I have had a few requests for a blog post lately but I haven’t had any good material lately….which is probably not a bad thingJ. Additionally I have been on a much needed vacation from the specimens. Part of this vacation has included celebrating the first official “Single Mother’s Day” or should I say night. I have decided that this will be a recurring holiday, which will fall on the weekends when my girlfriend’s daughter is visiting her father and my mother has to work because yes my daughter’s amazing grandmother only wants her when she is at work. Anyway, I think this gives us like 26 nights of ceviche, mixed drinks and man bashing a year. You all are probably wondering why we just don’t go away for the weekend. The answer is simple, her baby’s daddy and my parents will only take the children overnight (i.e. when they are sleeping). This means Single Mother’s Day always ends a little early because we got to go get those kids at 6am. My single mother sidekick should probably write for this blog too cause her specimens are just as bad as mine. Anyway, up until recently, I was happily discovering the empowering joys of Single Motherhood and the comforting feeling that I am not alone, so I haven’t really had anything to rant about…peace, calm, serenity—ENTER MY CHILD.
So it’s the 4th of July and this year and I am at my girlfriend’s house party, with child (no not pregnant but with my child lol), having a good time enjoying the food, watching 10 bottles of patron getting shot up into the air (that would be the fireworks) and the always entertaining aggravation her little cousin subjects me to (last week I got a cupcake smashed in my face). Of course, since it’s a party, I get to reprise my favorite role of resident single mommy but this is my 2nd family so it’s okay. No worries, no drama, not so fast, that’s what the 6 year old child is for, apparently to get me back for all the times I have publically embarrassed her. I should probably take down the Facebook picture of her dancing. This, however, was my child at her all-time shockingly best. You know that saying “children say the darndest things?” Let’s just say the child of a chronically single mom says the darndest things, especially in this case since only my child could start a mini-riot and come out unscathed.
So to set the scene, I’m sitting on the couch with my ever-so aggravating guy friend, yes people just friend. I think the conversation topic was Denver, Colorado and here comes my child down the stairs as serious as ever: “Mr. so and so I think you are going to be my Dad.” Yeah I almost spilled my drink; she went from trying to pick out a house to trying to pick out a daddy. This is a first. Why couldn’t I have a normal child that asks questions like, “Where are the chips” or “I am thirsty?” Instead I end up with Ms. Who’s My Daddy. Luckily there were not that many witnesses, but at that moment, I would have loved to have been in Denver, you know leaning over the edge of one of those mountain peaks, in shear mortification, getting ready to jump but then my child would be shopping for two parents. And, considering she chooses random people…..
Of course though it gets better because this is my life we are talking about. So my reaction is to try to smooth over the ludicrously with a “let me apologize for my child’s outrageous comment walk” because I was definitely not having that conversation in public. In hindsight, this wasn’t a good choice, but in my state of shock and embarrassment and three drinks, I didn’t really think that one out. It’s good to know if I ever go missing, especially with one of the male sex, an all points bulletin will be issued within 3 minutes. To continue, halfway down the road I get the “suspicious” phone call from my friend because if a single mom takes a walk in the dark with a guy the familial accusations fly. I should have answered the “Where are you two at question” with in the closet upstairs LOL but as a trusted friend she of course understood and actually found it funny, reassuring her cousin that my daughter only made that comment because he is the only white guy friend I have. NOTED. Apparently my daughter doesn’t want a Spanish father; I will have to add that to my list of requirements: Must not be Spanish or better yet, Spanish need not apply. Luckily, to my relief, my friend found my daughter’s comment funny, funny enough for a Facebook post. Me, I was mortified, but that’s okay, because at the next party I’m going to be that single mother walking around asking all the little kids if they will be my “replacement” daughter.
