Single Mummy Pigeon Hole:Tight but Superior Squeeze

Single mums are desperate creatures, spending every waking moment away from their children hunting down an appropriate or not, we’re not fussy- man to raise our children and buy us presents. Then we do it all over again after having more babies, which again we are just dying to do. Our lives are considerably harder than that of a married mother, with a manly capable (or not, they’re not fussy either) man on hand to lift the little sunbeam out of their sights at every available occasion. We do not sleep, because the one available evening that our children visit their other parent, we are squeezing ourselves into our most fancy of fancy mutton outfits and hitting the town, hunting replacement fathers en masse. Ya-huh.

Can I just butt in here and clear a couple of things up? Oh no, I’m not mad, just disappointed. Shame on you! I will shuffle out of my seat at this stage, stand up and announce I am a single mother. I have a child out of wedlock-disgusting, I know- and am raising him without the presence of a man in the house. How very bloody daring of me, courageous! Its not difficult. Try not to scream your single mother pleas at this point, because we all know it would be just as hard with another person around, and even more frustrating to have them niggling about with their interfering ‘I was brought up like….’ speeches. Call me a control freak, but its nice to have a one man (woman) management system to run this ship. The discipline, love, encouragement and all that’s in between is down to me six days of the seven day week. Trips to Daddy’s are like respite for my child after spending the week with Herr Frau over here. Yes yes single mother banshee, there is the whole ‘I’d just like to nip out for a magazine at 6pm without the screaming child on my back’ moment, or my personal favourite, ‘do I have chocolate in the house, because as of 7pm, we’re on lockdown….’. Indeed, a man who be handy for general fetching, babysitting, washing, cleaning and the like, but believe you me, I think the jury is universally out on that one so we’re not missing much.

I get up when I like, except on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday when I get rudely awakened by the miniture screams of Meme. I put my dressing gown on, have a cup of tea, and allow my child to run his Thomas train over my breasts like old Tom is actually on a small Himalayan adventure while I spend about twenty minutes searching for a healthy level of consciousness. We spend the entire day in a small tug of war contest, him battling me and vice versa until bedtime arrives and I can make the most of my evening on the sofa, likening the imprisonment to being ‘on tag’. Surprisingly, a heavy ASBO teen and I have very much in common. I get watched by the child-mine, not the teen, keep up- while I wee or shower, and I have now learnt to eat a well balanced evening meal in less than fourty seconds. No one walks through the door at 5pm to scoop the little monster up and take him off my hands for an hour, and instead we muddle through what’s well-known throughout the parenting gang as ‘Witching Hour’ until he finally bites the bullet and realises he is defeated.

I like the lack of man. I am a control freak, so that may have slightly more bearing on that statement, but its nice to do things at our own pace. We do fun stuff, just me and the miniature, with no battle for attention- I am numero uno parent, the cool one, the one in charge, and most importantly, the one who provides the food for the majority of the week, which rates highly in my boy’s eyes. I get guaranteed free time (mostly used to catch up on Sky Plus, paint my nails and keep doctor’s appointments that no child should be present for) every week, which my married parenty friends yearn for and dream of. I even get to shop without a pushchair, and enjoy an evening meal in a, wait for it…. restaurant. That isn’t a Harvester. Ha, high five single mums. I still have fun, and yes yes, occasionally drink- but this is done when I am not in possession of said child, as I have the luxury of drinking a bottle of wine in the house without the dread od a six am wake up call the next morning with cotton wool/cement mixer head. So I shall carry on with the facade that my life is both tough and exhausting to you, when I’m secretly smug about the fact that my next lie in is only 3 days away. Not so shabby after all, eh?


~ by Scarlettice on September 18, 2010.

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