This week marked the first time I solo-parented both kids for multiple nights. A daunting task in and of itself. Tack on being sick and juggling work during the day – my battery was drained before my solo flight even took off.
The “cough” I caught from Bub had turned into a sinus infection. It was the second time I’d been sick in a month. While Steve was away, Bub cut his foot and G bumped her lip while gnawing on a wooden toy screw. At one point, I was laying on the living room floor completely exhausted, Bub was limping around me and hopping from one couch to the other, G’s lip was swollen and bleeding slightly, and Buddha was panting and scratching non-stop from her seasonal allergies. We were a sad sight.
And yet, I’m glad I did it. It absolutely sucked at some points and I wouldn’t do it the same way I did it this time, but I am a slightly more confident parent having gone through it. Now, watching the kids on my own for a night feels like nothing.
One of the hardest parts of solo-parenting for me is that when it rains, it pours. Things that normally would be easy to tackle are harder. Bub wanting to help me make dinner is usually a fun activity for us to do together. It’s not as much fun when I also have to hold G who only wants to be held. Bub dropping a slice of pizza on the floor is not a big deal, but I squeezed my eyes shut and needed to take a deep breath before wrangling a fussy G into her high chair so that I could scrub red sauce off of the white carpet. Bub spilling a bowl of mac and cheese in the fridge because he’s trying to help me put food away is a sweet attempt but one more thing I have to clean up by myself while G is crying in her Pack ‘n Play.
Being the only adult in the house can feel isolating.
On the other hand, there were things I thoroughly enjoyed. I loved exploring a new library with them. I loved doing school drop-off and pick-up. On the drive there, Bub and I laughed with each other about how I didn’t get lost taking him this time around. I loved the slower evenings of just the three of us, rolling around and playing in the living room.
I let myself simply survive in certain areas. Sometimes Bub would have a sandwich for breakfast and lunch. Sometimes the only solid food G would have during the day would be strawberries. I relaxed about bed times, telling myself that it didn’t matter what time they went to bed and to focus instead on making it as smooth as possible. Once both kids were asleep, I’d creep downstairs to eat something myself, do the dishes, and catch up on work.
Flying solo means no bickering with Steve. I make the decisions and don’t have to run them by anyone else. It means learning to be comfortable with the bare minimum sometimes. It means being more vigilante about safety because I’m now the household’s sole guardian. It means tightening bonds with my children and them tightening bonds with each other.
Flying solo also means breathing a huge sigh of relief when Steve texts that “the eagle has landed”. I finally have my co-pilot back.
I hope the kids have enjoyed their flight with me. We hit some unexpected turbulence at times but it was as smooth as it could have been given the circumstances. Now, this mama needs to refuel.
