Tomorrow morning my ex is coming by to gather up his left-behind belongings. I kicked him out months ago and no matter how frequently I burned sage (or as I like to call it, “smudge this bitch”) I just couldn’t get the negative energy to fully dissipate. This man helped me raise my son, but he’s not the biological father. This man let me poison myself with regret and resentment, he never gave me the support I needed, and yet this man isn’t to blame. I take full responsibility for the mess I made of my life but I am here to reclaim it. This blog is as much for me as it is for you, dear friend. I need somewhere to feel safe telling my real story because, as we all know, facebook is not that place. I need a place to quiet my mind and to laugh at it, to grow and make mistakes and talk it out, so I invite you to stumble along with me as I find myself again, and that’s this Mom’s Honest Truth.
Coins rattle pockets, Change rattles minds
I’m at this cute place in life where the idea of flowers isn’t as romantic as a man bringing over a gallon of whole milk and a roll of paper towels.
The thing about isolated single parenting is that we don’t get to have a breakdown – that Moment we so desperately need. We can’t throw in the towel for even five minutes because you dont leave a baby alone in the ring. But once the smoke clears and the wind shifts, you can complain about the weather and let your hair get stuck in your lipgloss, or you can let go of whatever was keeping you here and let the change carry you.
I’ve taken a break from publicly complaining to focus on Personal Change and I’m finally coming out of the smoke.
We started “potty training” recently, but mostly that means we just sit on the potty reading books all day. And by “we” I mean Z 😉 Of course, this means he takes his own diaper off randomly and frequently, and somehow there have been very few accidents..except when he pooped on my yoga mat and handed it to me while I was on a very important phone call with the cable guy..
Then, just a few weeks ago I woke up to the sweet little bright and chirpy sound of my son saying “mommy..what’s this?”
My bleary eyes open, expecting a small piece of lint or strand of hair, maybe he poured a little milk out of his sippy cup. It was 7 am and he was in his crib – how bad could it be, right? Well.
On his pillow, very close to my face, was one tiny puddle of poop. He shit the bed. My sweet boy had taken his diaper off very carefully, apparently, in the corner and then he shit the bed. It wasn’t much, and it cleaned up quickly but even the smallest amount of shit where it shouldn’t be is too much. The entire trajectory of the day changed in an instant, and I ended up having a very productive afternoon complete with a few too many loads of laundry and excessive trips to the grocery store, because first I needed laundry detergent and then more quarters.
So today when Z woke up from his nap and asked “mommy, beach?” – after my pause and double take that he didn’t just call me a *different* B word, I obliged. We both needed an evening out. It’s been 90 degrees in Chicago this week, we walk everywhere, and one of us had recently pooped in a bed. Definitely time for the beach, bitch.
The Scare
With Halloween around the corner, and the movie IT in theaters, it’s only fitting that my son has a new appreciation for balloons. I got a bag of 100 for a dollar the other day, because my thrifty side can never say “no” to cheap things that end up in the trash, and now there are balloons of all shapes and sizes strewn about my apartment. Most are inflated and bounce around freely but plenty are just little droopy rubber things stuck to floors and furniture everywhere.
Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to print out some sheet music but my (brand new) printer isn’t always in sync with my laptop and I end up getting 50 copies (because of furiously hitting “print” a million times) of whatever I needed about three days late.
So last night, I’m sitting on the couch in the dark, finally feeling a moment of Zen among the mess that is my living room, when I hear a strange clicking sound – abrupt, almost metallic, almost jingley, all kinds of noises unfamiliar and unexpected. It sounded like someone had opened the screen door in the kitchen and was trying to undo the chain lock. My mind was racing, scanning the room for a murder weapon because my bare hands are weak and useless, my heart was pounding furiously, I almost blacked out from fear and was one second away from hitting “dial” on 911. In that split second I yelled, and I mean yelled, “HELLO WHO’S THERE WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” I pictured Ponytail coming back for some sort of weird revenge, I pictured all sorts of bedraggled lunatics – I even saw headlines of “woman and child escape apartment while mad man confused by balloons” because all I could see in my quick scan for weapons were balloons.
