SINGLE MOMS: HOW TO MINIMIZE THE "WOE IS ME"

I recently started blogging for a fantastic website called GalTime. Thought I'd share with you a post I wrote about being a single mom and how it's all too easy to live in "woe is me" land. While I certainly wouldn't consider myself the poster child for single mothers everywhere (as all of our journeys are so very different), I will say that I think my advice, though simple and very literal, could help ease some of the anxieties that all moms face- single, separated, divorced, dating or happily hitched. Looking forward to your thoughts....

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Single Moms: How to Minimize the "Woe is Me"

By Jennifer Brandt

on Tuesday, March 1, 2011

While the Stay at Home vs. Working Mom debate rages on, I find myself fighting (internally) for a different group of moms who’ll never have to duke it out for the “Who Has it Harder” title.

Hands down, bottom line, no ifs, ands or buts: Being a single mom is harder than any Target running or career juggling mom’s life. Why? Because we have to do both of those. Simultaneously. And maybe (never) wash our hair.

I have a hard time, however, when our “plight” gets little sympathy. When people insinuate that single motherhood is a choice—that even if a woman chose to leave a marriage or (gasp) chose to have children without a partner, that the burdens and challenges she might face are her fault. Like, You made your bed, now lie in it.

As a single mom, this has probably been one of my biggest hurdles: How to allow myself to feel the stress, pressure, and “holy sh*tness” of being a single parent, without feeling guilty about how or why I got here. This is not easy…. especially when the second biggest emotional hurdle is pity. Oh, I do love a good pity party every now and again, especially on the days that absolutely nothing is going right. Flat tire? I’m alone. Big bill come in? I’m alone. Spill my Starbucks on my favorite dress? Son of a b*tch, and oh, yep. Still alone!

However, I’ve found that there are a few things that I can do to minimize the 'woe is me' sessions. Things that I can do to feel great about where I am in life, challenges and all.

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LOSING NEMO: A YEAR IN PEACE

Last weekend, a friend of mine told me that as a parting gift at a child's birthday party, her 2 year-old son was given a goldfish. I had 3 responses, consecutively:

#1) Are you fucking serious?!

#2) Wow. That's cool.

#3) Did they give you a bowl?

No... she said. They did not. No bowl. They just handed her a fish IN A BAG, and said thanks for coming. That was it. I tried to spin it in my mind... Perhaps that was a clever and cool alternative to Silly Bandz, candy, or some chatchke from Oriental Trading Company (seriously, spare me the junk people). But I never was really able to decide how I felt about such an extreme parting gift that a child really won't be able to "part" with anytime soon... unless they have parents like me, who let fish die and/or send them to fish heaven.

Anyway... all of this reminded me of our own dead fish incident of 2010. It's hard to believe "Nemo" has been gone a year. In memory of losing nemo, I thought I'd share with you an old post. Enjoy. And never give me a fish as a gift.

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Originally posted: February 9 ,2010

Last week, our lovely and adorable babysitter Ash-a-wee texted me to see if she could buy Baby-Ko a fish. Hmm. This is tough.... On one hand, a goldfish would be the perfect pet for us to have as I, a) am not an animal person and, b) Baby-Ko is fascinated by them. On the other hand, a) I am not an animal person and fish are right up there with birds and b) I have killed every single fish I have ever owned, not including the one from the very intentional murder/Purim incident of 1985. In fact, I have another confession: When I was 13, I killed my sister's goldfish with this fake "Cinderella" perfume she had in her dress up chest, just 'cuz. Point is, me and fish, notwithstanding sushi, don't do well together.

BUT, Baby-Ko... sweet Baby-Ko... I want to give him the world, and if that means feeding some slippery slimy fish and skimming out poo, then goddammit, I'll (vomit in my mouth) do it.

When I got home from work that night, Baby-Ko opened the door and beamed, "Mommy! Ash-a-wee bought me fish! In my house! Come, mommy, come!"

He marched me in to the living room. There, on the coffee table was a (dare, I say it?) a pretty-ish Black "Beta" Fish.... Living in my VERY pretty Kate Spade round vase. "Oh, goooood.... you found a bowl," half laughing.

Ash-a-wee told me she'd be going back to Petco tomorrow to pick up a proper bowl and some rocks, and also: She would clean the bowl and feed him when she came. PHEW. The fish has a chance at living.

"What did you name him?" I asked.

"Nemo!" Baby-Ko exclaimed. "He is Nemo, Mommy!"

"Nemo. Perfect!"

