I am a hypocrite. For I do not date single fathers. Those I have known over the years & those I have met more recently do not give the great single dads a good name. Parenting is not based on DNA. Donating the sperm that lead to the birth does not make one a parent. Even if done unknowingly. It does not automatically give a parent the right. I have listened to men complain of exes having majority custody but then choose to drop the kid(s) off with a relative in order to hit up the bar. Or when with their child(ren), spend it on their phone instead of interacting. Or they nap. It is a turnoff. & I hate this negative view I have against single dads.

When I hear them complain, I question their honesty & wonder if it’s simply a place of rejection or lack of control they are coming from. I have been the pregnant woman alone in bed, curled in a ball, wanting nothing more than to surround my baby with all the love I could give. & then more. Despite being in a relationship at the time, I was very much alone. I lied to friends & family about my happiness of the situation and the relationship when I feared the future and single parenthood. Sympathizing with the guys’ ex is automatic for me & I wish it wasn’t. I know the frustration of being judged on a title, a label. But I am a hypocrite for immediately casting off guys because they own the same title as me, one that I hold very proudly: single parent. Being a single mom is rewarding, knowing I don’t need a guy to make it.

But it can also be lonely.

Lonely by no means translates to desperate. As if I wasn’t already shallow before I became a parent, I’m definitely not willing to settle now. & that makes dating a questionable event. Most days, I’m convinced if Dante was a woman it would have been included as a circle of hell. The last minute rejections & cancellations get old & are bullets to a penetrable ego. I stopped planning for a babysitter months ago–pathetic, I’m well aware. The frustration & judgment from guys who don’t like Evelynn’s father being involved in her life & seeing her regularly is appalling. I may not be a fan of his, but I am a fan of her. Some days, I wonder if it’s even worth it. Then there are nights where I could kick myself in the ass for not being settled in a career with great insurance because I don’t need a man to have more kids other than the sperm necessary to reproduce. I entirely realize that may make me crazy, but I love being a mom. More than anything. That’s not feminism speaking—not needing a man by my side—it’s reality. Being a mom is what makes me happy. It’s not a hobby, it’s a lifestyle. & this is what separates parents everywhere: parenting as a hobby versus parenting as a lifestyle.

Every choice I make involves Evelynn. The job I choose, the route I drive, the money I save, the products I buy, the goals I set. I’m stuck at home living with my parents because my child can’t live in the city—she’s that allergic to chlorine—& to purchase or rent in the country is not affordable for me at the moment. I don’t take vacations because I’m not willing to walk away from my daughter for such. Not at this time. The first thing I’ve done for me in the past two years was join a co-ed soccer league I play in once a week out in Grand Rapids—across the state—but even then, I haven’t been making it to every game. The guilt of leaving my kid after working a morning shift or closing the previous night is a little overwhelming. I can count on one hand the number of friends—close, not acquaintance—I consider myself to have. I’m not willing to go out to the bar or sporting events multiple times in the week because I prefer to spend my time off with my daughter and any extra money spoiling the hell out of her. People assume I’m tight lipped and unsociable—I am—because I don’t take the time to make new friends, the effort to hang out. It’s single parenting 101: my kid has first dibs on my free time.