternative family so when you start fantasizing about how to duct tape your kid to the wall, you can call someone and confess. If they are any good at all, they will be over in two shakes of a mother’s finger with scones, coffee, and the Easy Bake Oven.

So, tomorrow is a holiday, and our fourth day of Togetherness, since those clever teachers declared last Friday to be Parent-Teacher Conference Day. Today the kid declared he didn’t love me, only his papa, and he wanted to go back to Sharjah. We were only a few minutes from the airport at the time, so I offered to drop him off. He decided he wanted to go to the Zoo instead. So we’ll go visit the Pandas with our favorite family tomorrow, pack a picnic, and I’ll bring my work assignment with us. Maybe I’ll get the hang of multitasking every instant of my waking life. Do you think I can learn to wash dishes in my sleep?

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