And then I stood up, ready to attack, and I saw it.
My printer was finally spitting out approximately 12 copies of “Samson” by Regina Spektor that I wanted last week. I was waiting for Lorde’s new song “Liability” but hey, at least I didn’t have to take out any intruders.
This morning when I woke up exhausted and overwhelmed, I walked out into my living room and laughed at myself and these balloons and I think I’ll let this colorful clutter stay around a little longer.
I recently had a run in with an Illinois House Centipede that made me long for the innate bug-removal capabilities of a man, but then thought that a cat would be just as effective. Any word on cats protective powers from break ins or suddenly printing documents? Let a girl know!
The fear of judgment as a parent is real; the judgment on single parents, quick and harsh. “Oh my god that baby is drinking juice that doesn’t appear to be watered down! Is that the nanny? Why would a mother dress that way?” They say with their eyes. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t feel allowed to have problems or be dissatisfied. I recently asked a new friend “are single moms even allowed to have postpartum depression or will someone come snatch the baby away?” Because my son is so safe and so loved, but I’m in such need of a break and have literally no way of getting one, it’d be nice to at least talk freely to someone. Why can’t I get a break? Unreliable sitters and unaffordable daycare. For example, I had my first court-mandated anger management class the other day (lingering legal bullshit) scheduled for 9:30 am, I had asked my sitter to be at the house at 8:30.
What time did she text me?
7am.
But thank the gods for my beautiful friends that were in town with their punk rock band – not only did they let me bring a toddler to a kickass show (good times were had by all, but I was sweaty and anxious) but they were here for me when I reaally needed it. I spent the night sitting around on my living room floor with old soulmate friends and new soul sister friends, deep dish pizza, and it almost felt like I could wake up happy the next day. But then I woke up stressed out and a little too sad to see my friends go. After class I miiiight have cried the whole way home..maybe. Nothing wrong with crying in the back seat of a stranger’s car, right? He even stopped a red light, got out and popped the trunk (cause that’s not fucking scary or anything) and handed me a box of tissues. *which yes, made me cry harder* but let me clarify, I wasn’t sobbing hysterically, it was a very classy, discreet woe-is-quietly-me cry. I would have been consollable, but that’s part of what hurts. There are no arms for me to fall into. I knoooww, I know I sound pathetic lately and I KNOW I’m complaining a lot but, like – I’m here for moms and parents and people that are goin’ through it. I don’t care if I sound whiney, this is the truth. This is where I can talk freely.
It was all too much; bittersweet isn’t even the word, I just felt bitter. I don’t want to be hard and distant, but every day I get tougher and feel further away from everyone. (Sometimes I feel like this blog will end up being my descent into madness haha – I promise, I’m really okay) Like, you know how when you’re single for a while and you hear your loud, freaky neighbors getting loud and freaky and it kind of sucks? Well, I heard my neighbors laughing the other day and it hurt one thousand times worse. Laughing with my kid is the best, but come on, he doesn’t get all my jokes.
I just felt like chatting. Part Two coming soon 🙂
An Open Letter to the Men in My Life
Hey guys, I’m wondering what specifically about me says “girl on the back burner” or “girl to text while my wife is asleep in our unhappy marriage” because let me stop you riiight there. I am Woman and boy, do I roar. My respect for other women will always beat my desire to sleep with you. Also, for the FIVE of you that have been tryna holla and relate to my romantic loneliness for the past two years, I know about your girlfriends. Ooooh yes I sure do! I found out kind of late, obviously, and it’s disgusting that none of you have owned up to it yet. Repeat after me: pa-the-tic. So kindly stop sliding into my dm’s and especially stop texting me at 3am with the ridiculous excuse that you’re “just being friendly.” Why do I feel the need to address this? Because I don’t want your wives and girlfriends to think I’m interested. I am interested in NO husbands. I barely even want one of my own. I want my friends to look at their relationships more critically and, for the love of God, stop acting like this is high school.
