DotMoms

Being Alone: Single Mom 101

By Amy R.

Being alone has never been easy for me. I've always had some sort of relationship, whether it was a boyfriend or a husband, and now boyfriends again. I guess I always thought I needed someone to define me, someone who would complete the parts of me I felt were missing. 

I recently went through a break-up with a man I truly loved. Well, when I say that, I mean I truly THINK I loved him. He was kind to me. He was fun to be with. He loved baseball as much as I did. And when I was with him, I wasn't alone.

Then comes the break-up. It isn't like I have never been broken up with. It isn't like I haven't ever suffered heartbreak or sobbing fits. But this time, the breakup is affecting me differently. I'm realizing why my relationships don't work, and why I shouldn't be ashamed of that.

So what does this have to do with being a mom? Here comes the kicker: Since my divorce I've been in TWO serious relationships. Out of those two, NEITHER of the men involved wanted to be involved with my child. 

I have a firm rule that I established when I decided to start dating again. I was not going to introduce Isabelle to any man I dated until I was positive that he would be around for a while. She has not spent a large amount of time with either of my relationships since I made that promise to myself. Why? Well, the first one hated kids; he didn't want any of his own and he SURE didn't want to raise anyone else's. He felt they were money-sucking creatures who cried too much and demanded way more. He wanted me to pack my bags, move across the country, and live a pretty secure life with him, on one condition: I leave my daughter behind. I dumped him.

Now, this yearlong relationship I've been in is coming to a close. This man has spent maybe five hours with Isabelle (not including two car rides of an hour each) in that year. Why? Well, he was very gruff. He was one of those "made for TV stepfathers" whose irritation or strictness would cause the mother in the movies to say, "Honey, you know how angry that makes *enter name here* when you do that. Please stop." I didn't want Isabelle subjected to that. I wanted her to be a child. 

My newest ex-boyfriend had two children of his own, but they were older and they were both boys.  He couldn't relate to a girl, never mind one who was 3 and had divorced parents. So I kept the two separate. 

My custody arrangement is one week on, one week off and we trade on Sundays. So when I had Isabelle, I did not see my boyfriend. He had his kids those same weekends, and it worked out well. I didn't have to worry about them getting along, and I could spend real quality time with my child.

Now that I rationally look back, though, my relationship was doomed from the beginning. Isabelle will always be the most important part of my life and any other part that tries to take me away from that should be eliminated.

But I hated being alone. I hated not having that romantic connection in my life. What I've realized is that I can't settle for a romantic connection that jeopardizes my relationship with my daughter. 

So I may have to eat alone this weekend and watch tear-jerker movies by myself, but when my daughter grows up, she'll realize her mother was a strong woman who made decisions based on the love of the person that counted most: her.

Amy R. is the 30-year-old mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Livermore Falls, Maine, and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Bad mom, Good mom

By Amy R.

As a divorced mom, it's easy for me to question my parenting skills when comparing them to my daughter's father. Over e-mail, there have been certain question and answer sessions where I'm questioned on different parenting techniques. I sat down one day and listed the "Good Mom/Bad Mom" list.

Bad Mom:

I go through the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru every Friday (that I have her -- so every other Friday) and get her a chocolate donut for her breakfast.

I let her pick out one candy bar per grocery shopping session (once a week that I have her -- so every other week).

I have brought her to a fast food restaurant when I was traveling on the turnpike between her father's house and mine.

I have her enrolled in a daycare without fancy swimming lessons or pre-school sessions. 

I've given her chocolate milk.

Good Mom:

I get out of work before 3 every day, pick Isabelle up from daycare and we spend the afternoon together. At least one hour an afternoon is spent playing with her letter and number flashcards and writing letters out on her easel.

Isabelle and I have dinner together every night. On the nights that we go to my parents, we have an even better dinner atmosphere with her Grammy and Papa.

I have Isabelle enrolled in a daycare where there are four kids at home with the daycare provider all day long. She has learned manners, social skills, and her daycare provider TRULY knows Isabelle and loves her. I'm so lucky to have someone so caring and loving taking care of my child when I'm not there.

I immerse Isabelle in family. We spend as much time as possible with my parents and siblings so that Isabelle realizes that having a mom and dad together isn't the only definition of family; families come in all different shapes and sizes.

