My husband is away for the weekend. Both kids have been bathed, fed and tucked into bed by seven o’clock last night. This morning we all had breakfast, I had a shower (wahey!) and a load of laundry is now rumbling in the washing machine. And here I am, feeling smug like Superwoman (and also stressed out like a headless chicken), because I just about managed without Big M. This weekend has given me a teeny tiny bite of what single parenthood could feel like. For millions of other parents though, this is their daily reality.
I sometimes wonder what I would do as a single parent. How would I cope? Would I be equally relaxed about life in general, as a single parent? Probably not.
Apart from the financial difficulties I’d be facing, there also wouldn’t be any down time for me. No ‘can you go in?’ when the baby wakes for the fifth time that evening, no ‘can you bring her?’ when the older one wants to visit a friend. And definitely no ‘I booked myself a massage on Sunday’.
To be confronted with all the small and bigger worries that evolve around children and being forced to make every single decision on my own would certainly mean the end to my zen state of mind. I wonder how much I could take without losing myself completely.