For those of you with no girlfriends: hey, long time no see..I guess having sole custody of a kid really put a damper on things huh? Since you took me out so frequently and all. News flash: you didn’t. Y’all are all cheap. I feel like you’re a little surprised that I’m addressing the same problem so broadly like this, and I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you weren’t all the same exact type of disappointing, but if the shoes fit, talk to all the feet at once. (Okay terrible metaphor, it’s early and I haven’t finished my coffee.)
I also know some really incredible men, the kind I allow around my son and want to be more involved in his life. My dad is the best person I know, for example, and he set the bar pretty high. And I’ve recently realized I’ve been settling, like really settling, and I just don’t want to anymore. My 70 year old father brings coffee to my mom in bed every single morning, he has for as long as I can remember. He calls her curly hair “soft and romantic” and is incredibly thoughtful and hilarious. He works in the yard and gardens, he does the vast majority of the cooking, I’ve never heard him complain. He’s a college professor with such an astounding depth of knowledge I am always in awe when he starts casually teaching me things. He put sock puppets on his hand to kiss me goodnight when my mom was working overnight at the hospital, and he picked me up from the school dance when I was heartbroken over a boy I ended up dating for two years about ten years later.
And as for you, boy who broke that little heart, I truly hope you’re happy. Even though, karmically, I’m sure you’re not. Remember when we were becoming friends again but I found out I was pregnant and you called my child a bastard? Which is funny because I don’t remember you having any type of moral compass or religious ideologies, and disgusting because you’re fucking disgusting. I loved you so much and I will forever, because I know what that word means and I don’t use it lightly, but that love has morphed into something a little sad and a little ugly. I want to let go of you and forgive you but I know instead I’ll be waiting an eternity for an apology.
Recently, I met two men that showed promise. Before everything happened. Turns out, they can’t hang either. And last night..last night I spent 45 minutes on the phone with a guy I’ve known for years. He pops up periodically and acts all pervy and I dismiss it and we continue on as friends; last night I found out he’d had an on/off relationship for the past two years and he was upset because she’d been cheating on him.
*crickets*
Then he talked in circles about his recent birthday (when he was sending me private Snapchats) and how she upset him then too. Brrooooooo…gtfo. Get. The. Fuuck. Out. So excuse me if I seem a little bitter or a little jaded..and I’m so sorry if my son has kept me from attending any of your weddings (maybe if kids were allowed?) It’s not you. It’s just all of this.
And for you, Man in My Future – (if you ever show up) please be gentle but don’t be afraid. I’m not broken or scared, I’m not a delicate piece of expensive porcelain, I’m just not here to be taken advantage of. I’m not here for your shit, k? Even though I will put up with most of it and give you plenty in return, I promise to always be on your side. I promise to burn your pancakes cause I’m not very good at breakfast stuff, but I’ll keep trying. I’m loud and always seem to talk a lot more than you’d expect as soon as I lay down in bed to go to sleep. But you won’t mind.
My Life is in Shambles but My Kitchen is Clean
I can see my son sitting up at the end of his crib right now; I put him to bed 45 minutes ago, but here we are. Today was one of those days where I spent nap time scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees to keep from crumpling up on it and angry crying into the filth. My kitchen floor was SO gross. My emotions, even worse. I’m trying reeeaaaalllyy hard to channel things into productivity and creativity – I’m forcing myself to “stay positive” and I guess for the most part it’s working? I typed up an entire post about my legal situation this summer, but it’s still a little too close for me to look at objectively and write about without being incredibly whiny and self-serving. So instead, for now, I’ll tell you where it has left me.
