The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Monday, 1 September 2014
Should we continue this masquerade?
Some time ago I wrote about an article I'd read about women having to choose between being a homely mother and wife or wild social explorer. I've come to thinking about this again.
As women, what is expected of us and what happens when we don't meet these expectations?
This is most obvious when I have rare 'time off' from being a Mum and other parents are often shocked to hear me join in their conversations about children. I guess I just don't look like a Mum without the buggy. What is a Mum supposed to look like? I don't remember a uniform being included in my Bounty pack up on giving birth.
Much as I don't have a uniform for motherhood, I do find myself wearing a range of costumes. By day, I am a professional, desperately hoping to instill and inspire a love of English in our young people. Post 5pm I've changed into my tired but enthusiastic Mum of a toddler get up. Except on the week night my Son is wuth his Dad. Then I put on my 'single 30 year old woman' costume. It's best I keep that one to myself; it's scary. Which one is truth and which are simply a masquerade?
There are two more costumes I've yet to mention: 'date night' and 'the friend.' These costumes speak for themselves and I find self asking whether, with such an array of costumes, we lose ourselves?
I am unsure as to whether it is possible for my character to be so complex that it combines no less than five huge elements. Am I really that labyrinthine?
What about my friends? Those who have children; is it the same for them? Those without children; do they play the role of ever explaining as to why they don't have or want children? How tiring.
Speaking with a friend recently, we came to the idea of what we should have done or be doing. We SHOULD have children. We SHOULD raise them on a diet of blueberries, smiles and NO nasty TV. We SHOULD, SHOULD, SHOULD. Aside from children, we SHOULD want a big wedding. We SHOULD want the perfect little house. We SHOULD want the perfect husband and, if he isn't perfect, we SHOULD make him so. We have the ability to actually control the choices of others, don't you know?
We don't though, do we? We are only human and I suspect that the idea of should comes from ourselves. From within and from other women. Not men. We pressure ourselves to be everything. Even my stay at home Mum friends feel they should (I'm tired of shouting at you) bake cakes, they should have a perfectly tidy house and they should be the perfect wife and mother. Do their husbands expect this? Possibly, in some cases but I think it runs much deeper than this.
For years, we have and still are, fighting for our equality and mutual respect. As such, we feel a need to justify our decisions: 'I stay at home because...' 'I work because...' 'I don't want/have children because...' and so on. It all comes back to the idea of should. Women feel they should have children because we can. They should be working Mums because their predecessors fought for these rights. Contrary to this, they should stay at home because their children need them. Somewhere within us, are all of the expectations of women of the past entrained on us? Confusing.
Should we really be using the word 'should' or could we ban it from our vocabulary? Just as we raid our costume cupboard, we could consider raising our lexicon for a more appropriate challenge.
*note: while writing this, my Son was eating blueberries, half smiling and watching TV.
Thursday, 21 August 2014
Poem: Taking liberties.
I've written this tonight, more as a performance poem/spoken word performance. Here it is anyway.
Taking liberties.
I want you to know that what you did was all worth it, what you said turned to concrete,
While I'm breaking, see me spit.
The movements I'm making, liberties that I'm taking, with a lexicon forming from the back of my throat.
If lust was our calling, we were more than appalling. From our insides to out, we're always pushing and peeling.
With a caustic container, always tried to contain ya. Number fifteen performer at the end of your year.
If love is the reason, darlin, you commit treason. Every day of your life, you're always spilling the poison.
In beauty we trust, obviously hope is a must. For every self respecting poet who is covered in rust.
You see, you can't believe in fate if you are gonna survive. You know you can't believe in God if you are gonna make my brain cry.
Cos everybody knows that reason is the way you can thrive, as Liza said "everybody loves a winner" so you'd better abide.
Remember, life is a cabaret, old chum and you are the only clown. You see the tears you cry are phony, it's time for you to get down.
If love is the reason, darling, your drug is pleasing. Everyday of your life, you're building my poison.
Wednesday, 20 August 2014
The truth of it.
A whole year has passed since my family changed and I've not really shared my experience as a single Mum so far.
It's hard. Really hard. Almost impossible to define.
On a practical level, it can be exhausting, especially balancing a challenging full time career with a demanding toddler. Lack of sleep and being expected to be on top form are tiring. More tiring than I could have imagined.
On a financial level, it's stretching, worrying and unfair, quite simply.
The practical and financial challenges are easier to deal with, however, than the emotional and social tests. The children's birthday parties, with happy Mums and Dads, so proud of their child are hard. No one is supposed to say that, of course, and generally we (single Mums) only say so to each other. While I am happy spending my life as a pair, it still doesn't stop the agony of watching the Daddy fetch the drinks, sing his child happy birthday or kiss his partner in a moment of thanks for the family they have built.
