This morning I sit with laptop balanced on the arm of the couch, my little one in my lap, and my coffee in my free hand while we wake up to a sweet Saturday morning together. We rock-paper-scissored our breakfast decision earlier and so the house smells like bacon and our hands are sticky from peaches. And even though I cooked I’ll still have to do the dishes, but the sweetness of this moment makes even that thought okay.
Ah, the single mom life.
I’ve been teaching my little one how to tell a joke. He’s picking up a sense for timing and is developing his own wit already, and besides who doesn’t love a little charmer who can make you smile?
We started with knock-knock jokes and the classic “why did the chicken cross the road” varieties. This morning I tested him “Hey, C, I’ve got a joke for you”. His eyes lit up and I continued, “how do you catch a unique rabbit”? To which my little comic replied “Who’s there?”
We fell into a heap of laughter, probably for different reasons, and I thought to myself “I can’t wait to text my sister and my best friend, and…”
And then I stopped myself. It’s not as though the people closest to me wouldn’t care or wouldn’t laugh, but I thought about how all weekend I’ve been texting or telling them the latest “super cute” thing my son has said. And that’s when I realized I’d gone too far.
Ah, the single mom life.
100% of the love with 0% of anyone to share it with. And I say that in the happiest way possible for I wouldn’t trade this set of circumstances for the previous. Still, in all of my careful preparations, my hours of research, the books I’ve poured through, and talks with my therapist – I can’t help but feel caught off-guard here. Nobody prepared me for one of the biggest single parenting hazards: the over-share.
I’m that mom. The one who comes at you with arm extended brandishing her phone’s photo album before you’ve even said hello. I’m the mom friend everyone’s got who’s all “guess what the little progeny did today at school /soccer /music class /in the backyard” while the waiter is pouring you a glass of wine and you’re gesturing for him to keep pouring. I’m the mom who looks adoringly at her little one who’s running in circles around the living room in his underwear grasping a piece of bacon in each hand singing his ABC’s and thinking “OMG soooooooo cute! Who should I send this picture to first?!”
And then I sort of panicked: how long have I been doing this? How many bizarre pictures and kid quotes have my closest allies received with zero to little context? Does Hallmark make an “I’m sorry I keep harassing you with the most intimate moments of my life” card?
Let me be the first to warn you single moms: there is a very fine line between mass text proper use and mass text abuse. And let me be the first to tell all of the friends I’ve included in my mass text abuse that I have learned the error of my ways, and I thank you for standing by me through this trying time. Though you’ll never get those images out of your mind, I commit myself to exercising restraint in the future.
When I think back to when co-pare
nting began, I can remember taking pains to prepare myself for the roughest moments that surely lay ahead: lonely nights, solo temper tantrum management fun, public meltdowns faced alone, hectic schedules and dinner, sick days when you’re both sick, fielding questions from everyone – even holidays. I armed myself with research, coping techniques, emotional outlets like writing and a hot yoga fixation, prayer, and a short list of A-Team absolutes I could call, text, or email at the drop of a dime for support.
What I didn’t prepare myself for, however, was how to deal with the happy moments. What to do after you embrace your child who brought home a great report card, or said something hilarious, or built the mother of all Lego towers. It’s hard to turn, with a smile on your face and joy threatening to burst out of your heart, because your little one just made a basket or figured out how to ride his bike and not find anyone there to share that bliss. For all the pain I prepared myself to face as a single mother I did nothing to ready myself for the sharp ache that is loneliness experienced in the happiest of times.
Friends, I stand beside my earlier promise to exercise restraint, but if you get the occasional strange text from me with 4-year old dialogue or another “adorable!!” picture of my nearest and dearest, please know that in that singular moment of happiness I turned and I reached for you. Because I needed to know I wasn’t completely alone. And it probably really was hilarious or adorable.
So, how do you catch a unique rabbit? It’s an old joke: unique (say it like: you-neek) up on him. And that’s really how we’ll be handling things over here: laughter and silly jokes. Because you’ve got to keep smiling.