In the state of Illinois, or at least Cook County, there seem to be some “new rules” for government assistance. Specifically, you don’t qualify for any if you have children but recieve no child support. Okay, I can understand why/how the system could be taken advantage of but there have to be some situations besides my own where there is no child support, right? So here I am, perfectly capable and willing to go back to work. I’m welcome at my old job, but I don’t have any child care. I don’t qualify for child care assistance because I don’t receive child support. Instead, I was told to file unemployment. Then I was denied because I’m unable to work. Because I don’t have any child care. So here I sit, day in day out, twenty four seven with a toddler baby. I’ve actually had someone tell me to “enjoy the time off and relax” which OKAAYY I’m trying but being alone with a toddler constantly is about as far from a vacation as it gets. This is not time off, this is the hardest moment of my life. However, I am fortunate enough that my parents are gracious and able (at the moment) to pick up the slack. And this isn’t a pity party or something, I just need more people to be aware that government assistance is not something that’s easily taken advantage of and it’s something desperately needed by people like me and in much worse situations. So, that’s for you my republican frenemies 😉
Anyway, while I’ve been here quietly drowning in a pool of worry, regret, and nauseating uncertainty, my friends have all had ball’s enough to complain to me about their petty relationship issues. I am NOT the one these days, y’all. Lately, I’ve been ruthless and it feels amaaazing. If a man makes me doubt myself for even one second, guess what? See ya never! I don’t have any energy left for it. If someone does not positively benefit me and my life in some way, then I snuff it right the fuck on out. I mean, I’ve got no one in my life these days hahahaha but it feels one hundred percent better than being surrounded by bullshit. Pardon my potty mouth, the baby finally fell asleep 😉
So while the trappings of a “life” fall apart all around me (Oh, you might be wondering why I dont just move back home where Z’s grandparents could help, well I’m not legally allowed to leave the state for six more months) I guess I’ll keep deep-cleaning my home and my soul and just hope for the best? Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but the other night I sat down at my piano with my son in my lap and his hands on my hands and we played together. And I knew, in that moment, I haven’t ruined eeeverything yet. So even though I cry more than I like to admit, and have weird manic bouts of extreme OCD, I’ve got this really beautiful kid that smiles at me all day long. So for him, I’ll try to smile more and keep treading water til the floods subside.
The Playground Is My Nightmare
We take our children to the playground to have FUN, right? To let them socialize and, if we’re lucky, maybe meet a few like-minded parents? If we’re even luckier maybe we can actually sit down and relax for an entire three minutes while our little ones play nicely with eachother – or is that just a lofty dream? But lately, when I take my baby Z out, I get maaaajor playground anxiety. I don’t know what to do on the weekends when we’re surrounded by traditional families and d-a-d’s are everywhere..y’all I’m even afraid to say that word around him right now. I don’t even take him to the park on the weekend anymore because twice I’ve left crying. I know I’ll figure out how to talk to my child about everything; I know he’ll be understanding and forgiving, but I also know this is more than he deserves and far more than he should have to carry.
Today I was explaining to a young boy, probably around 6 years old, that while Z is very tall for his age he’s not yet two and is still figuring out how to share & play nicely with other children (I didn’t say “stop shoving and excluding my child you f*ng jerk” but man was I feelin’ it) when his mother said “wow not even two yet?! His parents must be really tall!”
……
…
???????
I stammered a little bit and unfortunately all that came out was “Uhh. Um, well. Well, yeah.” Then I scooped up Z and promptly started shoving his gold fish into my mouth to keep any mean words from coming out. Maybe (definitely) I’m a little overly sensitive these days, but fiiirst of all: why are you implying I’m not his mother? Second: I didn’t know how to say, in front of him, that yes his father is 6’4 but they’ve never even met and why don’t you stop “wow”ing about my child and start teaching yours not to shove?! We didn’t run away today though, we just avoided that little boy.
