Baby Mama Drama

Dear Lorenzo,

If you compare parenthood to a prison sentence (as I often do) then single motherhood can be likened to life without even the possiblity of parole.

It's 2:00 a.m. and I've been up for the past hour (or rather, the past four days) tending to Amira. She had an asthma flare up a few days ago and has been struggling ever since. As usual, she's okay during the day but nighttime is an entirely different story. She coughs herself awake seemingly every hour and can't get comfortable enough to get back to sleep on her own. Inevitably, each night ends the exact same way: with me, foggy from exhaustion, pulling myself out of bed to give her one last nebulizer treatment before propping her up on my chest so that, completely upright, she is able to attain a few hours of uninterrupted sleep at last.

After realizing that all the Albuterol in the world wasn't ending this particular flare up, I took her to the emergency room last night where, after receiving two breathing treatments, a course of Solumedrol, and a prescription for Prednisone, Amira was deemed well enough to go home.

I'm just not sure that I am.

On a good day, motherhood is fucking exhausting but on a bad day, when your kid is sick and you have to figure out how best to care for her...On a bad day, when your kid is scared and afraid to go to sleep without you...On a bad day, when you can't go into the kitchen to do the dishes, or run down to the basement to put a load of laundry in, or even go to the bathroom without your nine year old running behind you...it can feel unbearably overwhelming. I have an amazing support system all around me but...it's not the same as having a partner to do this with me.

Ultimately, I am on my own.

I have to figure out if she's well enough to go to school after an asthma attack or if I should keep her home with me for one more day. I have to remember to give her her vitamins and medications, to make sure her homework's done, to sneak veggies into her stews and chilis without her noticing. I have to play PayDay and Mancala when my allergies are kicking my ass and I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I have to convince her that we are safe and that I will never, ever leave her. I have to find a way to be her everything because that's what a mother is to a child.

Everything.

Especially when that child has already lost one parent.

So...

Like single mothers have been doing since the dawn of time, I'll find a way to make it work. I'll lean on my friends and family for support. I'll take my ass back to therapy to learn how to properly cope with all of the changes that we're undergoing. I'll get through it. But tonight, this moring, I just needed to vent.

Thanks for listening.

The Break Up

Dear Lorenzo,

The only junk food that is still in our house are the pop rocks that Amira nagged me into buying for her from Lickety Split, and the jalapeno flavored, Kettle brand potato chips that Amira likes but I cannot stand.

Everything else has been thrown away at long last.

It's time to say goodbye to my 2nd favorite drug of choice: food.

Anyone who doesn't understand the emotional comfort that food can provide is either lying or has never eaten before.

For the past 22 months, food has filled the void that's taken up permanent residence in my heart and soul since you've been gone.

Too sad to get off the couch? Let's order a pizza. Scared shitless by the prospect of single motherhood? How bout some crackers and cheese? Lonely as hell without you lying next to me each night? Let's stay up late and eat potato chips while watching mindless sitcoms until the Tylenol PM kicks in and I drift off into never never land  having never never confronted any of my actual feelings because...my actual feelings HURT.

Being without you HURTS. Going over every mistake I've ever made in the course of our almost decade long relationship HURTS. Knowing that we don't get another shot to make it right HURTS. And so instead of allowing myself to feel that hurt...I ate. And ate. And ate. And ate. And ate.

And then I ate some more.

But 22 months later, I'm finally ready to be done with that particular coping mechanism because...spoiler alert: it doesn't work. Underneath all those potato chips are just a whole bunch of emotions that I'm still going to have to deal with eventually.

And I finally feel ready to start deaing with them now.

Freedom

"Take my pride, I can still survive, I got my freedom.

Strip me bare, don't got a thing to wear but I got my freedom."

Karmina

Dear Lorenzo:

It's been almost 2 years now and I still can't sleep. Not without a few glasses of wine or a couple of Tylenol PM. Or edibles and repeats of Brooklyn 99. I can no longer sleep without the distraction of television. Not without new episodes of Beat Bobby Flay or Worst Cooks in America playing so quietly in the background that I can barely make it out over the sound of Amira's light snoring. 

Daytime is far easier to handle. I wake up and get Amira off to school. I do laundry, cook dinner, and workout. And then I pick  Amira up and take her to theater class or to the park, before heading home to get her fed, bathed and in bed by a reasonable hour. 

And while she sleeps, I am truly and utterly alone. There is no one to take care of while Amira is sleeping. No one to fuss over. No homework to double-check, no board games to play, no orange juice to pour and then, to mop up after she inevitably spills that first glass.

There is safety in the daily routine of our lives.

But in these moments, these nighttime hours, there is only me.

Being with you sometimes felt as though as I were wearing an oversized, itchy, sweater that I couldn't quite shrug off. It could be overwhelming, all-encompassing and oftentimes, unbearable. I wanted us to complement each other while you wanted us to morph into one identity. But despite your best efforts, I had no interest in becoming Brangelina. And even now that you're gone, when time and distance has inaccurately colored so many of my memories a happy, verdant green, I still know that that particular brand of relationship was never right for me.

Earlier this afternoon a friend asked me if I'd begun dating yet and my first response was an awkward, self-conscious laugh. It's been 2 years now, should I be dating again? I'm not so sure but I've been giving the matter some thought ever since that talk this afternoon and here's what I've come up with. My TOTAL lack of interest in dating isn't just because I loved you so much then and still love you so much now. It isn't only because I have zero interest of bringing another man around my daughter. It's mostly because as lonely as I am tonight, in this exact moment...it's MY turn now. It's my turn to focus on MY goals, MY interests, MY...ME. And while I KNOW that there are plenty of people out there who are in happy, successful relationships, while still maintaining their own identity and sense of self, I wasn't able to do that while I was with you. And that isn't your fault, it's just the truth. And I'm not ready to attempt that balancing act again. At least not anytime soon. So for now...I'll hang on to the memories of our life together. I'll cherish the good and do my best to learn from the bad. And I'll enjoy the freedom of NOT being part of a couple right now.

And I'll do my best to fall in love with me.