“And though we had it rough, we always had enough” -2Pac
This is a little blog for my godson Elijah and a little girl named Corinne (That’s a 2Pac reference for those of you who don’t know). Over the past years his “Keep Ya Head Up” has become somewhere between my single-mom anthem and the soundtrack to my life. I find myself listening to it during those sacred 15 minutes between dropping of my not so much of a morning person eleven year old and arriving at work to face the unknown. Some days I find myself turning it on again in the car on the way home after avoiding calls all day from 1-800 numbers wanting the money I owe them, getting calls from the school, balancing my bank account over and over in my head and praying for a fishes and loaves type miracle which would allow $40.00 to pay for food, gas, a Halloween costume, the book fair, the cable bill, and well, the student loans—that is another post for another day! Like the song says, “Tryin to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, it’s hard to stay legit and still pay the rent.”
Then come the really hard days when I put it on repeat and climb into the bathtub and just cry. Because “Tupac cares if don’t nobody else care.” I guess it is fitting, since I spent so much of my teens and early twenties “praying to the porcelain God” that my thirties have brought me to a newfound alter just to its left. The bathtub is the ultimate single mom breakdown spot. It’s warm, it’s relaxing, and if your kids come in (and, of course they will, who are we kidding—10 minutes alone? Yeah right) you can splash your face with water and they will think you are just wet -- not crying because you are exhausted and lonely and scared shitless. And bathrooms and bathtubs seem to have a certain quiet echo which complements my squeaky, teary rendition of 2Pac: “Because there's too many things for you to deal with/Dying inside, but outside you're looking fearless/While tears, is rollin down your cheeks/Ya steady hopin things don't fall down this week”. Maybe my bathtub moments are the darkest hour before dawn, but just maybe the echos of the ceramic and the water carry the cries and the anger and the questions right on up to God’s ears. Once I run out of hot water and tears, I pull the plug on it and get out to face life again, because by then, something else is probably broken and there is laundry and homework to be done. But somehow, things feel better.
People tell me all the time, “I don’t see how single parents do it.” Trust me, some days I don’t know either. Often I try to respond with the optimistic response, “Just like any other parent, we give it 100% and at the end of the day, hope it was enough,” which is true. But the other day when my friend told me she didn’t know how I did it all on my own, I leveled with her and said, “Barely. And sometimes not very well. Sometimes I am barely hanging on. I am broke, and I am broken down.” And that is true, too. After battling with my child, battling with work, battling with her school and trying to maintain a budget, a household , a social life and some semblance of sanity, it leaves you depleted at best, defeated at times. Sometimes the best parenting I can pull off is to not take my shoe off and throw it at her in the backseat. It is exhausting and lonely and terrifying enough to make a grown woman go hide in the damn bathtub and cry! Add in a touch of PMS, an extra bill or a flat tire and it is enough to push you right over the f’n edge—I write this as I enjoy a mental health day off from work because I had been dancing on the edge so long I could feel my blood pressure in my eyes.
So how do I do it? I do as much as I can of what I HAVE to do, I do a little of what I OUGHT to do, and I try to do something I WANT to do every day. I remind myself that I CHOSE to have this baby, I CHOSE to bring her home and raise her as my own, and it is no longer about me, I am just a character in the story of her childhood. I try not to let my past mistakes become her burden, to give her my best. I remind myself that just because I am a single mom, does not mean I am doing this alone—not by a long shot. It takes a village and I know who my crazy village people are—my mom, my friends, my family, my coworkers, my church, and especially my other single mom friends—we have all pitched in to help raise one another’s kids and raise one another’s spirits. I curl up with my precious baby girl, who is the best thing that ever happened to this tired, worn down, crazy mama. And then I fall asleep, thankfully, because it is exasperating to be me and tomorrow, like my 2Pac, it will all be on repeat.
Be kind to a single mom today, or she may go gangsta on you. As for me, time to get out of the bathtub- I am out of hot water.