The first time I scooped up my son and literally ran from the park was right at the beginning of our legal situation I touched on earlier (don’t worry, I’ll come back to it.) I needed some fresh air and a fresh perspective, so we packed up a little picnic dinner and headed out to our favorite spot by Lake Michigan. A group of beautiful families was grilling right near by; the moms were chatting with wine in hand while the dads played Horsey with their kids. My sweet little Z went running towards them with his arms outstretched, wanting to join in the fun, but of course nobody scooped him up to gallop around. Instead we were both met with cautiously curious glances. I have tears in my eyes just writing this down. It was the first moment of stark realization that my son was fatherless. Naturally, I ran to him and said “I’ll be your horsey, baby! Come on, let’s go!” then gathered my son and our picnic hastily into my arms, ugly crying into his hair the whole way home. The second time I embarrassed us was much more recently, when a young girl around his age kept rushing over and declaring her father “MY DADDY! MYYYY DADDY!” every time Z walked in their general direction. I told her I was his mommy and she didn’t need to worry, he has family of his own. I said to him “you’ve got Grandpa and Grandma and mommy who love you very much” within earshot of her mother, so maybe she’d see that this was kind of uncomfortable..but, it’s not everyone’s job to understand our situation just by looking at us. It’s not the playground parent’s job to protect my son. It’s mine, but I don’t know how to. I feel like I’m failing, but I feel like I’m getting a little better, too.
Anyway, I’m sharing this because today was a small victory for us: we kept playing. I didn’t flinch and run away at the slightest discomfort. I’m sharing for anyone who has assumed someone with a child and no ring on her finger is the nanny. Please don’t do that. I’m sharing so maybe I can get some advice on how to better explain things to well-intentioned strangers without publicly crying, and maybe for some advice on how to explain things to my precious baby. I’m sharing, again, because I know I’m not alone.
When I Knew
I spent the summer of 2015 pregnant and trying to build a relationship from scratch with a stranger. I desperately wanted something good to happen. I wanted a loving, even if unusual, family and this man (let’s call him Ponytail) promised to provide that. He knew before my son was born that there was a chance he wasn’t the bio dad, but we were both fairly young, and this situation wasn’t an easy one to get advice for. Our families didn’t know about the tension, or secrets, or issues we were both suffering. He consistently came home completely drunk, three hours later than he said he would, and lied about it. I threatened to leave if he didn’t stop lying. But I was stubborn and I was pregnant – turns out that’s a really bad time to make any huge life-altering decisions. Things were looking bleak and feeling heavy; I didn’t know how many options I had for change or where to begin. So, I woke up every morning next to Ponytail and prayed to every god I don’t even believe in to give me strength, and a sign, and a way to make everything better..or to make it all disappear. I was falling out of touch with myself; I was falling into a deep and excruciating depression. All I wanted was a real life for my son. His biological dad wasn’t even in the same state anymore, but that’s a different story for another time. That strange summer turned to Autumn and my son was born on a stormy, grey morning – again, a story for another time.
The first few months were such a blur of literally just trying to get by with a newborn and a lying alcoholic for a partner that sometimes, honestly, it’s hard for me to look back fondly. My memories are a blur of my tears and my son’s; the feelings of doubt and fear and inadequacy as a mother hit me with full force every time I really put myself back into those memories. Anyone with a newborn needs to hear she did a great job, or at least not the worst.. I never did. Not from him, at least.
