– 3:39 am
Is it difficult to raise a child on your own?
Yes, it is. Yes, it fucking is. “Difficult” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
And if you have no children, you have no say in the matter. You can’t imagine it.
It was manageable with your grandparents, tough when your grandad left, challenging without your nan, and as far as I’m concerned, near impossible for a single parent. I don’t have enough admiration for those doing this by themselves. It’s a lot of greys I’d rather not have on my head.
The demands are relentless and the personal sacrifices are neverending, right down to basic hygiene and self-care. Some women from our NCT group are skipping showers, meals etc because they’re alone while dad is at work. I’m quickly realising, raising a child is round the clock. It’s a complete overhaul to whatever your existing lifestyle is. If you have dreams, park them.
In your case, we’re blessed that I get to work from home. I can support your mother whenever she needs a break. I’ve spent countless working hours looking after you while she had breakfast, a nap or just a moment to herself. It makes a h u g e difference to the care she can then give you when she’s recharged (and vice versa). For example, yesterday, she had to go see a dentist. That becomes a logistical nightmare if I’m away. One small nuisance after another. They compound to reach a person’s breaking point.
I guess I just struggle to see how any one person raises a well-rounded and balanced human. Not whilst they are sleep deprived, nervous about fucking up and apprehensive of the pitfalls they don’t even know about. Calm as I think I am, I find myself constantly trying to solve “what if” scenarios. The same holds true with your mother. And you don’t know what you don’t know.
I can fully understand how unforgiving one can be if in years to come an estranged parent pops out of the woodwork talking about my son this or my daughter that. I feel like I could pay to watch them die slowly and painfully. I’d hold the same grudge against ungrateful children. It must be so dispiriting to a parent if their child is so oblivious to their efforts. But empathy can be taught, and the onus is on the parent.
Hypothetically, if I had to raise you alone, I’d want to have money. With it, I can buy help, information and reliable care. I can buy access. No one can replace your mother but the right nanny can come halfway close. A support system is paramount. It’s either that or therapy down the line.
Come to think of it, loathing a child isn’t difficult at all. I can see how someone gets to such a place, quite clearly. Children give and take away so much. If you don’t find elation in what they give you, and on the flipside super precious about the parts of you that are being stripped, then resentment is a cheap sentiment to settle on. This vulnerability makes one easily susceptible to spite and aggression which can be transferred to the child, who then carries the cross (through no sin of theirs).
Today makes you a couple of months old. Hooray!
Most things are too small for you now, from clothing to the Moses basket which is meant to house babies up to six months old. I cannot see you in that thing in a couple of weeks let alone months. Your toes are inches away from the bottom and you are quite comfortably punching its walls with half a stretch. You are big and strong, long and bendy like the reptile that you are.
Also, trash talk is second nature to you now. Your blather is confident and articulate. We can hear you mouthing away in a full stomach. Stomping is the new addition. I told Liza it’s the blackness in you coming out. We love to march. So you’re doing a lot of that. Those kicks are so hard, you’ll hurt someone pretty soon. You’ve also given us so many smiles. I didn’t think I’d cherish those as much as I do. And you’ve been abundantly kind with them. Thank you.
During this time, your mother and I have also become professional spit catchers. It’s on right after that burp. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately (spitting and not vomiting, one is a problem, the other isn’t). Another interesting thing you’re doing now is crying for attention. You’ve figured out that crying gets one of us over. Within an instant of getting there, you smile and laugh. I’ve fallen for this many a time. And sadly, I don’t think I’ve seen the last of it. You little trickster.
It’s been a while since you last pooped, a few days and counting. Apparently, it’s perfectly normal until it gets to between five and seven days. So we’re all good. Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve held it in this long only to let loose a canon in the days that followed. I was hoping that day wouldn’t be tonight. But towards the tail end of the bottle feed, the last 5ml or so, I heard the all too familiar sound. We both knew what it was, except your expression was of relief and mine was “FFS!”
How it gets to your back is a mystery to me. It sipped through your PJs, onto the changing mat… Everywhere. I stood still for a while trying to concoct a plan. This was exactly what I needed at three in the morning.
You on the other hand seemed to come alive after setting hell free – chatting, kicking, giggling, swinging your arms and bouncing around. All the while, I was trying to contain the spread, with both your dancing feet in one hand and trying to wet wipe my way back to a non-cringy facial expression. Kill me now.
Your mother was fast asleep when I dropped you off, clean and swaddled. So I sent her a text reading, “your parcel took a ginormous shit”. Ah yes, we refer to you as parcel and cargo now as well. I started it but Liza followed suit. It stems from all the carrying and exchanging that happens between us. So we’ll say things like, “come and collect your cargo”, “your cargo is fed and ready for the night” etc etc
Yesterday was also a giant step for me too. (There’s a pun on its way in there somewhere.) It wasn’t planned either. Lately, I’ve felt like I could run, or jog at least. So I decided to try. Despite the pain, I managed to complete a 4.2km run in 30mins. I was dead chuffed. I feel more like myself with every passing day.
