Contemplations of a Single Mother

Can you imagine the thoughts that run through my mind as I sit at my home desk after a long day at work, while my one-year-old daughter kicks me in my face and also tries her damnest to yank my tired breasts off my chest as she is feeding?

Sometimes it is, I wish her father was here so that I can pawn her off for a bit. Another time it is, if I beat her I might kill her and I cannot live with that or I cannot bear to hit my own child. Or, I don't understand the fascination this child has with breastfeeding. Or I get that she needs to feed, but can she do that without her foot in my mouth though? And most times, it is, aaaaw look at her cute face or my child is fucking beautiful.

Life as a single mother has been a mass of contradictions. It is pleasantly rewarding but also painfully lonely. Every time my daughter hits a milestone, I light up with pride because I am so grateful that she has achieved that, then I have to deal with the fact that I cannot share that important moment with her father because he chose not to be in our daughter's life.

Other times I would see a child skip along while having both their hands held by their parents and while I am so pleased for that child, I also burn with jealousy because I want my daughter to have that, but unfortunately, that is not in the cards for both of us. On the nights that my child decides that we are not going to get any sleep in that house, I wish her father would be there so that he can sit up and baby speak that child to sleep, and wipe off her drool as she tries to climb everything, and lick everything, and hug everything. I mourn the fact that she won't get to be a daddy's girl but am also happy that she will learn to be independent and hopefully get good male influence from all the amazing men in my life.

I mean, some experiences are unique to a mother, in the sense that my child likes to use me as a refresher at midnight on weekdays when she is climbing walls, trying to read (she can read Chinese), and crawling, and eating the carpet, but she also wants me available to sip on my breastmilk while she is on breaks.

When it is 8 pm and I have one final report to send but my child is screaming the house down, demanding everything and everyone stops and we pay attention, I experience conflicting emotions. On one hand, I am glad she has a healthy set of lungs, all the more to keep us all awake, but at the same time, if I don't send this report, I will lag behind, I will miss deadlines, affect my work, and if I don't do well, I could be fired, and now what will we do?

I am the breadwinner and I have a lot on my shoulders, but my toddler does not understand this but it is the reality of our lives. But at the same time, I love her like nothing else in this world, and I would sooner crawl on jagged glass than have anything happen to her, so I will always ditch my laptop and go sit down and watch Cocomelon with her because that is my life now.

When I was pregnant with her, it was like it would never end. I felt like I was pregnant for 2 years, I could not see my knees and toes for the longest, because my belly was huge (she was a giant baby, and I mean that in the cutest way possible) and oh my goodness don't even start with the labour because that is indescribably painful. Most women you speak to who have had more than 2 children usually say that once the labour is done, after you have been cut and literally torn and have had your hipbones broken so that your child could push their giant head through your vagina, then having said vagina stitched back together (yes, they have to do that ) that holding their child in their arms made all the pain worth it. I don't know about that. I don't know if I want to be pregnant again or give birth to more kids. If that makes me a wimp, so be it.

Maybe my reluctance stems from not having my child's father with me during the entire pregnancy and childbirth (he took off the second he learnt that I was expecting a child), because the whole journey was tough, so I don't ever want to do it alone again. Having weird cravings (pickled onions with mint chocolate taste AMAZING when you are pregnant btw), violent mood swings, the buoyant joy of literally creating a life inside you, and the anticipation of finally seeing the face of your little human and holding them in your arms, and going to markets to look at and buy baby clothes, stockpiling for armageddon by baby, buying diapers and prams and baby carriers and towels and all that stuff by yourself is painful and heartbreaking. You feel the absence, and it leaves a gaping hole inside you that eventually fill with all the beautiful memories when you see your child build their first lego tower, or completely dismantle that ridiculously expensive purple barbie thing that you bought for her because all girls like purple barbies (not), or when you are fishing out a toy car tire from her mouth because your daughter is a vacuum that sucks everything in her path, or when she aims that brilliant, toothless and life-affirming smile at you, or when she finally gets around to calling you "mama".

So, yeah, these are some things that cross my mind when my child is acrobatically breastfeeding from me. I am off to send that report now. Bye!