I have a good relationship with my daughter. She feels free to talk to me about anything that is on her mind without fear of ridicule, harsh discipline or meanness. She is truly herself around me, and I'm glad I've fostered that with her.

I read to Isabelle a lot. She loves it as much as I do, and it gives me an excuse to cuddle.

As I look back at my list, I realize that I can live with the "Bad Mom" stuff, because if those are the worst things I do as a parent, I'm doing pretty well. Don't you think?

Amy R. is the 30-year-old mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Livermore Falls, Maine, and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Difficult questions after a divorce

By Amy R.

"Mama, do you like Suzy*?"

My mind froze. I don't know how long I expected it would take before my daughter asked me my thoughts on my ex-husband's new wife-to-be. We had random conversations about Suzy's house or about things that Isabelle did with her father, Suzy, and Suzy's son. I guess I just hoped to continue ignoring the fact that Isabelle had another person in her life that wasn't really a part of mine.

I'm not a bitter person. I mean, there are times when I call Suzy "what's her face" or "that woman" to my friends or co-workers, but to Isabelle, she's always Suzy. I don't roll my eyes, talk badly, sarcastically, or bitterly about Suzy or my ex. I figure that it's not only unhealthy for Isabelle to see that part of me, but I also don't want to influence her. I want her to make decisions on her own and the happier those decisions are, the better.

I am so grateful that Isabelle has a home with her father that is full of love and acceptance and that Suzy's parents seem to have accepted Isabelle as one of their own. I am so thankful that Isabelle doesn't have to feel left out or forgotten because of another child (her age) in the house. Suzy loves my daughter, and as much as my relationship with my ex is distant and cold, I can only show appreciation in my own heart for my daughter being so fortunate in both her homes.

Do I sometimes worry that Isabelle will like Suzy better than me or that the home that her father makes with her will be deemed "better" than mine? You bet I do. But I think that's pretty normal and expected. So every time that worry flashes through my mind, I remind myself that my bond with my daughter is one that can't be replaced with remarriage or additional people. We're a family unit within ourselves, and she knows who her mother is.

So after I pull myself together, I smile at Isabelle and say, "I don't really know Suzy, but you like her right?" She nods and runs back to play with her Polly Pockets, oblivious to the struggle that sometimes fills my mind.

How do those of you in similar situations handle questions like that?

*names changed to protect identities

Amy R. is the twenty-something mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine, and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Explaining...a little at a time

By Amy R.

My father is one of the strongest men I've ever known. Some of my most wonderful memories include him. I know I’ve written about my father before on here….mostly in passing or maybe mentioning his disease. Alzheimer’s is something that I’ve known about for some time…two of my aunts had it and my dad has had it for some time now.

In recent months, he has progressively gotten worse…not even knowing who my mother is at times…calling her the “nice woman that lives with me and sometimes tells me what to do.” He is the one man that I could never find a duplicate of…I wish I could have…they just don’t make them like him anymore. His disease has made it so that he doesn’t know that I’m his daughter any longer…but a nice girl who visits him every day and brings him food.

It is an amazingly cruel disease…not necessarily to the person who suffers from it but their family. I am watching my dad, who used to work his fingers to the bone to support my family, become this simple man who can’t string sentences together and pours orange juice on his cereal.

It is the most painful thing I’ve ever been through..watching such a wonderful man die this death of the head….of his living self…instead…soon he’ll be this shell…where my dad once stood. I’ve been trying to come to terms with this…and trying to come up with an action plan as to what to do as far as Isabelle is concerned. Some time ago, one of the people reading my posts, suggested I pick up Maria Shriver’s “What’s Happening to Grandpa.” I bought it a few years ago and because it’s a bit more advanced than what I’m reading to Isabelle…I haven’t really read it to her.

I tried to do so today.  I failed miserably.

As I was reading it..she kept asking, “What IS happening to Papa?” because I had already read the title to her. So I put the book down and tried to explain to her that Papa was sick…and that sometimes he says or does things not because he means them but because he doesn’t feel well. She looked up at me with her big eyes and said…."So Papa has a VERY bad cold?!”

