Dating as a Single Mother

The thing about dating when you're a single parent is that it's such a kerfuffle!

I mean, dating in itself is a pain in the bum - you get dressed up, you put on your best smiley face and basically make like you're having a job interview for an hour or so - presenting your best self, smoothing over the parts best avoided in a first meeting.

But when you're a single parent, there's a whole new level of "argh" - not only do you need to arrange a reliable baby sitter, but you also have vet your date not just in terms of whether you think you could get on with them, but whether your child or children could get on with them. And that is a massive question. 

On the one hand, you don't want a never ending parade of random men coming through your child's life; on the other though, you don't want to bother starting something with someone who doesn't get on with your child.

And then there is the question of children - if they have their own, will they have a different style of parenting, will their children get on with yours? If they don't have children, are they looking for someone to have children with (and do you want more children); are they even interested in a "ready made" family?

In ye olden days, pre-child, you could just go on a date with someone, carefree and without worrying about these things - you could just have fun and worry about whether they were "partner material" at some undetermined point down the road, if and when it got to that sort of point. Once you have a child, their happiness comes before everything else - so even if you don't ever introduce them to your child until you're sure they're worth the effort, there's no point in getting to the point where you're sure about them, if you then find that your child hates them.

I have been in the situation myself, where you're an older child and a new partner turns up who you hate, but is there to stay - and you never get over that feeling, that someone else has been chosen over you, by the one person who you feel should never choose anyone else over you. That feeling haunts my nightmares as something I would never, ever want to subject S to. 

I went on a date the other day (shh, don't tell anyone!) and it was really scary. Having been largely confined to the house in the evenings for some time now, I had nothing to wear. Heck, even brushing my hair is a bit of a novelty these days! And then, once I'd sorted a babysitter and dug out the mascara, I had to actually go and meet the bloke. Terrifying. Well... actually, I'd met him on a dating website a few weeks previously, and we'd been chatting so it wasn't that bad. We already knew a fair bit about each other so didn't have to do that whole "so..." business. Well, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a little bit of the old "so..." but it wasn't as bad as one of those dates where you have to just start from scratch with who you are.

These days, I work from home and don't have much occasion to leave the house (that sounds worse than it is, honest). When I'm not working, I'm looking after S and my mind is far from the idea of getting a date. So I'm thinking at the moment that internet dating is probably the way forward at the moment. You can do the whole "getting to know you" bit without investing too much in it, kind of like skipping the first few dates. And then you only meet the ones you get on with - and therefore need less of your babysitter's time. In theory.

If any of my lovely readers have experience of dating as a single parent, please do get in touch. I'm interested to hear how other single parents have dealt with this sort of thing.

Days Out When You're A Single Parent

S has been on holidays from nursery, which means two weeks stuck at home with Mummy.

Neither of us has been enthralled by this prospect, if I'm honest. Being self employed means I can't really take two weeks off so most of S's nap times and my evenings are spent catching up on the work that can't wait until S returns to nursery after the Bank Holiday weekend.

I don't drive, so as much as S loves the bus, days out pose a bit of a predicament. We have been on a couple of outings, though; these are some of the difficulties one faces as a lone parent with a toddler:

The biggie: buggy or no buggy?

• If I take the buggy, there is no real luggage rack on the new buses so it has to be parked in a wheelchair space - meaning S is left staring at the side of the bus for the entire journey. If I don't take the buggy, we can go and sit on the top deck and have great fun pointing out cows, horses, sheep and straw!
• If I take the buggy, it is in the way for about 90% of our day. S likes to walk everywhere, and if we go somewhere like the Oceanarium (as we planned to last week), it's not accessible with a buggy and you have to find somewhere to park it - and then go back in and retrieve it when you're done. Neither is ideal when you have an over-excited toddler who doesn't want to get in the buggy, doesn't want to leave the fishies behind, wants to play with everything in the gift shop. And then you come out of the Oceanarium, and she wants to run and play in the sand - while I try and gamely drag the buggy along behind us! 
• If I don't take the buggy, we have to be back on the bus home by around 1pm so that S can have a nap - especially if she's been walking around all morning, she needs a nap!
• If I don't take the buggy, when S's legs get tired or she's fed up, I have to pick her up and carry her - which doesn't work well when one is sporting an umbilical hernia/bad back combo. Similarly, if she's having a bit of a meltdown, I can't let her sit in the buggy and calm down while we keep walking for the bus (or whatever else) - we have to stop and sit down somewhere. And miss the bus.

Eating out:

• Do you go somewhere with table service & hope they're the sort of place that welcomes toddlers throwing their fish fingers all over the place?
• Alternative to table service: you go to the counter and order food & drinks. They give you cutlery, drinks (usually in glasses filled to the brim) and all sorts of stuff that you then have to get to your table, along with a toddler. This one is tricky with or without a buggy.
• Alternative: you get the toddler settled at a table, and chance leaving them for a few minutes (longer if there's a queue) to order the food/drinks. Toddlers don't sit still, and in my experience you have only a 2-week interval in the development of a child where they can be left in a restaurant high chair without either sliding out of the bottom of it, or tipping it over in attempt to escape. But if you leave them loose in a normal chair... we all know how that ends.

Toilets & nappies:

• You are out on your own with a toddler, and you need a wee. If the toddler is in a buggy, you have no choice but to try and find a disabled toiled that doesn't require a radar key (those ones are usually all shades of awful) or you leave your child unattended outside of a normal cubicle door.
• If the toddler is not in a buggy, it's easier in that you can bring them into the cubicle with you... but less easy in that you spend the entire time saying "no, don't touch that... please don't sit down... please leave the door locked... please wait until Mummy has pulled her knickers up..." all the while with a running commentary which yesterday sounded a lot like, "it's loud, Mummy! Mummy do a wee wee it's loud! S do wee wee too..." as she tries to pull her trousers and nappy down.
• When it comes to nappy changing, it can be pretty hard to find a nappy changing facility without a queue outside, especially in a touristy place on a nice day. Let's just leave that one there, shall we!

