Monthly Archives: February 2016

No Thanks, Superman (I’ve got it covered).

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It’s my spring break and I joined a dating site. Well, three to be exact. What a hassle. I’m not entirely convinced I don’t want to end up alone. Dating as a single mom is more complex than people seem to think. The assumption seems to be that I would want to replace her father, gain a partner to tackle parenthood with, jump on the idea of a date to get out of the house. These people are wrong.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

New Years Eve 2014, when my daughter was only four months old, I broke it off with her father. It was not a decision I made with little thought. Becoming a single mom was not something I decided to do on a whim. I never wanted my child to grow up in a home where her father didn’t reside. That wasn’t a goal of mine. Yet, I hit a point in the relationship where I could not imagine beginning the New Year, 2015, with him. I wanted a clean break, a new year.

When I date a guy, I am letting him into a world where previously, my trust was greatly broken. I am giving him the privilege and honor of meeting this little girl who means everything to me. Our future together isn’t a given and I refuse to jump into a marriage simply because a guy is willing to date a single mom. I may not be happy about my past following me, the inability to leave my ex in the past where exes belong, but I deal with it because my daughter deserves to know her father.

Dating a guy doesn’t mean replacing her father. It means my daughter will be lucky enough to have two dads. It means one day, if she wants, she will have two dads to walk her down the aisle, two dads to report amazing news to, two dads to treat her like the gem she is. And unfortunately, dating a guy doesn’t give him the allowance to make decisions regarding my daughter when we have only been dating a few months. He doesn’t get to jump into every mother-daughter activity after only a couple weeks or even a few months. And unfortunately, time isn’t something I seem to have a lot of these days, between my daughter, my studies, and subbing. When I’m forced to choose between the two, it’s almost a given I’ll choose time with my daughter. Some people can’t understand this concept of why I’m not willing to immediately allow for the guy to spend a lot of time with my daughter. I’ve been told it takes at least a year to get to really know someone. I’m not willing to have my daughter get attached to a guy when the relationship may not last. This isn’t pessimism speaking, it’s realism.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

I’m not willing to be disappointed by another man.

I’m not willing to allow a man to disappoint my daughter.

My pregnancy was a difficult one ridden with worry and constant sickness. I had to drag the father to two of the appointments. I got more checkup phone calls and texts from people I rarely talked to or hadn’t seen in years. We easily went days without speaking and unless I brought it up, he never asked how the checkups went. I was alone in a complicated pregnancy.

When I got the call late at night telling me I had to be induced into labor because they were worried about the baby, the father wasn’t going to be there. His boss told him to come with. I had to drive from Grand Rapids to Ann Arbor to be at the hospital in the morning and he was planning on having me drive it alone. He chose to not see his daughter for six weeks because he wanted to manipulate me into moving across the state. He sacrificed seeing his own daughter.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

It’s a given for there to be complications and drama between parents who are no longer together. It’s a given that there will be days of frustration. The last guy I dated understood this to an extent. He assured me I could talk to him about it but instead I would get the silent treatment in return. He was jealous when my daughter spent time with her father. Her father became jealous when he found out I was dating someone and stepped up in seeing his daughter more and not cancelling on her last minute—not that she’s old enough to know if he cancelled, anyway.

Unfortunately, when dating a single mom, the guy enters into a relationship with the father as well. With me, that means he’s expected to take the high road. There is no talking shit about her father in front of my daughter. I don’t accept anger because my daughter deserves to know her father. That is to be respected. I have this end goal that her father and I will reach a point where our future families can take vacations together so my daughter doesn’t feel left out or forced to choose. I refuse to put her in the middle of any dispute. This also is to be respected.

I wasn’t lying about the complications and drama.

I may be a single mom but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to settle for any guy. I’d rather remain single than be in a loveless relationship. There are days I’d love to share with a partner, but reality is the world of dating is complicated tenfold when a child is added into the equation. I would never want my daughter to settle, so why should I?

“You’re making a mistake.”

“You’re lucky I was even willing to date you.”

“You think I want this drama.”

“You’re a single mom, it’s not like guys are lining up.”

Some of the shit that comes out of people’s mouths amazes me. Being a single mom doesn’t mean I need help. It doesn’t warrant judgment. Being single and being a mom are two separate labels—I hate that word. When combined, it simply means I’m Superwoman—that’s what I keep telling myself anyways.

I’m not looking to be saved. I don’t need Superman. (I’ve got it covered.)

Tequila.

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we were a threaded musical
of tangled limbs & twisted sheets,
violent strokes of horsehairs on cello strings,
a crescendo of slick sweat & heated kisses;
a sloppy passion ignited
over bar stools & tequila shots,
extinguished in a single
rush of hot air when you broke
the captivating silence of the night
with talk about a forever–
that’s not how this goes.

Closed Eyelids.

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I could spend my life behind closed lids
& bundled in your old sweatshirt, soaking
in your smell–why didn’t I ever learn
the type of aftershave you used?–
pretending I’m wrapped in your arms.
I could spend my life under closed lids
& leave the photographs in boxes–
two-dimensional images won’t bring you back–
next to your favorite running shoes.
I could spend my life inside closed lids
but not in this bed, in these sheets,
where you last kissed me on the forehead
before leaving for work–I can’t handle
these emotions, want to bottle them up.
I could have spent the rest of my life with you
but now I’ll settle for closed eyelids.

Don’t.

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Don’t tell me you’re over him
when you look in the mirror & still see
everything
he said was wrong with you,
every flaw & every scar–
I promise you, he never
looked close enough–
instead of all the reasons why
I love you,
all your beauty & all your strength–
those scars are proof.
Don’t tell me he’s in the past
when you refuse to believe
you are good enough,
you are
enough.

Clasped Hands.

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you would clasp my hand in yours
& I loved it, how we walked
down the street together.
you would open doors for me
& I thought you the perfect
gentleman, until I realized
my hand
was clasped
in yours,
you weren’t letting go;
you always walked ahead
expecting me to follow,
dictating our path;
& you stood there waiting
when I opened doors for you,
refusing me the courtesy.
We were never on equal ground,
I never needed to be saved,
but you wanted to be Superman
when I preferred Clark Kent.