I put the book away and told her we’d read it some other time. I just want so badly to get her ready for the eventual loss of my father. Not just physically…but his mental loss. Hell, I’m trying to get MYSELF ready for that. I’ve been down a lot lately because I’m struggling with this part of my life. You know your parents are getting older….I just didn’t want it to come so soon.  How have you dealt with sickness in your families?

Amy R. is the twenty-something mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine, and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Letting go: Potty training 101

By Amy R.

Potty training is evil. I know that I should be reading tons of parenting books and researching online all the different tricks and tips to potty training, but I just haven't.  Isabelle knows perfectly well when she is going number one or number two in her diaper. In fact, she tells me, usually during (but mostly after), when she has done the deed. 

In fact, she demands to be changed immediately. 

I've tried the whole, "Don't you want to wear big girl panties like mama?"  I've tried, "Doesn't wearing a diaper make you feel yucky when you've pooped?" She looks at me and usually says yes, but doesn't really seem to feel the need to even LOOK at the potty I have for her. 

When she has succeeded in "using the potty" she has gone number two. It's like she has no problem letting the missles drop but she will NOT let go of her own pee. How can you explain to a 2-year-old that peeing will feel a lot better on the potty than stuck next to her body in her diaper? 

I KNOW that I'm supposed to be sitting her on the potty and encouraging her to go. I KNOW I'm supposed to focus on that. My problem is that I have this irking feeling that she will TELL me when she's ready. Is that too New Age? Is that bizarre? I honestly don't think she's quite READY to be completely trained. 

She goes about once a week on the potty for me and a few times a week for our daycare provider. Shouldn't that be enough? What textbook says 2.3 is the time to do it? Should I be keeping up with the neighbors? Should I be worried that Little Suzy who is 2 months younger than Isabelle is completely trained? 

I don't want to deal with plastic sheets. I don't want to worry about "accidents." I guess most parents don't. I just hate feeling like I'm inadequate as a mom.

I read on DotMoms a while back about a fantasy potty training Boot Camp. If that exists, sign me up. I can't be the only one that feels this way? Can I?

Amy R. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

A disease forgotten

By Amy R.

My dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's when I was in college and is now in Stage 2. He remembers me and my family members but has a hard time matching people's names with their faces. New people in his life are quickly forgotten and old people in his life aren't recognized because they've changed so much and do not look like they did when they were younger. This disease is not one I would wish on my worst enemy. It is not only absolutely devastating to watch but has taken its toll on my dad's caretaker, my mother.

Isabelle, who is completely oblivious to the disease, rarely notices.  One of the effects of the disease on my dad is that his patience level is close to ni. He can't take it when Isabelle doesn't listen or when she gets close to danger. He will raise his voice at her or bark at her. She always lifts her head up and says, "No, George" (which is the name she gives him when she's mad at him instead of calling him Papa like she normally does). My dad's eyes are a window into his heart. His voice softens, his motions are less jerky and he finds a way to get involved in whatever she's doing to keep her out of trouble.

This is extremely heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. I always dreamed of having my father be in my daughter's life. I see him do things with her that he used to do with me. I see him tease her the way he used to tease me. It's like he gets to re-live my childhood with my daughter and it warms my heart to see it help him in his disease instead of hamper him. I see the way he reads her stories or sings her the chorus of a song that he's forgotten the verses to. I see him struggle with words in a children's book but fight through it so that he can share that special time with my daughter. As my father's life goes through the stage that will soon send him to his own childhood behavior, my daughter will grow past him. A sort of role reversal that I'm not looking forward to.

We were in a restaurant recently and my father was carrying Isabelle when a man that my father must have known at one time said, "Hey George, is that your granddaughter?" and my father responded, "No, this is my daughter Amy." I had to correct him while I was walking in back of him. He turned to look at me and said, "Oh yeah, I guess this isn't you..." and kept walking. As sad as it was that he had forgotten who the little girl was in his arms, it was amazingly heart-tugging to think he thought it was me. 

I see my father's spirit fight through his disease every day. I see my daughter tug on his hand and bring him back to the present day whenever she is around. I see my mother's face turn more line-ridden as she takes care of my dad day in and day out, but I see her face brighten and smile when my daughter is around. 