A Post About Self Esteem and Husbands

I've been reading a lot lately about goal setting, and how important it is to set goals. Not just for now, next week, next month, next year, but also for the bigger picture; where you want to be in 20 years' time.

I've never got around to actually writing down my goals though... by which I mean, I actively resisted doing it. I had the pen and paper in my hands several times, but always found a reason not to actually write anything down.

The other day, I was listening to a CD of the Damsels in Success Ignite conference, and decided to just get on and write down where I want to be in 20 years. I wrote my list: where I live, what my house is like, what S is like, what I'm doing for a living, blah blah. Each time I finished writing one point, it crossed my mind to mention a man in my life. Then I would just move on to another detail.

I felt a strong resistance against making any mention of a man in my long term plans. But here I am, single and considering joining a dating site in order to meet a man. I complain about being single all the time. I often wish I had a long-term partner in my life... so why did I have such a problem with imagining one in my long term goals?

When I was a teenager, I felt so horrendously ugly, both inside and out, that I honestly thought I would never find anyone who would want to be with me. I told everyone I didn't want to get married and have children because I thought if I convinced myself and everyone else of this, it wouldn't hurt so much when it never happened.

I convinced everyone that I didn't want or like children, that I was scared of them and didn't want them around. People were surprised when I fell pregnant because they had always believed my constant affirmation that I was fine on my own; and now here I was, suddenly step parent to six children and expecting my own. I don't think anyone expected me to be particularly good at being a mother because I'd always talked about how much I didn't want to be one and never wanted to get married. When I was pregnant I remember my mother telling me I was the least maternal person she'd ever met. And yet here I am, doing a pretty damn good job of being a mother to S, and loving it. Like I always secretly knew that I would.

Guess what: I always wanted to get married and have children; I just didn't believe I was, or would ever be good enough to have either. I believed I was so bad that nobody would ever want to have children with me. This belief was compounded when my relationship with S's father turned out to be a farce. See, the only person who wanted to have a baby with me was using me and didn't even want me or the baby so much as more people to control and manipulate. I wasn't even good enough for him. It's hard to come through something like that, and not see it that way: that you weren't even good enough for someone that low and disgusting and nasty.

It seems I've done a pretty a good job of convincing myself and everyone around me that I don't want a husband and children. Since having S I've been largely independent; mostly through necessity, often through choice and pig-headed determination I've managed to sabotage a fair few relationships in my life because the idea of being a long term relationship didn't fit in with my view of myself - even though that view was wrong. Because I am good enough. Just as I am, without having to wear more make up or lose a few pounds or dye my roots. When my daughter looks at me she doesn't see any of that; she doesn't see that my clothes don't fit well, or that I've not washed my hair today and my nail varnish is chipped. I really don't think it's outside the realms of possibility that I could find a man who feels the same.

In the end, after a lot of poking at myself to try and figure out what the problem was, I wrote down at the bottom of my list of goals that I want to be happily married, possibly with more children. It was probably the weirdest and hardest sentence I've ever written. But I did it. And now... now I wait for him to turn up! (and maybe join a dating website if I can pluck up the courage)

On Being a *Single* Mother

I'm fed up and feeling sorry for myself. 

This time of year is shit when you're single. The world seems full of happy couples, holding hands and kissing under mistletoe and doing their Christmas shopping and all the rest of it. And don't give me all that old bollocks about people having problems you can't see. The fact is, I go to bed alone and I get up alone and often the only person I speak more than three words to through the day is my todder who, lovely and perfect though she is, cannot really provide the companionship I long for.

If you're single at Christmas, you can go out and get drunk with your friends and maybe cover up the fact you're alone and miserable a little bit. A lot of people aren't even lonely and miserable; they're happy to be single. I was once. 

When you're a single mother though, you can't go out and celebrate Christmas like all the other single people do. And even if I could get my sister to babysit every single night for me, I wouldn't want to go out and leave S while I got drunk or whatever. Basically, I'm pissed off about a situation I can't even really change. 

At Christmas, it seems that you either do the drunken celebrations in the pub, or you do the family thing at home. Both are good fun, both involve Christmas cheer and blah blah blah. For me though, there's not a lot of Christmas cheer to be had once S is in bed of an evening. Then it's just me and the TV, which is inevitably filled with happy couples holding hands and kissing under mistletoe and doing their Christmas shopping and all the rest of it (I don't watch Eastenders so I can't comment on that particular bleakness). Even last year, when I was technically in a "relationship" at Christmas, I spent most of it alone, trying to cover the fact I was feeling pretty let down by that.

I think this current mood has been sparked by the fact there was a small piece in Mother & Baby about having sex when you're a mother, and they used me as an example for the "single mother." It just highlighted how shit my love life really is. 

I've been single for almost a year. During that time, nobody has shown any real interest in being more than just friends with me. Earlier this year, three different men said they would like to take me to the cinema to see the same movie. Three of them... In the end, I just watched it when it came out on dvd; they all let me down. I love the cinema, but I've not been for nearly two years because there is nobody to go with. And yes, I could go with a friend but it's not the same is it. That's not what I'm missing. I have friends, and they all have partners to go back to and spend evenings and weekends and Christmas and New Year with.

I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm fed up. I don't think I'm a bad person, I don't think I deserve to be miserable and alone and have my lonely misery interspersed by brief periods of hope that I am not indeed disgusting and hopeless, only to be returned to the miserable loneliness, usually unceremoniously, for no apparent reason.

I'm tired of putting a brave face on. I'm tired of being a single mother. S is 20 months old now. I've had 20 months of doing everything alone (yes, I was seeing someone last Christmas but really, he didn't manage to even once look after S for 20 minutes so that I could have a bath without an audience, much less "take the pressure off" or whatever it is they're supposed to do). I've had 20 months of being alone. S goes to sleep, I do the house work, prepare what needs to be prepared for morning, maybe do a little work, and mostly sit and wait for it to be time to go to bed. Alone.