Though I desperately wanted to rename him something clever, or something even obvious like 'Bemo' (short for Black Nemo, which potentially sounds offensive), I shared in his pride over his very first pet. Nemo it is.

From the beginning, Nemo seemed to be a "slower" more "static" creature, if you will, never really moving from one place (even when Baby-Ko put his face up to the vase and shouted his name). However, it was to my shock and dismay when less than 24 hours later, I returned from a party and my mom whispered to me, "I think Nemo is dead." Shit.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Nothing. Nemo wasn't even belly up... Rather, he was on the bottom of the bowl. Upside down. Dead. Asleep. For good.

"What happened, Mommy?" Baby-Ko said, noticing my concern.

"Nothing, love. Nemo's sleeping. Let's go play with your trains." Not prepared to talk about life, death, and beta fish heaven, I redirected him to the other room...

A few minutes later, we got a call from T-Ko asking if we could Skype, as he is out of town for work. (BTW, I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you that T-Ko and I separated last May and are getting divorced... At some point I'm sure I'll share more. But for now, let's honor Nemo... :-)) Anyway, over Skype, which we routinely do, we told him about Nemo and that Nemo is "sleeping" (wink, wink). I was fully prepared to do a bait and switch of Nemo the next day, but T-Ko had a different idea.

"Baby-Ko, look at my view," he pointed the computer camera out the window to the river. "Daddy's hotel is on a river. You should send Nemo to the river!"

Gulp.

"Go with Mommy to the bathroom and you can pour Nemo in to the toilet and flush him down to the river so I can see him."

"Good idea, Daddy!" I said, with a smile like Chandler Bing.

In to the bathroom we marched... Without much warning, I picked up my very pretty Kate Spade Vase. Swoooosh....

"Bye bye Nemo, go see Daddy!" I said.

Baby-Ko stuck his head to the toilet, "Where Nemo go?"

"...To come see me!" T-Ko said, "I'm going to go down to the river and get him."

A few more questions and love-you's later, Baby-Ko and T-Ko finished their chat.

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Now every time I go in to the bathroom, Baby-Ko does look somewhat concerned. Because Baby-Ko's only 2 years old, I can't say that my first choice would have been to send Nemo to Savannah to see T-Ko and the river... But I admire T-Ko's quick response to putting the fish to rest for good.

In the meantime, any suggestions for how to explain to said 2-year old that when I sit down

on the toilet, Mommy isn't "sending her poo-poo and pee-pee down to the river to go see Daddy???"

NATIONAL LIKE YOURSELF DAY

When's the last time you looked in the mirror, and saw those dark circles under your eyes as a status symbol-- a beautiful indication of the hours you put into your family and life, instead of a sign of exhaustion and stress? Or when's the last time you looked down at your breasts (literally DOWN at your breasts, as they now fall below the equator) and considered their (dis)placement as a rite of passage, instead of "the shitty thing about breastfeeding?" OR when's the last time you looked at your ass in your not skinny jeans but alllmost 2 sizes CLOSER to the skinny jeans, and thought it looked perfectly fine...instead of a fat blob of once hot goodness?

Though charming, delightful, and entirely inspirational, let's be honest: those love yourself/love your body/ Dove campaign moments are few and far between for most of us. Amidst a divorce, a relationship post divorce, a house foreclosing, a career I wish would explode and a 3-year old who pretty much does explode when I wish he wouldn't--- I spend a lot of time in "woe is me" land. But it occurred to me yesterday, while on the treadmill (for the first time in god knows how long), that I'm not so bad. All things considered, I'm pretty goddamn spectacular. Yep, I said it.... And then I said it again, and again and again... And it got me thinking.... What if for one day, I just LIKED MYSELF. And I'm not even talking about the real "it's the inside that matters" stuff like personality, and generosity and intelligence, blah blah blah. I'm talking strictly superficial. HOW I LOOK. What if for one day, I shouted from the roof tops the things that I seriously, SERIOUSLY like about myself. The things that I can SEE in a mirror that I can always feel good about no matter what. The things that will be there with or without a promotion, with or without a significant other to cuddle with, with or without a best mommy of the year award...

Like my nose... I love my nose.

My ankles... I love my ankles.

My eyebrows... With a little help, I love my eyebrows.

Now it's your turn. It's NATIONAL LIKE YOURSELF DAY and I'm challenging YOU to like yourself today too. Choose three things that you love about yourself physically. Share them in the comments here and/or on your own blog. Be sure to leave a link and link back to me too. Tweet it, facebook it, share it with your community and spread the like yourself love....

Who's in?