As I sit here, crying, writing this post, I can only imagine how my life would be without the huge influence of my father. I am SO lucky, and so is my daughter, to have that influence be in her life as well. I will make sure I tell her stories when she has forgotten the man my father was and still remains behind his eyes.

Amy R. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Rejection: A 2-year-old's revenge

By Amy R.

I have a 2-year-old daughter. Yes, I fully understand that she is 2 and that most of her actions don't have an underlying meaning. She's just 2. I hear that a lot. However, for the first time since she's been born, she rejected me.

My ex wanted to have a 7-day on, 7-day off custody arrangement. So on Mondays, I drop Isabelle off at daycare and her father picks her up and I don't see her for seven days. SEVEN very LONG days. I've already listed pros and cons of this situation and honestly, I've made my best effort. What changed all of this came out of my little Isabelle's mouth: "No, I don't wanna talk to mommy."

On the weeks that I don't have Isabelle, I call her every other night. She always runs to the phone saying, "Mommmmmmmyyyyy..." and then proceeds to tell me everything she's eaten that day, that she's about to take a bath and that she loves me. She then says 'bye and my ex has taught her how to hang up the phone.

A recent weekend was no different except for the fact that my ex had taken Isabelle to his parents (they live about six hours away) and was spending the night at another friend's house that evening after spending the weekend with his parents. I called, asked to speak to Isabelle, and that's when it happened.

She rejected me.

I heard her say, "Noooooo... I don't wannnaaaaa," after my ex said, "Mommy's on the phone..."  He tried to put the receiver up to her ear but I could hear her pushing it away, crying, saying no. I was devastated, waited to get off the phone and then cried for an hour. 

It's bad enough that I don't get to see my daughter every day of her little, ever growing life, but now she is rejecting my routine phone calls? I mean, if at the time I was rational, I would have been able to say to myself, "Amy, she's only being that way because she's had a hard weekend being in new places and away from home." 

But that wasn't what went through my head. Instead I thought, "Should I never have gotten divorced? Should I have stuck it out and been miserable so that my daughter would have me every day (and I'd have her)? Should I file for primary custody?" Irrational? Maybe. But it's how I felt at the time.

I knew that shared custody would be hard, but I guess I never realized just how much I would miss being a hands-on mom during the time she's away from me. And now, if she's starting to push me away at TWO YEARS OLD?!?!

I feel like I'm up to my neck in water and my legs are starting to give way.

Am I doomed to guilt? Has my daughter realized how to get to me? Or is she innocently acting on temporary feelings she doesn't know how to deal with? 

Throw me a bone here.

Amy R. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Other people's children

By Amy R.

I've written before about how I think people, before they have kids, tend to be less tolerant of children's misbehavior. (Children that don't belong to them obviously.) I know that before I had Isabelle, I was the "child expert" in my head. "I will NEVER do that... or I will NEVER let my child act that way."

I was wrong. 

I've been more than willing to offer apologies in writing and verbally for ever, EVER thinking that I could do it better.

I remembered this recently when I saw my friend Jaime. We talk most every day online and share a lot, but don't see each other often. Jaime is pregnant, after trying for two years, and is soon to be experiencing something that can never be described to her... how to mother AS a mother, not just as someone who can give the child back. Why does this matter? 

I met Satan. And her name was Isabelle. For a 12-hour period, my daughter was Satan. We were staying at Jaime's (Isabelle has stayed here before with and without me numerous times) because the ride from Jaime's to my house is 1.5 hours and to my work it's only 45 minutes, so I decided, with gas prices they way that they are, I could just stay. Isabelle went down the first time, like the angel she normally is.

Then things changed.

She started screaming from her bed. I went in to find the fleece top she had on was too hot for her to sleep in, but from that second on, she would not go back to bed. She fussed and screamed 'til she puked (for the record, this is unlike her as she is the BEST sleeper I've ever encountered) and so I kept her up with me, putting her down a few more times to try it, but ending up going to bed with her so that she could get some rest. 

Jaime made comments a few times about Isabelle being restless. Being ultra sensitive, I took them to heart, as if I was a bad mother for not just putting her down and keeping her there. I kept trying to reassure myself secretly, that this was unlike Isabelle and that I just wasn't used to it. 