I was talking to a friend the other day who said a female friend was absolutely desperate to find a father for her children. I am sort of the other way. I am very wary of finding a "replacement dad" for S; not because of what single mothers usually say: "oh, she already has a father" because S doesn't, really. She's never had a father figure in her life. I am very wary of letting just anyone wander into that sort of role. So while I am desperately, miserably alone and single, I've managed to avoid all the ill-advised car crash relationships I used to wander into when I had nobody else to worry about, and wasn't particularly worried about myself.

There has been a lot of examining my past relationships, a lot of navel gazing. A lot of wondering what is wrong with me, that I keep ending up in the same shit, with the same losers, feeling like the same idiot. I should have a better sense of self preservation, but I don't. But now I have a sense of needing to protect my daughter, which is why I am single and not dating yet another in a long line of wankers. Not that any loser wankers are even showing an interest these days. Except that one guy... who I really can't afford to go near again. Ever.

But it would still be nice to have someone to kiss under the mistletoe, someone to cuddle up to at night, someone to just be here from time to time. Someone to say "happy New Year, we're going to have a great year together."

Disclaimer: if you are, or are friends with/related to someone I used to date, obviously you/they are not included in the "long line of wankers" to which I refer. Obviously, you/they are the one shining exception.

Pity Party for One.

I feel sorry for myself a lot. More than is healthy, for definite.

My mother is an expert in the fine art of garnering pity/sympathy from others. I was brought up with it, and I used to do it too, because it was the only way I knew to get attention. 

When I was about 18, I read a book called The Celestine Prophecy. It's a weird story about lights and vibrations and hippie shenanigans, but there was this whole section on "control dramas," one of which was called "Poor Me" where a person makes people feel sorry for them in order to get attention. I recognised myself (and my mother) in this, and realised it was possibly not the best way to go through life. Since then I have tried very hard not to do that, not to make people feel sorry for me.

I hate to be a burden to people; I hate for people to feel like they have to help me or something. Even when someone offers to help me, I usually decline and feel very uncomfortable asking for or accepting help. From anyone. I also hate to feel like people are doing something out of obligation or pity.

Yes, on the one hand I am a single mother with not much money, living in a crappy flat in a less-than-ideal area. But on the other hand, I am perfectly capable of helping myself. And it's important to me to feel that I can do it on my own, that I'm not constantly needing to lean on others in order to get through day to day life. I've written before about how I don't like to ask for help and the points I made in that post still stand. I hate it. I hate to feel like someone is helping me because they feel sorry for me or think I can't cope on my own. But what I really hate is to feel that a person must walk away thinking "bloody Vicky, I always have to do stuff for her when I go round there..." 

I had coffee with a friend today, and he asked me about my breakdown and why it happened. I've written about my breakdown before; I'm fairly open and honest about it, how it happened, how I recovered. I don't often talk about the causes of it though, because... well, it's a long story.

Although it's a long story, it's not a secret. And after many years of shaking uncontrollably and getting horribly upset whenever I spoke about things in my past, I can (for the most part) detach myself from it now, and am usually fine talking about it. So I told him, briefly, of the things that led to my ending up a bit cuckoo. And I watched the look on his face change to that look.

This is not someone I know terribly well; we don't have other friends in common, he doesn't know any of my family or back story. Just the things that normally come up in day to day conversation. Now it feels like he knows too much. And too much of the wrong things. Instead of knowing I used to spend all day at work quoting lines from Eddie Izzard dvds and making filthy jokes with my friends, he knows about my parents' divorce. Instead of knowing about the mad nights we used to spend in Southampton at the Nexus, with UV hair and long drunken walks home across the Itchen Bridge, he knows about my dad's death. And that is bad because it gives the wrong impression of me. I would rather be thought of as happy, smiling, laughing, taking the piss, getting drunk and falling over with my friends, than sad, downtrodden, oh-you-poor-thing-however-did-you-cope. I hate for anyone to think that of me, especially a friend.

Shortly after my dad died, I was seeing a boy who lived in Southampton - about 30 miles from where I lived. I texted him late one night that I was struggling, my life hurt and I didn't know how to stop it. Thirty minutes later he arrived at my front door. And I immediately felt like a fraud. I shouldn't have texted him; my text had made him so worried about me, he'd come all this way to make sure I was ok. That was not on. And I know there's every possibility that man will read this post (we are still good friends) and either not remember that night, or tell me it wasn't a big deal. But it was a big enough deal to me that I still remember it nine years later. I don't want to be that person, I never wanted to be that person.

I don't want anyone to do anything for me out of pity, so I tend to avoid mentioning things that might elicit that reaction. I might tell you I had a breakdown, but I won't often tell you about the things that led up to it. I might mention my dad's death, but relatively few people know the detail of what happened. I tend to skate over the details and just say "and then this happened, and then that happened, and then this, and then he died." Everyone knows I was in an abusive relationship, but there are massive chunks of that story I will probably never tell.

I feel sorry for myself a lot of the time, especially at this time of year. I'm single and alone and basically unlovable and I miss my dad and I wish a lot of things were different. But I don't want anyone else feeling sorry for me. This is a private pity part, and you can't join in. Don't you even dare try.

Mental Illness vs Mental Wellness

Have you ever heard the saying the holistic therapists always wheel out, health is not merely the absence of illness?

The same goes for mental health. 

It's all very well not having depression, not being on medication, not being of concern to your GP.

It's quite another to be mentally "well."

There is a vast chasm in between the two. A vast chasm filled with sticky, black treacle. It's hard to trudge through it and scale the cliff to the other side. Getting off the medication is just the start. And often, just when you think you're starting to reach solid ground on the other side, the treacle drags you back again.

I've written about my breakdown before. I make no secret of the mental health issues I've experienced. People have expressed surprise at my openness, but since the breakdown itself was fairly public (until I went properly cuckoo and deleted my Facebook, that is), I see no point in hiding it. Also for me, writing about how I felt formed part of my recovery.

One thing few people talk about, or possibly even give thought to though, is what happens once you're considered "recovered." Once you're off the medication, and you stop going to the counsellors, and people stop hiding the knives when you visit... it's not over. There's still a lot of fighting to be done.