Now, whenever I say this, kind friends reply by saying that these couples are probably miserable anyway. This isn't the point though; I don't wish misery on anyone. I truly hope they are happy but it still causes temporary blindness and the heaviest, yet emptiest hole imaginable.
Then, come the sympathetic glances, questions of how I manage and overly caring gestures. I am not ungrateful, as this comes from a good place, but I can't help but feel a little abnormal.
Everyone around me has either found their happy ending or is just embarking upon it.
I am not asking for sympathy and I am not asking for praise. This is just the truth of it.
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Motherhood: primal or progress?
I want to be attractive. I want to feel attractive. Vain as it may be; it's important to me. I have come to a place where I am happy with my body and can always rely on my standard 'I look good considering I have a 2 year old...oh, and he was MASSIVE!' I make jokes. It's what I do.
Becoming single again and building a relationship post baby brings a whole new element to this. The father of your child kind of has to deal with your post baby body. It comes with the territory. A new man, however, is a totally different game. With a new relationship comes reflection upon your own body. On the one hand, a new found confidence and, on the other, a curious predicament.
Am I different to other women who haven't had children? How much so? Does it make a difference?
Following a passing comment I made about my stretch marks, the Mad Hatter* replied with something simply perfect. To him, my changed body makes me more attractive and sexy because I have undertaken the most primal experience possible.
With this in mind, I come to think how, as women, we are encouraged to cover or fix ourselves. This idea of our changing bodies being part of a primal transformation seems to me progress. In a society which shames our bodies through the pre and post birth stages, this return to primitive acceptance gives us all something to learn from.
I'm not saying the Mad Hatter is perfect but it certainly gave me something to consider.
Carroll's Alice said 'I cannot go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.' How very true this is.
*For the purposes of this blog, my partner is called the Mad Hatter purely because of our mutual love of Alice in Wonderland.
A dull update.
It's been a while since I've posted anything. I won't bore you with my life over the past couple of months but here's the lowdown:
Ethan is almost 2 and has been going to a new nursery. His tantrums are mental but his personality and our relationship is wonderful.
I have a man in my life. The details are too special to share.
I am teaching at a new school. I love it.
A year after my life was shattered, things are good. I'm good. It isn't even about having a bloke or my job. I am just good. Obviously, there are down days and tough times but they soon brighten up.
Monday, 21 April 2014
Matters of survival.
Firstly, it is ok to feel angry or upset. Most of all, it is ok to cry. Normal in fact. More than this, it is ok to cry in front of others and more than ok to talk about it. This is not a sign of weakness.
Secondly, others can help. I don't have to do everything on my own and others are actually happy to help. This is not a sign of weakness.
Finally, that dreams are still possible. It isn't all over for me and it is ok to believe this. This also is not a sign of weakness.
Parental responsibility and parental guilt.
I carry this concept of 'more' with me in everything I do; most of all in parenting. Should I be doing more as a Mother? Does my son need more? Does he want more? Can I give him more? How can I provide more? More time. More of a home. More of a future.
This is not to say that our life is in any way lacking. We are incredibly lucky to have a home, my income and each other. However, I cannot help but think on a daily basis that I should own a home for Ethan, have savings ready for his future and just provide more for him. Perhaps this is the price we pay for modern existence. We want for more when our lives already hold so much. Or maybe this is something of a personal nature. Something far less political; far less of a social study.
I have been thinking about where this idea comes from and have come to several conclusions. The first is that I have always pushed myself. Whether this be in my career or personal life, I have always expected a lot of myself. I was an 'average' student who achieved highly, I was the unpopular girl who became the centre of attention, I was the goth who settled down to have a family. I always worked hard at whatever my focus was and this still stands today in my rather unusual life.
As a Mother it is impossible for me to reach the heights I aspire to, for what I yearn for is my child to want for nothing and always be happy. Impossible. As parents we want this from the second we are aware of the existence of our child, but it literally isn't possible. Children will be unhappy, as babies, teenagers and adults. As parents I guess all we can do is be there to make the unhappiness slightly less unbearable. What a horrible job that is in reality.
Underneath all of this, at the root of this feeling is a fear of failure. I fear I have suffered failure as a writer, as a singer and as a wife. Now, these things may may not necessarily seem as though they link to a fear of failure as a parent, but one ultimately makes me feel as though I have already failed my son. I wanted my child to grow up with both his parents together as a unit. Maybe I am old fashioned, maybe I was dreaming, maybe it was all a joke.
Jokes aside, I know that my son still has both of his parents and that I am here for him in every way. I do my best for him and he will hopefully grow up understanding that. However much I know this, it doesn't stop my from thinking otherwise. Maybe this is the curse of parenting, or the curse of an analytically inclined mind.
I am not sure exactly.
Perhaps I should just be.
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