A Week in the Life of a Single Mom

Cyber-space is a world of abbreviations and acronyms- as anyone who has blundered into the Internet without benefit of a cheat sheet knows. But after you learn the language, things are pretty consistent. The initials S.M stand for Single Mom when used in most parenting web sites. I know this because it’s where I spend much of my limited alone time, a world where I am simply Legan45, S.M. In this label I have revealed my name, parental status, marital status, and my 40+ age. If only things in the real world were that simple. In the course of just a single week, S.M. has many meanings, reflecting the chaos and joy that are the reality of motherhood.

Sunday, I am Saint Mom. Before becoming a mother, I attended church only on Christmas or other special occasions. Now, as a parent, I dress my daughter and myself in “anything except jeans or shorts” (a rule originated by my own saintly mother) and head off to church almost every Sunday. Sandwiched into a small space dubbed the cry room, which is appropriately named, we fulfill our weekly spiritual duties. Paramount to this process is getting our offering into the collection basket before we have to bail out, so the priest knows we were there.


This particular Sunday, it is Halloween. That night, while we begin our quest for treats, I admire the award winning costumes created by Sewing Moms. My daughter is, for the third year in a row, wearing a costume purchased by Store-bought Mom. This year she’s a witch, and despite the fact that she’s so cute, I play along and pretend to be Scared Mom. I also mention Halloween because that day, and for many that follow, the phrase, “I want candy” will haunt me from morning until night. Even though it will make her bounce off the walls, I will reluctantly dispense it as Sugar Mom.


After Sunday, inevitably dawns Monday, a day I wear the tag Sleepy Mom or Snoring Mom, depending on the time of day. This is related to the recent daylight savings time switch and the fact that we were wide awake at 4:30 am. I get a second wind, but become Stressed Mom after drinking several cups of strong coffee at work. This makes it very hard for me to perform my job duties as Supervisor Mom.


At about 5:30 pm, my exhausted child nearly falls asleep at the dinner table. I manage to keep her up until the new 6:30, which is really the old 7:30 so she will sleep until the new 6:00 am. By this time, I am so confused that I decide to go to bed myself, even though it is only eight o’clock!


Tuesday, I become Stoic Mom. After work and prior to picking up my daughter at daycare, I have an appointment for a breast biopsy and aspiration of multiple cysts- a problem associated with being Legan45 rather than Legan25. This involves about an hour and a half of being poked in both breasts with long needles. While this is going on, I have absolutely nothing to do but lay there and admire the radiologist (he is really cute). I am so relaxed that I almost doze off. The tech assisting in the procedure is amazed "You're falling asleep!" I reply, "This is nothing, compared to dealing with my 4 year old!" Yes, it's true, I would rather have needles poked into my breasts than be with my child in one of her moods. They could even throw in a Pap smear and some dental work and that would be fine too.


Super Mom takes over on Wednesday. We oversleep because the effects of the time switch have finally worn off and in 30 minutes I: shower, dress, realize clothes are a wrinkled mess, undress, iron, redress, wake up my daughter, let the dog out, feed the cat, bag up the garbage, make breakfast, help daughter get dressed, make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for preschool lunch, help daughter pick out different clothes, put the garbage out, help daughter pick out different clothes again, let the dog in…


When we finally arrive at preschool, I discover that my child is barefoot. This is not a problem, because it’s happened many times before. I become Scavenger Mom and quickly rummage through all the leftover stuff in the car- things I don’t want to bring in the house because I will actually have to put them away. Under piles of books, swim fins, half-empty juice boxes, and about twenty stuffed animals, I find two mismatched socks and some sandals. I decide that with socks, sandals are OK for November. While I am looking, I realize I left my daughter’s lunch at home. Again, this is not a problem-I easily find enough loose, somewhat sticky change on the floor of the car to buy her a hot lunch. As we make our entrance into the preschool room, all eyes turn to Sad -excuse- for- a- Mom.


Thursday, my daughter is in one of her inquisitive moods, inspired by recent Circle Time topics presented at preschool. She poses several questions. I start out as Scientist Mom, giving a satisfactory answer to, “What is photosynthesis?” but quickly regress to Stumped Mom and finally to Stupid Mom when attempting more in-depth responses to “Why is the heart all slimy?” and “What keeps your feet and hands on your body?” After this interrogation I must look depressed, because she gives me a hug and calls me Smart Mom.


T.G.I.F- even non-web surfers know that one. Not that long ago, in my childfree days, I would have gone to a happy hour with co-workers to usher in the weekend. This Friday, I am simply Sober Mom. Later I wish I’d had a few drinks, especially during the excruciatingly slow process of getting a four-year-old to sleep. At bedtime, my daughter decides she wants six books read by Story Mom. She then wants six songs sung by Singer Mom, six hugs, six kisses, and six trips to the bathroom. Since I am not sure what is prompting this fascination with the number 6, I play along, even though it prolongs our already lengthy bedtime routine. I am hopelessly unaware that Stupid Mom has made another appearance!


When she finally goes to sleep, I start an evening of Friday night TV viewing and I am quickly hypnotized into zombie-like Somnolent Mom. When I finally retire for the evening at 9:30 PM, I realize I’ve become So-dull-Mom.


Saturday is so frantic, I feel like Schizophrenic Mom. I start out the day as Swim Mom, at the Puddle-Jumpers introductory swimming class. Here, its taken my daughter eight weeks to learn to put her mouth in the water for exactly one millisecond. Silently comparing her accomplishment to other children in the class that still wouldn’t even go in the water, I confess I am Smug Mom. This feeling quickly evaporates when the instructor informs me that my star swimmer will have to repeat the entire eight-week session.


After swim class we proceed to the grocery store, where I evolve into Shopper Mom. This is a role best performed solo, for obvious reasons. After taking a little too long in the candy aisle, the usual 10 AM meltdown occurs in the checkout lane rather than in the car. I attempt to calm her while waiting to pay, but finally ditch our groceries and take her for a long time-out in the restroom. Here, I am finally forced to act as Straightjacket Mom, which proves to be quite effective.


We then continue on to our local discount store. Even though it’s only the first week of November, all the toys and decorations are out for the upcoming Yuletide season. Because of this, my daughter is confused and thinks I’m Santa Mom. After the umpteenth “Not today, Honey, maybe for Christmas” she dubs me So-mean- Mom. Marching her back out to the car, I sound like Sergeant Mom.


Returning home, we have lunch. After eating my low calorie convenience food, Scavenger Mom re-emerges, eagerly awaiting my daughter’s leftover macaroni and cheese. As a result of this behavior I’ve become Slightly-overweight-Mom. During her naptime, while I would really like to take a nap myself, I crank out 20 minutes on my treadmill as Sweaty Mom.


By the time she falls asleep that night, I have also been: Swing(me) Mom, Silly Mom, and my most favorite of all, Snuggle Mom. The only thing I am not, and perhaps never will be again, is Sexy Mom. That night, I look around at my messy house, overflowing laundry hamper and dirty dishes, and then down at the shining hair of my daughter as she sleeps. As I reflect on my week- in a life much altered by motherhood- a peaceful feeling comes over me. I realize what I have in my real world is all I will ever need. I am, above all else... Satisfied Mom.