A major part of my breakdown was the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I was plagued by the belief that I was fundamentally unlovable; I believed I was just plain bad inside, and that I would be alone forever. I wanted to die, rather than face 60 more years of feeling this alone and disgusting.

If I'm honest, those feelings are still there. They've not disappeared. I've just grown better at coping with them. Or ignoring them. Pushing them to the back of my brain, and telling myself they're wrong. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn't. There have been times in the 2 years since I fell pregnant, that S has been literally the only thing keeping me alive. If she weren't here, neither would I be.

This blog is more successful than I ever expected it to be when I started it.

I have a blog on my local newspaper's website.

I've been invited to speak on radio shows on the issues I write about, and have written guest posts for several websites.

People tell me I am good at writing. People whose opinions I trust and respect; people I know would tell me if they thought something was shit.

I still don't think I'm good enough. I still don't understand where these readers come from each month.

I'm not depressed all the time, but I have waves. And the waves are still pretty bad. Before, when I was properly ill, the depression was more of a sustained period of absolute, soul crushing, abject misery. 

This is more a couple of days or a week here and there. I am still horribly lonely. I still feel dejected and fed up and not good enough for the friends who make so much effort with me. 

I'm nowhere near bad enough to go back to the medication, but I know I need to do something pro-active myself, to make sure I don't slip any further. Make sure those waves don't get any longer than a few days. 

What I'm wondering is, will I ever reach the other side? Will I ever feel good enough? Will this bloody black dog ever die?

Once, Twice, Three Times a Mug.

I'm pissed off.

Three times in the last month, I've been taken for a mug.

The first one, some bloke on Twitter, started re-tweeting everything I posted. Everything. Then he started turning up at things I was at. Then he started tweeting to say he'd just seen me leaving the shop and he liked my hair today. Being the fool that I am, I said, well if you saw me why didn't you say hello; come into my work and say hi. He did. And then he kept talking about going out for coffee, wanting to take me out for dinner, thinking I was gorgeous. As soon as I started to believe him, he disappeared into thin air. 

Well, I say thin air; he's still on Twitter, and probably re-tweeing someone else's every move instead now. That one, I wasn't overly bothered about. He was weird and creepy and I'm just glad to be rid of the weirdness.

The second one, I really should have known better. Someone I used to go out with started sending messages saying he missed me, would I consider giving him another chance, blah blah. I said no. He said would I let him take me out for a coffee some time (why always with the coffee? What ever happened to dinner and a movie? Am I really only worth a 3 quid fucking latte?). He told me he would take a day off work to come and take me for coffee. I said I would believe it when I saw it. I didn't see it. I've bumped into him in the street twice since that conversation; no mention has ever been made of coffee. I should be relieved; I did not want to have coffee with this man, and would have felt obliged if he'd ever gotten around to it but... shit, why don't men ever just fucking do what they say they're going to do? It's not like it's difficult.

The last one, the soup bloke, I have no clue. He thinks I'm fantastic, talented, clever, I have a lovely way of painting a picture with words apparently. He brought me soup. He was clearly flirting with me. On more than one occasion. And as soon as I start to think that actually this could be something, as soon as I start to entertain the idea of not being single for the rest of my days and dying in a house full of cats, I get the "it's not you it's me" bollocks. He actually told me I have a nice personality. Thanks, I'll just go get that paper bag for my head then.

Is it just me? Do I just attract this calibre of... I don't even know what you'd call it. It's like they're just using me to boost their egos, to know they could have me if they wanted me, and that's all they want. Clearly I make a great ego boost. It must be the boobs. Or the fucking personality.

The Man Who Says It With Soup... But What Is He Saying?

What does it mean when a man turns up at your door and hands you some home made soup?

According to my mate Sam, who is a gobby bitch and always says it as she sees it, "and you think he doesn't like you? Yeah right!"

On the other hand, I bake brownies for anyone who looks like they might want some gooey chocolate goodness. Perhaps this guy is just as dopey as I am in that respect, and likes to give people things to cheer them up - without having any sort of romantic intentions.

Which one do I really want it to be? I don't even know. 

Don't get me wrong; I have a hideous crush on this man, for various reasons. He is lovely. He compliments me and encourages me with my writing and chats random shit with me and walks on the outside of the pavement in some weird, old-fashioned chivalrous fashion that's quite adorable. Spending time with him feels a lot like a Winter afternoon wrapped in a big quilt watching a classic movie.

But I'm also slightly petrified of all that business. I have enough on my plate right now, without getting all caught up in something that could well end in tears (if past experience is anything to go on, it's likely to). It's safe to say I have poor judgement when it comes to men. Is this just more poor judgement?

And really, if you were trying to woo someone, would you use soup to do it?

I was trying to think of the last time a man turned up with home made food at my door... The best I could come up with was a drunk bloke last Christmas offering to get a taxi to the nearest KFC (half an hour away) and bring some back for me. Not quite the same, is it. And I know which one I prefer.

I am not sure what to make of the whole soup thing. What does it say, when a man turns up at your door with soup?

Single Parents: Why The Fuss?

I've made a few posts lately, some quite ranty, about being a single parent and the bad reputation we seem to have.

But why do I care so much? Why be bothered about the social stigma, why be bothered what people think? Why not just get my head down, and get on with my life?

Sometimes I wonder why I care so much. And then, the other day, it hit me.

When I first got pregnant, I split up with S's father before I was even 8 weeks pregnant. I remember having my booking appointment with my midwife, and literally just crying all the way through it. I knew it was a bad relationship; I knew I should stay away. The midwife agreed with me, and so did my family and friends.

But I believed my child should have two parents. I believed I should try as hard as possible to maintain at the very least a civil relationship with him, so that S was not disadvantaged in any way. I believed the two-parent model was the best, and that my unborn child needed a father.

I didn't want to be a single mother. Besides the belief I was completely incapable of raising a child alone, I didn't want to be one of those people. I didn't want to be the stereotype everyone sees when they hear those words: Single Mother.