THE STATE OF AFFAIRS

If the inside of a woman's purse is the window to her soul, then I am very much screwed.

It dawned on me the other day as I reached down into my once beautiful Marc by Marc Jacobs bag, that my purse has now become a laboratory for filth... an endless abyss of coins (not the kind that help at a meter), leaky pens, tampons (that scream toxic shock), and crumbs from snacks that look like they've gone through the food processor.... I'm scared to reach inside. I'm scared of my own purse.

I don't quite know how I have become LITERALLY a crazy bag lady.... But I have. Want a broken bangle? I'm your gal! Need seventeen health insurance cards... from 2004? Hello! Looking for a lip gloss that you'd have to smash open to get the last drop of color from? Look no further!

Friends, my purse is a danger zone. Stick your hand inside and it's MANICURE SUICIDE.

But what can I do? The state of my purse is a direct reflection of my life and right now I'm on over drive and in auto pilot... I've got A LOT on my plate... A lot of messy, scattered, and unorganized things going on......

Fortunately, it's the little things in life right now like Baby-Ko's obsession with Lady Gaga (aka Goo-Goo Ga-Ga) that helps the state of affairs feel a little less frantic. That is... when I don't have a headache from listening to it on a loop. Of course, I shouldn't complain. My purse IS chock full of ibuprofen packets should I need some....

LIKE A FIDDLE

As mentioned a few weeks ago, I have officially become a single mom. This change in status not only comes with a slew of complex emotions and sadly, hairier legs, but also an onslaught of incessant mommy guilt.... which, as a working parent, who happens to work in the world of parenting, it can feel a little overwhelming. So, with a 2.5 year old little boy, my sensitivity level to what might ultimately eff him up for life (due to said divorce) is at an all time high...

That said, I think it's gone too far and Baby-Ko knows it. The kid is playing me. He hears the guilt in my voice every time I say "no" (and then give in). He senses my worry that he may have issues some day as a result of the divorce every time he begs for "one more minute" (and then I give in). He sees the stress of a difficult year on my face every time he chucks my phone across the room (.... and I do nothing about it).

He's on to me. He's got me hook, line and sinker. Dialed in. Putty in his hands....

And he's starting to take advantage.

Please refer to recent events, if you will:

For a week or so, right before lights out, Baby-Ko would turn over in his bed and say,

"Mommy, I want my dadddddddy."

Gulp. "I'm so sorry. I, I, I--- I know. It's okay," I said trying to hide the knife ripping my aorta. "Okay, my love. Mommy's here. Let me pat your tushy." (Yes, he likes his tushy patted.)

But, one minute turned into 5 minutes. 5 minutes turned in to 10 minutes. And 10 minutes turned in to missing 30 Rock, Lost, and Baby-Ko never having to sit in a shopping cart at the market for the rest of the week.

Surely, you didn't think ME working in the world of parenting meant *I* actually know what I'm doing, did you???

About a week later... before lights out....

"Mommy, I want my daddddddy."

"I know you want your daddy. I'm sorry you have sad feelings. We'll call him in the morning."

"But I sad."

"I'm sorry you're sad," I said trying not to think about the therapy fund that I should have set up for him in utero. "It's time to go night night, Baby-Ko. Go night night..."

...And eventually, with more tushy patting then a Major League Baseball Game, he fell asleep.

It took a few more nights, but then it hit. I got it ....

"Mommy, I just. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my daaaadddy."

"I know you miss your daddy. We'll call him in the morning. It's night night time."

"But, but. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Mimi." (Mimi is my mom. His grandma. A woman he sees about 4 TIMES a week.)

"Okay, baby. We'll call Mimi in the morning. Go night night."

"But, but, I just so sad, mommy!" He said dramatically.

"Why. Why are you sad, Baby-Ko?" I asked trying to be patient.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Ash-a-wee." Um.... (Ash-a-wee is his babysitter. A woman he sees about 5 TIMES a week.... And had left just 2 hours prior.)

"Oooo-kay, Baby-Ko. I know you miss Ash-a-wee. Let's go to bed. Mommy is going out of here now," I said as I turned to the door.

"Mommy! Wait!" He screamed.

"Yes, Baby-Ko."

"I sad!"

"WHY. ARE. YOU. SAD?" I said doing my absolute best to exude patience.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my sisters...."

"Your SISTERS???"

"Yeah. My sisters. I so sad."

"Good night, Baby-Ko," I said holding in my laugh and patting his tushy one last time before I left the room.

That night my only child slept through the night. And I finally caught on to him AND caught up on Lost.