The Best Thing

I got pregnant with James in July of 2007 during a week of make-up sex. His father and I had broken up for the 10th time in our 9 month courtship earlier in the month. It had only been that previous September that we had met and jumped into our relationship rather quickly. Immediately enamored with one another, there were problems from the start. I made all of the mistakes a young single mother can make. I brought Lucas, then only 2 years old, into our relationship too soon which was not a good idea for him and was not a good idea for us as a couple. But I was so in love. That crazy blistering love that blinds you from reality. I remember telling my girlfriends, "Maybe this is too good to be true. Or maybe this is what it's like when you find the man of your dreams."

Six weeks later in the midst of our first argument I was so frightened by the intensity of it all that I thought to end it right then and there. But he apologized profusely and was so distraught that I chose to forgive and continue on. So began our cycle. Let me make two things very clear, although our fights were epic, he never put his hands on me, and I am not a victim. I fight dirty and say horrible things. I incite jealousy and at times behaved dishonestly. I loved how much he loved me, and I exploited that. We began to make a habit of fighting, breaking up, and making up. Then I got pregnant and we got engaged. That was in August. We followed that great idea with another. He moved in and we tried to play house. Things got horrible fast and it seemed like the walls were closing in on us. He moved out in December. James was born in April. The roller coaster never ceased to move up and down. Our mutual dream for the family we hoped to be has kept us coming back for more. We wanted to be happily married and raise our children, own a home, and go on vacations. We thought that loving one another in our sick way was enough. We thought James could motivate us to keep trying. We thought money problems were the root of it. He thought it would be better if I changed. I thought it would be better if he changed. Four months ago on the night of our son's 1 year birthday party we decided to try again. We tried. We failed. And without even the slightest wimper of protest, we decided last week that we were done. Like a wave pulling away from the shore, we, John and Christina, were gone.

I am sad because my son will grow up with seperated parents. Common or not this situation sucks. I am sad because though painful and difficult, these 3 years have been peppered with laughter and love and it always stings to let go of someone you have permitted so deeply into your heart. I am at the point, finally, where I wish him no ill will, no pain, or distress. I want him to find peace, joy, and love. He is a fabulous father, and for that I am eternally greatful.

So tonight I process the loss of a man, a partner, a friend, I did love ever so much. The one who made me laugh. I watch my son and know none of it was in vain because he is here now. The best thing we did. The purpose of it all.

Christina B.C. *(before children)

Who knew 26 year old boobs could hang so askew? In my former life I was a 36 perfect C. And then came the ridiculous, only found in porn films, water balloons I possessed when I was pregnant, then came the fluctuation of size only nursing mothers can relate to, and then came my very first set of post-pregnancy bubbies (my new favorite word...thanks Real Housewives of NJ). They weren't bad. I was still young, 21 to be exact, we still appreciated one another. But this second round...now this is for the birds. I'm 26 and they are 56 and we don't really get along anymore. Ugh.

The Boys in My Hood

Let's get this out of the way, my children have different fathers. I did not plan this. Not the pregnancies and definitely not the other set of chromosomes. Nonetheless I would not trade having these gorgeous, brilliant, painfully stubborn creatures in my life for anything in the world. The children...NOT the fathers. I'd trade those guys out in a hot second. My eldest son Lucas is 5 and I got pregnant with him at the ripe old age of 20. His father Paul, my high school sweetheart, had broken up with me years before but had not quite gotten around to breaking up with my feminine wiles. I'm not playing the victim here people, I am always a willing participant for an afternoon delight, but what I am saying is that he was not exactly THRILLED to find out about his prospective spawn. He eventually (and I mean literally the day our son was born) got around to telling his friends and family that he was a new dad, and in the years since he has been present in Lucas' daily life. His personality, communication skills, and pretty much everything about the guy leave much to be desired and are often a hard pill for me to swallow. He posseses all of the characteristics of an ex you'd remember fondly but would be perfectly content never seeing again; I however have to see him multiple times a week AND have to collaborate with the guy on the raising of a child. I have to CARE about what he has to say regarding one of the most important facets of my life. It's a tall order for this control freak (me) to handle.

My youngest son James has a father who provides an entirely different can of beans. We met 3 years ago, we moved too fast, we were in love, out of love, in love, out of love, blah blah blah at least a million times in our first year. We talked about marriage, looked at rings (and by looked I mean I picked out an insanely huge doorknob of a ring he'd never be able to afford), got pregnant, and he proposed in my kitchen with the feet sweeping line, "Well I guess now we have to do this. Want to?" BE STILL MY HEART!! I said yes and it was downhill from there, he moved out when I was 6 months pregnant. It's been a goddamn 3 ring circus since. He too is involved in James' life, and he's a great dad, and we do genuinely care for one another, but we just can't live under the same roof. At least not now...possibly not ever.

So...the moral of the story. There are 2 of them, kids and dads. They (the dads) are good to their kids. They could be worse to me.