That stigma, that belief about single parents and the way society would look at me, the way I would look at myself, is part of what kept me going back. I returned to a poisonous, dangerous, abusive relationship so many times during my pregnancy, I can't even give you an estimate of the number. 

I was kicked out, banished so many times. I would leave of my own accord as many times again. I went weeks without returning calls or reading texts. I tried hard to stay away, because I knew I had a duty to keep myself and my child safe. And because, on a more fundamental level, I just plain could not cope with all the pain and drama. My pregnancy was so traumatic, I've still not been able to write about it - and anyone who has read the things I have written about will realise just how bad it must have been for me, then.

But for every time I thought "I really need to stay away," there was another thought to contradict it: "no, you need to try and make this work..."

I'm not saying that social stigma was what caused me to stay in an abusive relationship; I can't blame that on anyone else but him and me. But perhaps, if that stigma, the Daily Mail, the benefits scum, the council estate chic and all the rest of it had not been so prominent, I might have done a little better at staying away.

I know this is just a little blog but I feel I need to do as much as I can to help break down that stigma, and to make things easier for all single parents. So that maybe the next time something like this happens, the question of whether to leave an abusive relationship will not include worrying over what society will think of you.

More Rantings About Single Parents

I posted last week about how I get irritated with people's responses to some of my posts.

I found for a couple of days after that post, my brain was doing that classic and another thing... thing it is wont to do... so here are some more points I'd like to raise:

• I dislike people who resent me for living in a council flat while they are still on a waiting list, or can't even get onto a list. As if this is my preferred location, as if I would much rather be able to afford to rent privately or even buy, somewhere with a garden, a bit of space. And not a stair well full of piss and neighbours from whom S is sure to learn a questionable vocabulary even if all windows are kept shut.

• People seem to hate the fact I'm entitled to benefits, as if the £71 Income Support or £60 Child Tax Credit was the reason I had a child. You may not get financial help from the state for your child, but you have a husband/partner who, even if he is the most shit other-half in the world, can still be left in the house with the child while you run out for milk, or can still hold the baby or make sure he doesn't fall off something while you nip to the toilet. At the very least, he can answer the door to the postman while you're elbow-deep in poonami. 

• I can't stand it when people think it's ok to question where something I own came from - or even to imply I have stolen it, as in the comments to this post. It is as if my entitlement to benefits somehow removes my right to spend my money as I see fit, or the right to privacy of my financial affairs. The media looks at people who claim benefits, and seems to expect that all claimants should be clothed in rags and living off rice. The fact is that many of us have had reasonably well-paid jobs at one time or another, and in a previous existence were able to afford such niceties as a TV or dvd player.

• It's reasonably well reported that actually, the largest burden on the benefits system is people drawing the old age pension; but nobody comments that an OAP has bought their bingo card "with my taxes!" Do please explain to me how a pensioner is more entitled to assistance than I am. Yes, they may have paid into "the system" for a number of years, but so have I - and I will continue to do so, once my childcare costs do not outweigh my income.

• One of the worst things is when people stand in front of me and complain about feckless benefits scum who defraud the system and get help from "my taxes"... and then look at me and say, "oh, but not you!" As if, because of the circumstances surrounding my becoming a single mother, or perhaps because I work in an office and not an off license, or because I don't smoke, or because of something else I've not considered, I'm a "deserving" single mother. It's ok for the state to help and support me because... I try hard? Because I blog about it? Because I have a reasonable enough grasp of the English language as to be occasionally eloquent in my arguments? Because I use cloth nappies? Why am I deserving of help, and not a blight on society, but many of my contemporaries are scum? At least people who hate all single mothers have the decency to not discriminate between us based on some random, arbitrary standard they are secretly - perhaps unconsciously - holding us all to.

Suggestions for the Government

This government seems to dislike single parents so much, and their plan of using tax breaks for married couples to somehow prevent them... well, quite frankly, it's a bit stupid isn't it. How is a tax break amounting to up to £3.80 a week supposed to encourage people to get married, and then stay married? Surely we could all just stay single, and drink one less pint of beer a week. Or maybe a couple fewer lattes.

I thought I would give our government some suggestions of other things they could do, in order to avoid the social inconvenience of single parents.

• Take the money you would spend on tax breaks for married couples, and put it into schools. Use it to teach children self-esteem and self-worth. Teach them how to communicate with each other effectively. This will help to prevent people getting into unhealthy relationships which they then end up leaving, kids in tow. If someone has a stronger sense of self-worth and self-esteem, they are less likely to sleep with someone for the wrong reasons.

• Take the money you would spend on tax breaks for married couples, and put it into mental health care. Help people to deal with their issues and problems. Make it easier to ask for help, and easier to access that help. Support people in recovery so that they don't end up damaging other people with their problems, or seeking refuge from their demons in a damaging relationship. If you're not in a shitty relationship, you're not likely to end up having to leave it and become a single parent.

• Take the money you would spend on tax breaks for married couples, and put it into building a robust benefits system with the resources to assess individual cases, weed out trouble makers and skivers, and to genuinely provide help and support for those who need it. Make it so that benefits are seen - by everyone, even Daily Mail readers - as a genuine way of helping people to help themselves. Spend money on more individual, one-to-one guidance and assessment so that people are not left to languish on ridiculous help-to-work schemes that don't work.

• Take the money you would spend on tax breaks for married couples, and put it into helping single parents to fend for themselves. Help them to get into gainful employment by giving them access to courses and childcare - so that they are not such social pariahs with awful and largely undeserved reputations.

Since becoming a single parent, I have come to realise two things:

1. Working single parents work fucking hard. We get up early, do everything involved in taking care of the child/children, do a day's work and then come home to prepare dinner, do bath and bed time, wash up, do housework and prepare for the same all over again the next day. 
2. A great deal of people resent us for the pitiful help we do receive. Single parents seem to have a reputation for being lazy, feckless and workshy. If we work, we're considered unreliable because we're the only ones available to do emergency pick-ups from nursery/school for poorly kids. We often don't have anyone else to stay home with poorly children, so end up taking weeks at a time off work.

