That's because 10 years ago I was dangling. Dangling by the threads of my sanity. Dangling by the mercy of a God whose will I couldn't fully understand. Dangling by the feet, head first into a sea of financial mess-tostraphy. (A combination of mess and catastrophe. Sorry. A decade still couldn't cure me from a penchant of making up my own words.)Dangling. Unable to stand on solid ground. Not out there. And certainly not within myself.I was broke, bruised and broken. Forever waging wars with my head and heart. Constantly struggling to make peace with love affairs which were unrequited, dreams which were never pursued, and whincing every time I saw myself in the mirror.I was a mother. A single mother to two boys who were energetic, strong-spirited and naughty as all hell.I dealt with things like toothpaste smeared on the insides of my handbag and discovering socks filled with jam and peanut butter bread, hidden away under the couch pillows. Things like Troll 2 spitting out his half-chewed broccoli onto his hand to show me how 'eeuw' it is. Things like Troll 1 microwaving my cell phone “to see what would happen”.Things like late night runs to the state hospital emergency ward to get crappy medical care because I couldn't afford medical aid, and things like getting kicked out of our apartment because I couldn't make rent.Sure, I loved my kids. They saved me in ways I could never have saved myself. But, dear Jesus, Mary and Joseph – motherhood is hard. Motherhood is hard when you're doing it with somebody, and motherhood is a real damn bitch when you're doing it alone.And so for the longest time I've packed away yet another dream. The dream of another baby. A little girl. A little girl with a head full of curls and attitude for days. A little girl who wouldn't just up and leave me when she grows up and gets married.It's incredible what a decade can and cannot change. Motherhood isn't hard for me anymore. Life is… love is… but not motherhood. The boys are so grown up now, they are practically the grown-ups in the house. They're strong, smart, independent… and I am ( partly because I'm turning 40 and my biological clock has gone from ticking to full blast screaming) starting to long for something sweet and soft to cuddle and hold onto.I feel like a silly old cow for even contemplating having another child. (Seriously. Have I learnt nothing?!) But I'm telling you girls, the 40s are making me all soft and squishy inside. I'm oohing and ahhing at babies of strangers on a creepy level I never before demonstrated, and now that I know without a doubt that a man is literally just a nice-to-have and not a necessity, it's all aboard the SS Cookoo upstairs.But I'm nothing if not a procrastinator.Remember how I was dead set on online dating, and then two weeks later I couldn't be bothered? I'm pretty sure in the end I'll probably settle for a bottle of wine, a session with my psychologist… and a nice fluffy dog.Till next time– urbansinglemom@gmail.com
