Progressive Wednesday

Monday Morning Motherhood: Me Sans Mini-Van

In my previous columns, I've covered a number of issues and challenges that I and other parents face. With this column though, I'd like to talk about, well, me.

I had a plan, damn it. I like plans — stability, purpose, and more stability. Mine went a little something like this: a loving husband, three kids, a beautiful house, and a mini-van. I know, I know. Even I can't believe I dreamed of a mini-van. But that's what I had always planned.

So, I was engaged to man, and we were making wedding plans, we were making plans for our future. And then, the stick turned blue. When I first told him I was pregnant, he thought I was telling a joke with a stress-inducing punch line. After convincing him that in eight months another human would be popping out of me, the reaction was not what I'd expected: within a month, he was gone. He started living with another woman, moving on with his life. And I started living, alone and scared to death, with a child inside me. Morning sickness and weight gain were the least of my worries. How in hell was I supposed to give birth and raise a child all by myself? I'm the girl who once tried and succeeded in out-drinking a football player at a frat party. The girl that skipped 95% of her classes the first semester of college. Me and a kid? I’ve got two words for you: holy shit.

Well, as it turns out, I could do it. Still doing it now, too, though that's probably fairly obvious given the title of my column and the not-so-tall tales about my daughter. It ain't easy, my dear readers. Being the sole financial provider, the keeper of the Cheerios and Dora the Explorer yogurt, and the one who deals with all of the problems, all of the time, gets to be strenuous.

When she was an infant, there were times that the exhaustion would overwhelm me. Every bone in my body would scream for sleep, and there'd be no sleep in sight. There were times that her incessant crying would have me on the bathroom floor, bawling my eyes out, unsure of how I could ever survive this. I constantly second-guessed myself about what formula I fed her, what toys she played with, and if it was okay for me to get a sitter and take a night off.

As she grew, the challenges, of course, changed. They didn't become easier, per say, just different. Trying to feed her a bottle changed to sitting at the table for three hours to get her to eat her peas and carrots. Her enjoyment of plush and teething toys gave way to “I WANT THAT DORA DOLL NOW.– The incessant crying became temper tantrums over not letting her play with toothpicks. I replaced the crib with a toddler bed, which allowed her to get out, and therefore provided easy access to causing trouble. But there were good changes, too. Diapers went away and the potty took its place. She can dress herself, pull on her own shoes, and put on her own coat. We no longer have to brush our teeth together, because she's learning to do it herself.

However, the benefits of being a single mom far outweigh the duties and responsibilities, the daily struggles and strains. And many of those responsibilities are phenomenal. Teaching my child — whether it's the ABC's, how the coffee pot works, or why the sky is blue and not bright pink — is beyond rewarding. Also, when you're the sole parent, along with all the responsibilities, you get all the hugs, kisses, cuddles, and the feeling of accomplishment when your child succeeds.

My daughter's father isn't involved in her life at all, and I feel sorry for him. He'll never know what it's like to have her run to him after picking her up from school, and he won't get her original finger-painting masterpieces. But, that's his choice, and I get to reap the benefits of his decision.

But here's the biggest perk of all: once you have a child, you realize that this is what you've been put on earth for, and nothing else, my friends, comes close.