Once we went to bed, Isabelle was restless and kept me up most of the night, mostly with her night talking and her moving around. When the alarm went off at 5 a.m. things did not get better. She was loud; when I asked her to be quiet, she whined. She was a MONSTER. When she cries now, it isn't a sobbing, it's an outright scream. One in which the dead could hear her. 

Jaime, of course was sleeping, which put me even more on edge, knowing we were keeping her up. I finally got Isabelle packed into the car, with the eight billion things that I had brought and was on my way. I tried to make light of it in the morning, joking with Jaime online about how Isabelle was bad and how SORRY I was. She responded with a half-joking, but a "I'm really serious but don't want to be too much of a wench" response of, "Yeah, I would have beat her" (Which by the way, isn't to be taken literally, neither of us are big fans of the child beating thing.) And then to add misery onto it, she commented that she was glad her husband wasn't home -- REALLLLLY glad. 

Needless to say, I won't be staying there again overnight with Isabelle. I have to admit that I'm slightly hurt and even a little angry because I feel I have to defend my mothering skills AND my 2-year-old daughter's behavior to my best friend. I guess I can only secretly hope that her child is a complete monster sometime when it's not convenient for her so that I can sit back and smirk with the other mothers. 

Does that make ME Satan?

Amy R. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Being a week-to-week Mom

By Amy D.

My divorce was final on August 15th. I should feel a sort of rebirth right? A sense of completed confusion? Barely. I feel very alone... and very overwhelmed.

We have decided to do a 50/50 shared custody situation. It was the ex's proposal to have 7 days on/7 days off. It isn't exactly what I would have liked, especially since we live close enough to do less days, but I decided to try it out. There are many benefits and cons to this plan. 

I do like the seven days of having Isabelle in row. We get into a sort of routine. She sleeps in a "big girl" bed at my house and still sleeps in a crib at my ex's. She has less toys here but keeps herself happy with obscure magazines that she rips apart or pretends to read. She is happy here. Very happy and very healthy. I have developed this bond with her that I didn't think I was capable of. She adores me and I adore her.  She knows "Mama's House" is a place where she can explore, interact, and discover as well as know it's her house. It's her home.

The days off part is a bit harder. I know I should be looking at it as a time for me to rediscover myself or a time for me to work extra hard so I can take more time to spend with Isabelle when I have it. I know I should be seeing it as an opportunity to read the books I want to read, do the things I've wanted to do, but it still breaks my heart to call Isabelle at her father's and hear her try to tell me about her day in her 2-year-old speak. It hurts to hear her say "I YOU" over the phone (her way of saying I love you) instead of with a big smile to my face, where I can smother her with kisses and reassure her that Mommy loves her, too.

Isabelle is adjusting very well. I just wish I could.

Amy D. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.

Sleepover nightmares

By Amy D.

My ex and I have passed down awful genes to Isabelle when it comes to sleeping. The ex is a HORRIBLE snorer, even though he'll try to convince you that he's just a "heavy breather." But really, he could have been mistaken for an entire construction crew with jackhammers and chainsaws. I have been known to saw some wood as well but my main problem is drooling when I sleep. And not just a lite little speck of drool, I mean puddles.

Isabelle has inherited BOTH of these bad, bad traits. I love Ibelle no matter what, it's her future sleepover destiny that I'm worried about. 

As a young girl, I was ridiculed, laughed at, and consistantly picked on by my girl "friends" because of my snoring and drooling. To this DAY if I have an adult sleepover at my best friend's house, I have to sleep in a different room. In high school, I always went and slept on the couch in the family room instead of being in the same room with all the other girls. I turned down "cool" sleepovers and parties because of this problem. Is this Isabelle's destiny? Will I be picking her up in the middle of the night like I made my mom do because I was afraid to fall asleep and couldn't rest? What do I do to help her? 

I know this may seem pathetically simple as far as problems go. I know people have other problems that are much more significant. But her social life hangs in the balance. OK, she's only 2, but with her genes, this isn't something she'll outgrow.

How can I help my daughter not be a Sleepover Loser?

Amy D. is the twentysomething mother of Isabelle. She is a high school teacher who lives in Mexico, Maine and is trying to find the funny side of life as a newly divorced mom.