A year later, in the summer of 2016, I had started going back to work a few days a week and was feeling a little more like the woman I was becoming. I would say “the woman I was before” but she and I are very different people. I asked Ponytail to let me leave, to let me take my beautiful baby back home where we could have the support we both desperately needed. He said he would kill himself if we left. That threat wouldn’t be taken lightly by most people, but it completely shut me down into a place of complacency and darkness. He said this knowing full well that I carry guilt for losing someone to suicide a few years before. It wasn’t fair, but it worked. I didn’t kick him out of my house til February 2017. And when I did, I asked for sole custody. I said he could have a relationship with my son but I couldn’t do it anymore. He needed to leave for me to grow into the mother I knew I was born to be. You might be wondering what he did that was really so terrible it crushed my soul and stole my light, and there’s no easy way to describe the feelings that followed him around, but we’re all familiar with Toxicity right? He was Toxic for me. Ponytail was not the kind of man that spoke with conviction or sincerity, he never even responded the majority of the time I spoke to him. We weren’t right, it wasn’t healthy, and that’s all I will say right now. In May 2017 he came over one morning to watch my son while I went to work, and he purposefully picked a fight. He sat on the couch and calmly called the police – we were in the middle of a custody battle, I hadn’t yet asked again for the paternity test I wanted for years, he thought he could manipulate our custody battle by filing a false report. He said I attacked and assaulted him. You guys, I’m not a violent person and I couldn’t even throw a punch if I wanted to. The cops showed up and made him leave because they could clearly see nothing had happened. He never said goodbye to my son and that was the last time they saw eachother. My heart has broken for my son. I hired a criminal lawyer on top of the family lawyer I already had, and braced for impact. He pressed charges, I still dont understand how this case wasn’t dropped, and we spent this summer in and out of court. I needed a paternity test and I needed it fast. I needed to spend a little more time in the dark before I could illuminate the truth for my son and I.
Part One
When I was 16, we finally figured out why I was falling asleep everywhere (like on every date I went on with my high school boyfriend) why I had terrible headaches, a host of other physical issues, and no desire to do anything about it. I was diagnosed extremely late with hashimoto’s hypothyroidism. And while it’s not a terrible diagnosis – I can take medicine, monitor my levels to almost help me feel better – I can’t help but feel angry. I went undiagnosed for years, and during those years I went from an engaging, energetic girl with an extremely bright mind and future, to a teenager failing classes and falling asleep on dates. My energy levels were completely depleted, my body constantly ached, my brain was so foggy.
I’m angry.
I wonder, a little too frequently, who I’d be if we caught it earlier or if it just never happened to begin with. I can’t go down that rabbit hole too often. And because of all this I was never certain I’d be able to carry a child safely, if I was even able to conceive. My pregnancy was considered high risk and I still remember so vividly the fear, every single day, that I would lose him. Of course, I’ve never spoken about any of this with anyone so why whisper it to the internet? Well, I know I’m not alone. I also know all of this played a huge factor in deciding to keep my baby, even though my situation was less than ideal.
It Takes A Village
But what happens if you don’t have any family nearby and all of your friends are flakey or wildly irresponsible? Well, when you’re done crying and regretting (reminiscing) your old party-girl life that gave you all those “friends,” you apparently just start a blog! Hahaha no but really. I have no idea what you do, someone please tell me what to do. All I find when I google things like “how to handle single motherhood while you’re burning out” are answers like:
- Call on your family, they’re your greatest supporters – okay but like, not all of us have a supportive family, or family in the same state, and a literal “call” can’t watch your kid for an hour or make your dinner when you’re too exhausted.
- Ask your husband or partner to take the kid for a night – *skrrr wrrr* pump the brakes, didn’t I say “SINGLE mom” ?!?
- Take twenty minutes every morning, afternoon, and evening and devote it to silence and meditation, maybe even yoga and green tea – Okay, maybe I don’t have to spend two hours every evening just sitting in the dark. I guess I could try being *peacefully productive* but let’s be real, that’s my favorite and most depressing moment of the day. And mornings and afternoons are devoted to coffee, tickles, the playground, and existential crises at naptime. Who’s got time?!
So what CAN we do when we’re alone and losing it? Well. I’m no expert and my advice is usually pretty terrible, but I like to repeat the mantra “this too shall pass” and also drink wine 😉 Sometimes I even try washing my hair during naptime or cleaning out the fridge; both are necessary, slightly annoying, and give me that feeling of accomplishment while also being routine enough that my mind can just stfu for a sec.
Aaaanyway…Next time, I’ll talk more about my personal life, I know you’re dying for some details. I’ll also talk about dating as a single mother (and crazy person) because, my goodness, things have changed.
Mom's Honest Truth 