Search

prettydysfunctional

The chaotic ramblings of a retired adult industry entertainer.

Tag

single parenting

Four

Tomorrow my son turns four years old.

At the time of his conception, I was living in a hostel (flophouse would be more accurate) in East Los Angeles.  Overwrought with grief.  I had basically settled into there with the intention of dying.

I was doing enough modeling and adult work to keep me housed and fed.  Went out dancing a lot.  Slept around.  Did far too much partying.  Fortunately, I never overdosed or developed a dependency.  Lord knows I deserved both.

It was a very bleak pregnancy.  And I can’t say that mothering him alone has been any easier.  Being a single mom is stressful, exhausting, and isolating.

My son saved my life.  Gave me a purpose that I never thought I’d have again.  Started my 30’s off on a preferable path.

The kid is intelligent and full of talents.  He is the very definition of an extrovert.  A little entertainer and everyone is his friend.  Can’t wait to see what the future holds for him.

Just praying that I can be the kind of mom he deserves.

Happy birthday to my little Sagittarius.  I love that little punk to pieces.

 

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/underdog/">Underdog</a>

Single Mom Life

Adrift

I don’t get those “I love being a single mom because it’s twice the love” and whatever women.  Maybe I’m just envious of them.

I think that being a single mom sucks.  There, I said it.  And I don’t really care what feminist, mom, or progressive person hates me over it.  Of course, I love my child (because someone always has to go there).  But these circumstances are not how I’d ever wish to raise a kid.

We are so alone.  I joke on Facebook about a family adopting us for holidays.  But it’s not a joke.  Holidays are incredibly lonely and boring for us since we have no one to celebrate with.

He’s constantly in daycare or with the nanny.  Over 60 hours a week.  The mom guilt over that is all-consuming.  I know kids all over the world have it worse.  And I should chill.  But this is my baby and I’m not going to just chill.  He deserves better.

I’m constantly sick, stressed, and frazzled.  I just want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go.  I want to just be sad in bed alone for a while.  But I can’t ever truly relax because he’s always in the back of my mind somewhere.  I want to not live in fear of catching germs because there’s no greater hell than trying to take care of a hyperactive toddler boy when all you want to do is puke.

I have the basics down (food, clothing, shelter).  But the enjoyment part is missing.

If there’s a secret to this, will someone please let me in on it?

 

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