It would be great (and ultimately very surprising) if this government were to use their collective time in office to help single parents to help themselves, and to maybe gain a better reputation in the process.

Prepare Yourselves for a Rant

Let me just preface this post by saying: this post is not directed at anyone in particular. I am just in a ranty mood.

Here, have a photo of me.
 Couldn't think of what else I could use a photo of in this post.

I have posted a fair bit lately about being a single parent. I even made a post on my blog for the local paper about single parents. And I was interviewed (briefly) on LBC last week about the stigma of being a single parent.

Guess what, I'm a single parent. The clue is in the name, people. I write about being a single parent. And sometimes, when it's in the news, and the government are making legislation that is seemingly designed to kill us off, I get ranty and cross and I pull out my soap box and blog about it.

Generally when I do this, I get:

• Supportive comments from my friends, other single mothers, or people in general who have read my blog and respect what I am doing
• Silence from people who don't give a shit either way - I respect that silence more than you realise, oh quiet ones
• Non-single parents complaining that I shouldn't make out that they have it so easy. Or that having a partner doesn't mean white picket fences and happily ever after. Or whatever else that loosely translated means: shut up, I have a hard time too and I don't want to hear about your hard time because it detracts from my pity party.

Guess which one I'll be ranting about today.

When I say that I, or people like me, have a hard time I am not saying that other people have it easy. I am not saying that my situation is any worse than anyone else's. I can't comment on your life; I have never lived it. And as Jeanette Winterson so aptly put it: we are all convinced our own situation is the worst, and I am no exception (I'm paraphrasing; I read it a long time ago, but you get my meaning).

I can't write a blog post about how hard it is to be part of a two-parent family. I can't blog about how difficult it is when your husband just doesn't appreciate everything you do around the home. I can't blog about how unfair it is that you don't get help with your nursery bill. I have no idea about that side of life. i have been a single parent since my daughter was 3 weeks old. 

I can only write what I know, and that is that being a single parent is difficult, and we get a lot of stick from both government and media, who seem to assume we are all feckless ne'erdowells who have deliberately gotten ourselves pregnant so as to gain housing/benefits/get out of work/whatever else. This is what makes me angry; this is what I am passionate about; this is what I write about.

If you feel that two-parent families are not well represented in the media, do what I'm doing - set up a blog, and write your point of view on the matter.

My sister has just had a baby. The other day she looked at me and said, very matter-of-factly, with no hint of being patronising or talking down to me, "I have no idea how you do this on your own." 

I have to say, I have no idea either. When you write it down on paper, it's a bit horrific. Especially if you know anything about my past, or the story of how I came to be a single parent in the first place. But I don't want admiration or gasping applause. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes want a little recognition for how hard things can be from time to time, but I am also aware that for every negative to my situation, there is a glaring positive. The most notable has to be that I am no longer obliged to tolerate the horrendous relationship whose only good point was my daughter.

I am free, and I will take a million nights of being alone with a screaming, teething toddler and Baby Jake, over a single second in that position again.  Although that could be interpreted as seeing a silver lining around a rather large cloud, I see it as a massive positive in my life. There are the smaller things as well: I don't have to take anyone else's opinion or ideas into account. I am free to have my daughter share my bed, breastfeed as long as we both want, wear my choice of clothes, learn my choice of values and ideas. I answer to nobody. When she cries, I don't sit on the sofa arguing with someone as to whether it would constitute spoiling her to go and pick her up; I just go and do it. I know several people who do not have these particular luxuries, and I am grateful for them. I also know people who are struggling to care for children whilst coping with an abusive relationship, and I know for damn sure I am more lucky than those people. I count my blessings every single day.

BUT it does make me angry when I write these posts, and at least one parent in a relationship pipes up that they struggle financially also, or their life is not all roses, they can't afford this or that, or single parents get more help from extended family (I can assure you, I don't). 

When I was debating whether to go back to work or stay home to care for S until she was 5, I knew I was lucky to have that option: I am entitled to claim benefits until that point, if I so wish. I found it insulting though, to find couples telling me that I "should" go back to work because they had to work, because they couldn't afford for one of them to stay home and look after their child. It was fairly clear to me that what they actually meant was "if we wish to maintain our current standard of living, we both need to work. We don't want to get rid of our second car/give up our annual 2 week holiday/stop buying our clothes from Next, so we both have to work." What if, whether you worked or not, you couldn't afford even one car, you had no chance of a holiday, you couldn't afford to even peek your head around the door of Next? It's a matter of perspective, and priorities.

In a way, it's nice that not everyone has to deal with problems on such a basic level as "I think I'm going to have to call a food bank because there is nothing in the cupboard." I'm glad not everyone has this.

I'm glad not everyone lives in a block of flats whose stairs are regularly awash with piss that may or may not be human, dog shit, beer cans and other "paraphernalia."

I'm glad not everyone has had to spend an entire calendar year trying to get a roof that leaked directly into their child's bedroom repaired.

I'm glad that not everyone knows the meaning of the phrase "it's not consent if she's afraid to say no" in the way that I do.

There are some of my personal experiences that I would not wish on my worst enemy; I am glad you have no idea how this feels. I am glad your biggest problem is that your husband wasn't home in time for bed time stories this evening.

But please, for goodness' sake, when you're up there on your high horse, show some compassion and understanding for those people who would love to have your problems in exchange for their own.

The Problem with Coping

I was chatting to a friend the other day about how irritating it can be to be constantly struggling, and never offered any help. When you're a new mum, people offer to help you with things all the time, but by the time your child is a few months old, you're supposed to just be able to do it. And by the time your child is a toddler, you clearly don't need any help, with anything, ever.

I hate to be a burden to people or to put anyone out in any way; even if they are offering to help, I'll often say "oh no no, it's ok, I'm fine thanks"  - because I know how often I have offered to help someone out of politeness, and really hoped they would turn me down.

