I think the thing I dislike most about being a single parent is not the endless bottom-wiping, soothing, mediating and cheerleading. It’s not the juggling of budgets and priorities and not being able to go for a wee without answering a series of questions through the door ranging from the meaning of life to what really did happen to the goldfish (I’ll give you a tip, it didn’t actually go to live on a farm).
It’s the endless, wearying, annoying grind of having to make every decision, major and minor, all by myself.
Moving or staying. Buying cars and sofas. Booking holidays and going on the sodding holidays and wondering what the hell we’re going to eat this week when the children go on beef stroganoff strike. Schools and music lessons and new clothes. Whether to study for a degree or act like a proper grown up and schlep back to my full time job.
There are days that I take it all in my stride and kick ass at this single mother business. There are times that I look around at my small but comfy home, and my happy, well balanced, likeable children and feel like putting on a t-shirt that raves about how awesomely I am doing.
And then there are days like today. When I want to find a convenient location – a supermarket aisle seems to be the popular choice for toddlers – and just have a full-blown, foot kicking, screaming tanty and wait for an adultier adult to come and sort it all out.
That would make a less cheerful t-shirt. It would not feature the word ‘Goddess’. It would probably say ‘Coping – and frozen pizza never hurt anyone’.
Still not bad as a life slogan.
Peace out x