Lessons in Sole Parenting

Looking after the kids by yourself is a lot like running a marathon. You sidle apprehensively up to it, not entirely sure you've got the stamina for it. Once you're doing it you just grit your teeth, eyeball the finish line and force yourself to do it through sheer bloody-mindedness. There are times when you're sure you won't make it. It's bone-dissolvingly tiring and as soon as it's over you swear you'll never do it again. You toy with the idea of never even jogging again, even when you're late for the bus. And two days after that you're enormously proud of your achievement and that insane little part of you whispers in your ear..."That wasn't too bad. I could probably do that again..."

This is not at all a criticism, a mere statement of fact, but Charles does not understand what it's like to be left alone with the kids. Since I'm breastfeeding he's never had to watch them both for more than a few hours. He has no idea what it's like to do the parenting thing solo for a whole day, let alone a weekend - no clue how awful you feel when you're on the verge of losing your temper and they say, "You're so mean Mama, I want Daddy". No idea how hurtful it can be to do your best to fill the void left by your partner and still wind up with a child sobbing "I just want Daaadddddyyy" into your shoulder come bed time. And all of that is peppered with, "Daddy would let me do it," "Actually I think I'd like to wait for Daddy to do that" and "Mama, can you make Daddy come back sooner?"

So while Charles is sympathetic, he's not really empathetic and he does tend to go away quite often*. Death metal concerts, football games, business trips, etc and good ol' yours truly gets to watch the kiddies while he's gone.

Despite having looked after them fairly recently while he went on a business trip and again while he completed my brother's buck's night, when the opportunity to go and see the AFL grand final came up I knew that if he managed to get tickets I absolutely had to find a way to get him there. I tried my hardest not to think about having to look after the kids by myself while we found a way to make it happen.

Within a few hours of getting home with them on the Friday night James was running a temperature**. He was cross with everything, lashing out with his little hands and all he wanted to do was sit on Mama and cuddle. Fresh from a day of school and sugared up from a party, all Madam wanted to do was play with her unwilling little brother all the while talking at a million miles an hour and spilling everything that came her way. Tipping them both into bed was challenging, but enabled through the use of Panadol, warm milk and stories. I myself was in bed not long after them.

Saturday was an exercise in martyrdom. James was still sick. Madam had cabin fever. There's absolutely a reason there are usually two parents. Because right around the time you feel sure the only way out is to drown them in the bath you can flick the towel at your partner and mutter "It's your turn." Of one thing I am certain - single parents deserve a bloody medal.

All Saturday it felt like I did nothing except tend to one child or the other in between trying to clean the house. Getting food, arranging drinks, cleaning up spilled drinks, ending the argument over whose drink it was, changing the television, fixing the television, explaining why we don't drink out of toilets, changing nappies, changing clothes, rescuing the dog, rescuing the cat food, rescuing the contents of the garbage bin, rescuing my son from the bathtub, explaining why we need to keep the bathroom door closed, fishing the remote control out of the toilet, explaining why we need to keep the toilet door closed, for the hundreth time, at the top of my lungs.

On Saturday afternoon my Dad landed for dinner and a bed. By this time I was completely frazzled and on the verge of screaming things like, "Why do you need to breathe so loudly anyway???" The situation was instantly improved by a fairly tired Opa antagonising the kids and mimicking them whenever they whinged. This gave me whinging in stereo. It did not improve my mood.

The thing that irks me the most about these little sojourns into the world of single parenting is that you never, ever get credit for managing to get the kids, house and pets (not to mention yourself) through to the other side in one piece. From Dad's point of view you've done your usual job with a bit less help and as far as the kids are concerned you've been a bit more on edge than usual so we'll take Daddy now that he's back, thank you so much. Daddy is the favourite, we've missed him so much and Mama's so mean because she yelled at me about something to do with the toilet door.

Lots of things hold a marriage together and in every marriage one or both of you are sure to think about leaving at least once. Most of the time there's something that makes you stay. For us that something is one simple rule. Whoever leaves the marriage has to take the kids...and the other one gets to keep the house. On weekends like this one I dream of alternatives to this arrangement and I have nasty revenge fantasies about divorce and shared custody. The lure of a week-about custody arrangement is more tempting than a Latin man who can salsa could ever be.

Despite this little rant on the darker aspects of single parenting, I did actually have a pretty good weekend. Sunday was a lot better - we made cupcakes, played and Charles came home early so we could have a late picnic lunch in the park. Having managed to clean the house on Saturday I spent the afternoon gardening and the house wound up in a better state than it's been for many months. I felt almost normal again by the time Sunday ended. I'm pleased with having made it...and swearing I'm never doing it again. At least for now.

* As far as I'm concerned.

** I may not have mentioned this but whenever Charles goes away for some reason one, or all, of us gets sick.