My son turned 7 a few weeks ago, and I made the diabolical mistake of saying he was 6. Somehow, I’m a mom.
This may sound weird for those millions of women who not only regularly have children, but bask in the wonder and embrace the important role of motherhood. But me, after 7 years, I’m still getting comfortable with the idea.
My son walks into the room, ready to talk to me about the endless supply of random topics he seems to have. He asks yet again a random question, ‘do you know about the blue man who plays the drum?’ As usual, I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I do my best to engage him in a conversation. But after a long work day, it’s hard, really hard. I’m tired, still need to prepare dinner, feed my son and husband, and put them both to bed.
This is stressful and hard. Where are the books on coping with the pains of raising a child, when you’re so exhausted, you can’t think straight. Where are the books that keep you going when your well intentioned child asks you to do that one additional thing, even though you want to sleep.
To this day, I don’t know how single moms do it. How do you keep yourself when much of you is invested in another human being?
I love my son and love watching him grow. I’m glad he’s in my life.