Saturday, July 13, 2013
So....I became a single mom on Oct. 1, 2012. Gosh, why is that so hard for me to say... Is it because I hate the label "single mom"? It implies that I am alone. Which I am not. I have tons and tons of love from my three year old little boy. I call him my little angel baby because he prefers to be called a baby rather than a little boy. So he is going to be my angel baby for the next 70 years until I die at age 106. And when you do not have a supportive husband, you learn to build a community of support. Or at least I did. And those friends become your family. You love them. And you need them. Maybe that is kind of the scary part. You really friggin' NEED those people. Just knowing they are there takes away from the whole alone persona. For example, Max and I got sick this past weekend. We were home all alone and my downstairs neighbor brought us a few supplies that we started to run low on in the night. She brought us disposable diapers and pedialite popsicles. I mean there's no way in hell I could have had enough diapers on hand to prepare for my son to literally "pee" out his ass all night long. And those popsicles saved the day when he would not and could not eat or drink anything else. So that was awesome. Or beyond awesome to have her drop off some necessary supplies. And I never felt alone for a split second. I was cleaning shit and vomit all night long and quite frankly Max and I really enjoyed our time together. We caught up on all the hip and latest cartoons and I got my bathroom sparkling clean while we discussed Mickey Mouse's train tracks in between projectile episodes. And then the next night when Max went to go spend the night with his daddy, I did not feel alone. I reserved that time to become tragically ill, fight off a fever, and sleep in a coma until my little angel arrived home. It was great. I felt so supported. I had the help from daddy that I had been begging for, for three years. I was resting and taking care of yours truly...moi. I'm singing some Thrift Shop, "I'm gonna' rock right now.....This is...AWESOME!" Because I'm simply thinking about how much better single motherhood is than living in an abusive house hold. Wee! I'm so happy! I began having flashbacks of when Max and I got food poisoning back when he was one year old. It may have been one of the top worst days and nights of our lives. I pulled his vomit covered body out of his crib and was cleaning him off in the kitchen sink. By the time he was mostly clean, I couldn't even get a towel wrapped around him because I had to run to the toilet for my own "dyre" situation. I had already taken off my shirt at that point because it was covered in old chunky regurgitated food so of course my sick baby was nursing while I'm stuck on the toilet. I finally scraped up the shit...I mean the courage to call from the bathroom, "Please help. I'm sooo sorry to wake and bother you. I know you have to work tomorrow. But I'm really desperate." I'm disgusted to think back on that defeated, broken down, trembling voice. I only asked for help if I thought I was dying. It was a typical abusive relationship based on fear. Today I would yell, "You lazy, selfish mother fucker, Get your fat ass out of bed and help me with YOUR sick son." And I'm sure I would add some other really unbecoming language into the conversation and make it really nasty. Like, "Hey fuck face. I fucking hate you and you are a dead beat dad but I don't have anyone else to call on right now so HHHEEEELLLLPPP!!!" Ok, so I would never really yell all those F bombs out loud. I'm a yoga teacher for goodness sake. I would only think those awful thoughts, push them to the side, label them thoughts, and then use my southern sweetness to welcome daddy to nighttime parenting. And who knows, maybe I would trip over one or two F bombs because I just can not imagine repressing emotion the way I did in my son's father's house. It was so unhealthy for all of us. Gross with a capital G. Today is such a much better day. I can really feel the support around me. I love waking up in a beautiful home without someone making fun of me for still being in bed in the mornings after a long night of nursing. Or if I fall asleep without cleaning the dishes, it's no big deal because I will get to it in the morning. Or if I forget to sweep the balcony, water the plants, or make the bed, no one besides me will freak out. If Max is happy, I am happy. And he is happy! But here is the misperception. When a woman with a child moves out of an abusive situation, she is not ending the abusive relationship. Because the nature of abuse is very manipulative and seductive and the cycle continues. From day to day you never know if you are going to receive grenades or chocolates from the abuser. In my case, my son goes back and forth from mommy to daddy on a very regular basis. So I am still in an abusive relationship and I want to make that clear. But it is still soooo much better than living under the same roof as my abuser. Let's name my son's father "Mr. A" for blogging purposes. It really is quite a fitting label. He is A. Everyone around him is treated as B or C or less. He has a type A personality. If he loves you, he will treat you like you are a disposable employee. So he remains A while you teter between F and Z. I know that there is always a chance I will receive something extra sweet upon my abuser's arrival. But here's what I do. I brace myself as if I am walking into a war, so I am prepared for anything. I barely speak to him because that never goes well. I pass important information to him via email. Because Mr. A communicates in a much kinder manner through the internet than voice. Good old fashioned talking does not work for us. So if I do receive chocolates, or as in yesterday's case, some pastrami (it was a gift for Max), I am careful to realize that this is simply one kind moment. This is not eternal relief. My secret wish is that he has finally come around and is ready to share his life with us. When ever I think that way, let my guard down, and am not prepared, he will rear his ugly face and sucker punch me in the gut. Not literally but metaphorically. And the verbal assaults can take forever to heal. I am prepared to hold on to my own strength for the rest of my life. So we continue our abusive relationship on a more equal playing field. Suddenly I, the victim, have (drum roll....) rights! And I am no longer a victim, but an amazing single mom with a less traditional house hold! And now make room for my husband. Wherever he is. I am looking for him. Please let him know that if he exists I don't even need the flowers. I'll take a hug and some emotional support and call it a day.