I don't want to be the person people dread visiting, in case I try and get them to fix something or take the rubbish out or help me move furniture while they're here. So I try to muddle on through as best I can.

I do my shopping in several trips, hanging bags off the handles of the buggy and dragging them across town and up the steps. When I need nappies or washing powder, I improvise. I can no longer afford to have my shopping delivered so I just end up going to the supermarket on an almost daily basis. That in itself is no mean feat, now that I'm working as well.

I wait until S is asleep to take the rubbish and recycling out, locking the door behind me and getting to and from the bins as quickly as possible.

The problem with this approach is that I look like I'm coping perfectly well on my own. It doesn't look like my life is a daily struggle to keep my head above water, so nobody offers to help. Because I don't constantly ask people to pick up washing powder or nappies for me, it doesn't occur to them to wonder how the hell I manage to get them myself.

Sometimes, I look up and think, "why can't you see I'm struggling? Why don't you want to help me?"

The problem, my friend says, is that I look like I'm coping. Because I'm not in a heap on the floor, snotting on people's shoes and asking for help with every little thing, they assume I don't want a hand with anything at all. It's not that I'm not coping; just sometimes, it would be nice to have a little help with it.

This is not just about being a single mother, though being single does make things harder. Life as a parent generally, can be tough at times. And people seem to forget how hard their own struggle has been.

Why I'm Not Celebrating the Royal Birth

Everyone loves a good birth, right? Especially a royal baby?

Well, no. Not everyone.

S at one day old

The arrival of a royal baby means the media is full of speculation: what was the labour like? How is Kate feeling? When will they leave hospital? Where will the baby sleep? Will Kate breastfeed? Who will do the night feeds? As a parent, I can't help but be reminded of my own experience.

Those of you who've been reading for a while will know that I had a fairly traumatic experience, both during my pregnancy and when S was born. (one of these days I will write the story of my pregnancy, but funnily enough, while I've written all about the birth, I don't feel ready to talk about what happened before it)

As time goes on, and I become more and more resigned to the fact S will most probably be an only child, and I will most probably not have another baby, I find it difficult not to be bitterly disappointed about my experience.

Quite early on in my pregnancy, I bumped into one of my mum's friends in a shop. We talked about my being pregnant, and as we parted she said, "enjoy yourself; you'll never have your first pregnancy again!"

I didn't enjoy my pregnancy. It was filled with fear and tension and stress and the constant feeling that everything was just wrong. I didn't enjoy my experience of S being born; I didn't enjoy the first few months of her life. Throughout all of that time, I would look around me at other women in my position, and find it very hard not to be consumed with jealousy. You might think I'm being childish or deliberately maudlin here, but just for a moment, stop and think what it must feel like to be in induced, premature labour, and still afraid of demanding too much attention from the man who is supposed to love you.

I have several friends who had babies shortly after I had S. Many of them were first time mums like me. I found it so hard not to be jealous of them with their new babies, when they were so happy and secure and contented with their partners and their little family. S and I were on our own, alone and distinctly lacking in security. I felt so guilty for her, for the life I had brought her into, and I felt sick to my stomach that my only experience of pregnancy and new motherhood had been tainted so badly by the situation we were in.

I'm really not into the whole navel-gazing, feeling sorry for myself business. I tried that approach to life for years, and all it ever got me was further into a stinking pit of despair. I don't want to wallow in that feeling. For the most part, I just avoid thinking about it and try to focus on the positives. And there are some massive positives, as I've mentioned before. Being a single parent is definitely the best choice for me. But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't have liked to have someone taking care of me when I was pregnant, someone asking if I was ok, someone putting me first from time to time, someone supporting S and I in those first few months, when everything was so new and strange and difficult. Someone to fetch me a glass of water on those evenings when I was stuck the couch, cluster-feeding a tiny, hungry baby while the room darkened around me. 

I'm glad that most of my friends had good experiences with their babies. I wouldn't wish it on anyone to have such a hard time in life. But that doesn't mean I don't find it hard to be constantly bombarded with stories of the most anticipated, privileged birth of this generation. 

Have You Heard of Gingerbread?

When I was pregnant, and it became apparently I was going to be a single parent, I began Googling to see what resources were out there for single parents. 

It wasn't long before I stumbled across Gingerbread.

Their slogan says it all, really. Just lately there seems to be a new news story every day that affects single parents. Benefits, childcare costs, Universal Credit, jobs, the list goes on. Gingerbread stands up for single parents, because our families are just as important as the government's two-parent, white-picket-fence families.

Becoming a member of Gingerbread is free for single parents, and joining means you become part of a UK-wide network of over 40,000 single parents. As a member you can be involved in campaigns, take part in surveys, share stories or even become a media volunteer. By working together in this way, we can show the media and society in general that the received stereotype of the average single parent is wrong!

There's also an online forum which can offer no end of help, support and guidance - something that can be sorely lacking for single parents. You can find threads and groups of single parents in your area as well. It's a good place to go and hang out when you feel like your friends on Facebook/Twitter/at work just don't get what it's like to be a single parent.

There's a monthly e-newsletter, and lots of special offers and competitions to get involved in too.

Gingerbread is a massive organisation with influence in the media. By joining them you can become a part of their voice, and make yourself heard above the headlines. Details of how to join up are here.

Hooray for the Weekend?

A while back, I was talking to a friend whose wife had recently died. He said he didn't like to walk into town on his own, because he felt that everyone was staring at him.

I told him that was silly, that nobody bats an eyelid at a single man walking through town alone.

And then I stopped and thought...

I have two days off in the week, and until I returned to work I was free every day. On week days I will happily bundle S into the buggy and wander off. We'll go to the park, go to town, do some shopping, maybe go to another park, for a walk... whatever takes our fancy.

On the weekends though, I'm convinced the fact I'm a single mother sticks out a mile, and that everyone is looking at me, alone with my child, and silently judging me. I know this is ridiculous; I know nobody really notices one way or the other. But it still bothers me.

This is what our weekends usually look like.