Ohhhhh...Mother

Is it written in the ancient texts that the realtionships between mothers and daughters be so damn HARD?!? Now don't get me wrong, I love my mother, and for the most part I actually LIKE my mother, but that woman can whip me into a frothy frenzy like no one else. She's a gold medalist when it comes to pushing my buttons. It has a lot to do with the criticism...the questioning...the second guessing per se. Yes mother...I have a jacket in the car for the boys...Yes mother...I remembered to pay their tuition...Yes mother...Yes mother...YES!!! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "This girl needs some boundries!", and you may be right, I may need to work on protecting my borders a bit more efficiently, but it's...complicated. My mom, bless her heart, also did some time as a single mom and one of the by-products of that was our titanium clad mother-daughter bond. Our closeness was one of my best assets through pre and early puberty (thanks for the visit to the Clinique counter for my first set of make-up and the frank conversation about birth control), but quickly became one of my main sources of anger and resentment as I tried to navigate my own way through life. This means that more often than not my mother has been my albatross and my lighthouse at exactly the same time.

Teething Makes Me Crabby

So my 1 year old, my usually happy and serene, ringlet topped child whom I so lovingly refer to as "my little Buddha" is teething, and it's getting pretty tense around here. Granted, what his gums are trying to accomplish is no easy feat (2 bottom molars and 2 top incisors), but when will my children realize that mommy is much better at being Mommy when she's had at least, oh I don't know, 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Now don't be mistaken, sleeping attempts were made, but as I slowly drifted into a state of anything resembling actual REM, I was ripped away by a piercing shriek, and this didn't happen once, or twice, or even three times, it happened at 11:30 pm, 2:00 am, 3:00 am, 5:15 am, and 6:30 am, at which point I thought, "Well what the hell, might as well get up since the alarm is set for 15 minutes from now." I tried Tylenol, I tried homeopathic teething tablets, warm bath? cool compress? bottle? cup? rocking? walking? sitting? patting? Ugh...nothing worked.

My stress was further compounded by the 5 year old and his newfound fear of monsters in the closet and his severe night time dehydration. I wanna go, "Look kid, it is no coincidence that you are only thirsty after your bedtime story, and we all wish we had someone to snuggle with at night, but Mommy is doing the dishes and laundry and homework she didn't do while you were awake so that you could have undivided attention. Now please give me a break and STAY IN YOUR BED!!!!" He got up 3 times waking his brother each time and finishing his last attempt with my favorite grand finale...the bloody nose!
They were both bowls of sunshine this morning...no really, happy as clams. And I...the queen of this kingdom made a SUPER STRONG pot o' coffee. If I could have hooked it up with an IV I would have.

Ready, Set, Go!

I've imagined writing a blog like this on and off for the last couple of years, mostly when my kids do something adorable or atrocious. And also when I make some sort of eye popping discovery regarding my abilities, or inabilities in some cases, to parent. Sometimes I'm triumphant, other times, not so much. For both of my children, I was able to keep a daily journal of sorts during their first year of life. However after they turned 1 I stopped writing down the cute things they had done or the discoveries they had made and now that my oldest is turning 5, I wish I had a place to jot down those brief moments, the good and the bad, that I want to remember forever. So, here I go. Writing our stories even though I've gone back and forth about writing them in this type of forum. Mainly I've battled my own opinion that writing about myself and my boys in this setting is kind of egotistical. I mean how interesting can our life really be? But I finally came to the conclusion that it's interesting to me and if I write for me, who knows, someone else might get something out of it. For example, some other mother in this world may want to know that she is not alone when she hits the OFF button instead of the SNOOZE button on the alarm and wakes up an hour late on a school day. Said mother may need to relate to another one of her kind who with only 12 minutes to get out of the door, swiftly dresses the children (can't find the baby's shoes so he doesn't get any), pops a bagel in the toaster for the 5 year old, runs to the bedroom to throw on a bra and some flipflops, does a 10 second brush of her teeth, butters the bagel for the preschooler, gives him a sippy cup with milk (no honey you're not a baby, Mommy just doesn't want you to spill in the car), grabs the baby, the purse, and the baby bag. Piles everyone into the car. Runs back for the lunch pail and the huge sunglasses (maybe they won't notice my pajamas if I wear big glasses) and tries to drive to school within the speed limit because after all we don't want a repeat run in with our local highway patrol. Let me put it to you this way, this morning as I urged my son out of bed he heard me say we were going to be late and he replied, "Oh no...does this mean we're going to be stopped by the police again?" It only happened once, but I'll tell you, having a motorcycle cop follow you into your child's school parking lot is really embarassing and the poor guy felt so bad about my parade of shame that he let me off with a warning. So,this is my life. My hectic, beautiful, love-filled life. Welcome to SingleMommyLandia, my place where I can talk about being a single mom to two gorgeous (and brilliant) little boys, Lucas, 5 and James, 1 and what it's like to co-parent with their fathers' (yes there are two fathers which make for double the negotiating tactics). Oh yeah, there's also the fact that I work and go to school full-time. And I try to be Earth and community conscience. Who says we can't do it all. Whew!