I’m embarking on the longest trip I’ve ever taken without my children since they’ve been born. Thirteen days! Do you know how long that is?! It’s practically two weeks! So we’re just gonna call it two weeks… why? Because every judgemental Karen likes that best.
Yeah, yeah, I already have a salty tone, and maybe you do too. But I’m sick of it.
I’m sick of haughty bystanders feeling entitled to an opinion. And I’m even sicker still of aforementioned bystanders feeling elitist enough to share it with me.
And I’m actually not even talking about you because you, my dear follower, had no idea I was taking this trip until five minutes ago. I’m talking about my most trusted and respected friends, family, and other necessary Negative Nancies I’d prefer not to have involved in my life but alas they exist… loudly.
Does anyone ask any single dad why he went on a trip with his girlfriend? (And no I’m not talking about my ex, I’m speaking in the aggregate so just relax.) Hell, let’s take it back a notch: Does anyone ask a MARRIED dad how dare he (with his wife and mother of his children) leave his precious children for two weeks? Doubtful. But I’d put money on Mommy Dearest getting interrogated by her closest coffee colluders while whispers of “how dare she?!” echo in her nightmares.
“What’s wrong with her? Do you think she ever even wanted to be a mom? Why does she care so much about her social life? I could never leave my babies for that long – they just need me/I need them/I’d miss out on things.”
Give me a break. Two weeks is a drop in the bucket first of all. Second of all, is the oxygen a bit thin up there on your high horse because you are acting delusional.
And thirdly and possibly most importantly, you are not me.
Let me expand on that “you are not me” part:
I’m a single mom. The rug was ripped out from under me as I tried to build a traditional life for my family (in a non-traditional career). I hate dating. It’s exhausting. But I want to find a partner. I want to have fun with my friends — because having fun with a husband isn’t in the cards right now. I want to feel sexy and adored on a beach in a tropical location. I want to feel free from the responsibilities of raising three children with some help from sitters (do you know what this is like? It’s not like having another parent – not AT ALL. If I’m around, the kids only want mommy to tie their shoes or pour their milk or show off how they can twist their wrist 80 times in a row. And there’s three of them within 18 months of each other. Two in diapers. One with Cerebral Palsy. And all three in preschool which means 3 hours a day of school time – and that’s only 3 days a week.) I want to be able to build a new partnership without thrusting the poor man into the responsibilities of step-daddy toddler world after a few dates. And I LIKE balancing my life with fun, freedom, and vacations. There. I said it. I LIKE IT.
It makes me feel rejuvenated and whole and I thank my lucky stars that I have the means to peace out for 13 days.
It makes me a better mother.
“Woah woah woah that’s counterintuitive,” you say.
… or perhaps you think I’m indulging in a veiled guilty-coverup-excuse.
Whatever, I don’t care, because it’s the god honest truth.
I don’t live your life, you don’t live mine. I don’t judge you and if you want to judge me I’ll be waving at you on the other side of the high-vibe glass wall as I frolic off into the (literal) sunset without the baggage of anyone’s judgement. And – spoiler alert! – I’m still gonna miss my kids like hell and this doesn’t make me a hypocrite or complainer.
Phew. Ok I feel better.
On that note, namaste (and aloha).