The Tug of War

There comes a time in every single mother's life where we look upon those childless, energetic, well-kept females and think to ourselves, "what if?"

"What if I had waited on having kids?" is a question I've let pass my mind before. I'm not ashamed to admit it. When I'm on the couch, tired as hell because my bundles of energy are ready to start the day and I'm struggling to open an eyelid. They sit there ready for some cartoons, demanding breakfast like drill sergeants (must they eat daily?). They slurp their cereal in their PJs happy as clams, yet all I see is the mess leftover from the entire week, because I am failing to balance full time work life and at home mom life, mixed with house maid duties and errand boy lifestyles. How is someone supposed to do it all by themselves?

If I had a husband, would things be different? Or would he simply be another baby to take care of? Cannot be too sure these days. At least I know my children are without their fathers for good reason. So I am mom and dad.

However, what if I had not met my son's father? What if I had not bumped into my daughter's father 6 years later? What if I... didn't have kids? Where would I be? I always imagined myself in a studio apartment in Manhattan living it up. Struggling, sure. But with style. Or perhaps I would have a cabin in the woods, with the time and space to write a novel or paint or raise mini goats or—who knows! I catch myself drifting off in these thoughts as if that's where I truly would be without my children. (During these thoughts, mind you, I've changed two diapers, because she felt the need to go again in her fresh one, couldn't possibly have let loose in her previous one. And he has spilled his cereal on the floor.)

So let me reflect and get back to reality here. Where was I actually before I found out I was pregnant? I was living with my dad in an unhealthy setting. I had friends who weren't my friends behind my back. I lived in a dead end town. And everywhere I looked and went was drug use, in which I par took. Becoming pregnant was a complete surprise. (Thank you for being there for me, Walmart bathroom stall. Your tiled floors helped me stay focused and yet your random pieces of toilet paper and trash on the floor distracted me enough to prevent a melt down.) I knew at that moment that life would be different. Would it be better or worse? That I didn't know. I just knew... different. I knew I needed to change my lifestyle. I knew I needed to grow up.

So, if it weren't for my first child, I'm pretty sure I would've continued my downward spiral. I wouldn't have grown up. I wouldn't have grown the back bone needed to leave the people who were putting such a negative influence on my life. Who knows where I would be? But I wasn't in a studio apartment in Manhattan at that time, that's for sure.

Six years of daycare, warehouse work, government assistance, court custody drama and struggles later, I reached a peaceful pleateau in my life. I was down to a decent weight again. I was an assistant manager at a job that I started as a volunteer at—things were good. Stagnant. But good.

Enter baby daddy number two.

High school crush came back to life. Oh the promises that were made. "Don't you want to be a stay-at-home mom? Don't you want to go back to school?" Yes. All of those things. Next thing I know I found myself pregnant. It didn't come as a surprise. I pretty much knew that's what he wanted. Deep down I wanted another baby too. I wanted to have the full enjoyment of being on mommy-mom mode, not survival-mom mode. And yet, one can never be too safe, because before I knew it—I was right back to survival-mom mode with the new absence of dad #2.

There wasn't even time for a melt down. Now I had an extra mouth to feed and an extra life to care for. I have to be extra-mom now, survival-mom won't suffice anymore.

Through application after application, inquiries after inquiries, I was able to land a job that paid me more than I've ever been paid. (And I worked 12 hour shifts at a warehouse with optional overtime before. Killer on mommy-son time, but what needed to be done was done.) This job was consistent. It offered job security. Payment security. I was caring for now both of my children, by myself, off government assistance, by myself, in a home, by myself, with plenty to eat and play with—and I did it all by myself. Was I living in a cabin in the woods, able to write my novels prior to my second pregnancy? No.

However, here is my point: it's never been whether or not I have or don't have kids. Where I end up is where I'm going to end up because I choose to. These children of mine, they've shown me nothing but what enormous inner strength I possess. The ability to adapt. The ability to conquer. The ability to pull through. Not just by myself, but pull through with two little lives depending on me.

Yes, I want to throw her Dora microphone across the room in hopes it shatters into a thousand god damn little teeny tiny pieces that Sherlock couldn't puzzle together. And yes, I'd like to hit the mute button on my son and just enjoy a damn hour of silence. Just... give me an hour, people!

But there is one thing that will always remain true: my children have shown me who I truly can be. They have made me into the strong independent woman with heart and compassion that I am today. And for that, I will always and forever be in their debt.

So single moms, don't be afraid of the question. Ask it. Daydream it. But then come back to reality and realize who you truly are because of your kids. There is a reason children are known as gifts.

P.S. I will vacay in a studio apartment in Manhattan and live in a cabin when they move out. Bet on it!