What it’s Like Being a Single Mom on Mother’s Day

It’s 3:00 in the morning and I’ve just been woken up by some ruckus in Harper’s room. She’s tossing and turning again and for some reason she just can’t grasp onto sleep for long before waking up again. I cuddle her making sure she had drifted off again before slowly heading out of the room and as quietly as my wheelchair will let me.

I close the door and let out the breath I had been holding, hopeful that this time will stick and it won’t be until morning when she wakes again. And she does, it’s 6 a.m. now and I have a bouncy gremlin full of energy and to be honest – this Mama is worn plum out.

I wipe the exhaustion from my face and tickle her. She gives me sweet kisses and then Eskimo kisses and then butterfly kisses before she asks for ice cream.

I, of course say, “We’ve had ice cream for breakfast already this week.” But I do fix breakfast, my joints are so weak because of the tears in my wheelchair and my arthritis is flaring, but it’s our day. So, I sing to her while she dances in the warm and dough filled air, kitchen.

It doesn’t last long though, because she’s already out of the kitchen and zooming around the house until everything grew quiet. I peek  in to see where she is and instead of the living room I find her in the bathroom, the child lock on the doorknob is on the floor and there she is smiling that incredibly huge and sometimes creepy smile with mascara and foundation all over her face.

I thank god it wasn’t worse, because it has definitely been worse.

She cries and screams and wrestles with me for freedom as I wipe the makeup off of her face. Trying to soothe her with my voice never really works anyway.

My biscuits are the type of burnt right before they are actually burnt and I’ve now got mascara and foundation on me and my clothing.

“I’M HUNREY” she screams.

We watch Sesame Street while she eats. Biscuits and gravy litter the floor including some clothes that had been waiting in a clothes basket to be folded. I frantically try and get there sooner to get her tray from her and pop goes the weasel the rest is on the floor.

She is crazy like a fox.

But she’s cute and says thank you as I get her down from her high chair. She helps me pick up some of the food she’s thrown before losing interest and stealing a few grapes out of the refrigerator.

We get dressed for the day and the cycle continues. We dance and laugh and she causes mischief. Luckily, I’m right behind her picking up the mess of my small, curious, and continuously learning toddler.

We sign cards for my Mom and Grandma and I’m thinking of how sweet it will be one day when she and her child sign cards to me.