I was a single mother, shellshocked by a long labor. I was 26. The baby was just 14 hours old. The day was filled with a series of nurses, social workers, doctors, friends and my baby's father all coming through the door. My memory of that day is foggy with sleep deprivation and that crazy transition from being pregnant to being a mother. But I remember this moment, locked in my memory like a royal jewel: The lights are low, my son is crying, I pick him up and start talking to him. He stops to listen to me. A swell of overwhelming gratitude builds in my chest when I realize that I gave birth to this little boy; I did something I did not know I was capable of and I would do anything for him. At once the weight of the responsibility of parenthood was crystallized into the presence of this little person and I felt up to the task. The nurse walks into the room wondering if I need help with latching him on to breastfeed. The moment is broken by the glare of the overhead florescent lighting. That son is 22 years old now and still I think of this moment.
Then life gets busy. As a single parent life can be very busy. The calendar can be a harsh master. There is the time you have to fill up with work. There is the time you spend getting to and from daycare and work. There is the time your child is with the other parent which you try to fill with more work. There is the time your child is in school. There is the time you take your child to piano, sports, doctor appointments. "Let's go," "hurry up," and " come on, bud," are all words in the vocabulary of your days. Work/life balance is a problem for families in a higher tax bracket. Your life can feel like mostly work.
Then there is internal busyness that can interfere with the down time. Your body might be sitting at the table with your child; your body might be eating the food you prepared in a hurry; your child may be telling you about his day but your mind is stuck on the to-do-do-do list; the Peters and Pauls are complaining that neither have had their share. You sit in the kitchen taking inventory of the cobwebs collecting in the corner of the room; the pile of laundry oozing out of the laundry basket like some bad '50s B movie. You don't taste food. You nod with the courtesy of an airline stewardess to some story your child is trying to share. The quickening pace of your days never seem to slow down enough for you to have enough sleep, a decent meal and a quiet day at the playground with your children.
My younger son is nine years old. I am a single parent again. Age and wisdom have peppered this second parenting experience with a little more spice. So the words intention and presence have a greater importance when there is a moment to spare. My moment came this last 4th of July weekend. Regardless of the weather we were going to the beach. The beach we found was not a long sandy strand but a rocky, seaweed-ridden cove. The weather was warm but cloudy. Determined to say we were at the beach on the holiday weekend, we staked our claim to a small parcel of sand. From this spot I could watch my son hunt for invasive green crabs. Like a yo-yo he would do what all children do... test the boundaries of distance between the two of us, then return with a bucket of scuttling green critters. My enjoyment came from catching glimpses of his curls rise and fall each time a tide pool gave up its treasure. I marveled at the way his body moved as he steps ooh-ahh over a shoreline of tossed ocean detritus. When his booty is presented we discuss what he found. My own knowledge deferring to what he could share. We consumed sandwiches with sand. He came looking to share my mother-warmth when he got too wet for the weather. When he was ready to go, I was ready to go. While the fates did not provide the perfection we sought in our overall experience I know that we both received what we needed that day.
Later we roasted marshmallows around the firepit. I told him, "Evan you are on marshmallow duty."
His response was classic deadpan nine-year-old, "Mom, marshmallow and dooty do not belong in the same sentence."
With a laugh I agree. I stand corrected.