Here Comes The Sun.
By: Confessions of an urban single momI never quite got the fuss about February.
Granted, it’s my birthday month, and the unfathomable and unavoidable flower, card and candy hoo-ha regarding Valentine’s Day. But in terms of location on the calendar, February has always left me a little cold and unimpressed. It’s too early intheNewYear.
Physically you’re still on the rebound from a Christmas all-you- can-eat hangover, and financially you’re edgy, because we all know January was a major dud.
September on the other hand, now there’s a month to get excited about! You have successfully navigated yourself over the half way mark of the year without loosing your wits, the excitement from the kiddies is palpable because it’s the last school term and the dreadful winter has magically made way for the glorious sun and more days filled with opportunities to sit, relax and let your hair down.
Before I joined the Mommy- hood, September used to be my ‘aha’ month of transformation, love and partying. After all, with all those sun drenched days and simmering nights – what else could a girl with a absolutely no responsibilities other than herself, possibly do other than crash diet, recharge her dating life and have a cocktail or three?
That was then. Ever since The Trolls came into my life though... well, September became my ‘aha’ month of cleaning. Spring cleaning to be exact. I know.
I might as well be as old as the crypt keeper. In my defence, I realise that my wobbly bits won’t go anywhere on their own, and that sitting on the couch watching the Zumba workout on DVD is not the same as actually getting one. But, I’ve found a way of justifying all the tummy, thigh and backside jiggle to me and my two outspoken, curious little boys.
“I am a Momma Bear. And you can’t be a Momma bear if your tummy doesn’t move when you walk. It’s against the bear rules of physics. Jiggly bits are how Momma Bears keep their cubs warm.” Of course, I have yet to meet a grown up who falls for that line, but at least I don’t go through psychotic depression spells because of my weight anymore. Back to my September cleaning. It’s what I do. It’s how I roll. I sweep and scrub. I throw out clothes. I move furniture around. I move them back. I lose my mind a little. Recently I realised that I have to wake up from this (self induced) coma, and claim back a bit more life... out of my life.
Don’t get me wrong, as a compulsive obsessive cleaner, I might never let the dirty dishes slide or not fluff the couch pillow in the exact right way a dozen times a day, but the least I could do for myself, not just as a mother but as a woman, was to tackle both the emotional and physical dust and dirt. Turns out it’s pretty grimy in
there. In just short of 30 years, I’ve gone from a completely multifaceted, daughter/sister/friend/ girlfriend/professional and single mother simultaneously... to just ... a single mother.
What happened to the other parts of me? Where did they go? Did they look at all the stacked bills and responsibilities... and just cease existing? Did they find it too hard competing with the Single Mom part of me, that they gave up and bid me adieu? Where are the parts of me that laughed uncontrollably, took crazy chances and did something, anything just for the heck of it? I’ve looked... and I can’t find them.
Do all mothers feel like this? How fascinating to observe such an absence. And how scary! Where will my desire to draw the curtains and let the sun shine in take me this September, I wonder. All I know for sure is... you can’t start cleaning and stop midway.
– urbansinglemom@gmail.com