I dislike weekends, because those are the days when the dads are home from work, and people do things as a family. The parks are filled with dads pushing their kids on the swings, watching them go down the slides, or pushing them in pushchairs. Town is filled with families walking round the shops. Families in restaurants, families on buses, families in cars at traffic lights. 

To me, it notices that I am still on my own on the weekends. Nobody comes home to spend the weekend with us.

On weekends, the loneliness notices more. People go out on a Friday or Saturday night; I have nobody to take me out, no reason to get a babysitter. 

The friends I would normally visit or go to the park with are busy with their husbands or boyfriends, doing family things on the weekends. I don't want to bother them by asking if they want to do something with us, and make them feel guilty for saying no. Or worse, make them feel so guilty they say yes.

In the week, I'm too busy clearing up after yesterday and preparing for tomorrow to notice that I have a 4pm curfew which is rarely broken. On the weekends though, it notices. And it's depressing.

On a Friday evening, the weekend stretches ahead of me as two days where it's entirely likely the only other adults I will speak to will be shop assistants.

Single Mothers Don't Get Sick.

I overheard two mothers talking in Costa this morning. I think one of their friends must have been ill or something. One said to the other, "what would you do if you were a single mother, though, and you were ill? I mean, what would you do with the kid?"

This is something that crosses mind periodically. Every time I'm a bit careless with crossing the road, I think "you're an idiot; what if a car had hit you and broken your leg, or worse?"

S is 15 months old now, and I'm lucky that the worst I've had to deal with, illness-wise, is a bit of a cold, or a headache. The one day I had a monstrous migraine, S went to nursery and I was able to call in sick for work and sleep it off.

You can't call in sick for parenthood though; especially when you're a single parent.

The idea of getting properly ill, especially while S is still so young, scares the bejesus out of me. I have actual nightmares about it. What if I did get ill? What if I had to spend one or more nights in hospital? What would become of my beautiful girl?

In the early days, I was petrified that I would become ill in some way, and that her father would turn up and take her away.

Now I'd like to think I'm in a position where, if I ended up in hospital, he wouldn't even know about it - and even if he did, would never have the nerve to rock up and try to take my child away.

But it still worries me.

And so, I just don't get sick.

Seriously.

I think being a single mother has forced me to man up when it comes to illness. I can't just laze about in bed all day if I feel a bit rubbish; S still need to be dressed, fed, and played with. There's nobody else here that I can kick out of bed and ask, "can you just give me a few more hours' sleep?" And so I kick myself out of bed, and I get on with it.

I take all sorts of supplements, religiously, so as to maintain some semblance of health. I try to exercise and stay active.

I have been very, very lucky not to have been seriously ill so far, and had to try and find ways to keep S cared for and safe.

Mostly, I try to stay positive mentally. I really think that makes all the difference. I don't allow myself to think "oh, I feel a bit rubbish, I feel sick, I might be coming down with something..." I tell myself, "it's just a niggle, drink more water, you'll feel better."


I'm interested to find out what other single parents think about this? Do you constantly worry about what would happen if you got ill?

Single Parenting: The Good And The Bad

Photography by New Sarum Photography

Being a single mother is hard work. There's no denying that. Not only do you have to do the work of two parents, you have to put up with one of two looks from Joe Public:

1. the "oh-you-poor-thing" head on one side fawn, or
2. the "my-taxes-are-paying-for-your-child-you-useless-wastrel" down-the-nose glare.

 Neither is particularly desirable, if I'm honest.

Here is a list of good and bad things about being a single parent.

The Bad:

• When your nose picks up that tell-tale smell, there's no point in ignoring it. Nobody else will smell it and change the stinky nappy for you.
• You're the only one on duty for middle of the night cuddles, nappy changes, teething comfort and general shenanigans. There is no "just hold the baby while I..." - you have to learn to do it while you're holding the baby.
• You may as well give up; you'll probably never pee without an audience again.
• When your child picks up a bad habit... you can't blame it on someone else; they probably learned it from you.
• The buck stops with you. You are entirely responsible for this child. 
• When your child has a bit of a temperature/looks a bit peaky/may have put something untoward in his mouth, you have nobody from whom to seek a second opinion. There is nobody who knows their "normal" well enough to know if you are just over-reacting.
• Your friends and family may mean well, and show an interest from time to time, but realistically you are the only person who is that interested in your child's development. Nobody else cares that much about that cute little face she just made, or that she's just done the cleverest thing with her sun hat.

The Good:

• You get all the cuddles. You don't have to share them with anyone. All that love, just for you.
• You get to make all the decisions. You don't have to agree to disagree or compromise on what you think is the right choice for your child. 
• You can have an amazingly close bond with your child that may not be so close if there was a third person in the relationship.
• Did I mention the cuddles?
• When someone says "you're spoiling her" you can tell them to knob off; it's none of their business. If your partner said that, you'd probably have to take their opinion into account.
• You can do what you want, when you want. Let's have breakfast, and then go straight out to the park. Let's go to soft play. Let's go swimming. Let's stay in the house all day in our PJs and watch CBeebies. There is nobody to disagree with your ideas, and nobody to hold you up while you wait for them to have a shower/make a coffee/tie their shoelaces before you can leave.
• You know when you look at your child, and you're just amazed by how awesome they are? You did that. On your own. Not as part of a team or a group effort. You. Be proud.

Can you think of any more good or bad points? 

Add your own in the comments!

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If you have enjoyed this post, you may also like:

An Example of Why I Am Happy to be a Single Mum

My Response to the CSJ Report on Single Parents

Things NOT to Say to a Single Mum

The Reason I Was On BBC 5 Live on Monday...

According to the Centre for Social Justice this week, one million children in Britain grow up with no contact from their father. They are, apparently, living in "men deserts," with no male role models.

Oh good, another stick with which to beat the single mothers - because the social stigma and benefit cuts are not enough for us to be going on with. We are, after all, the root of all society's ills.

I understand the need to address the issue of young children growing up without a male role model, but this report, and the headlines it is generating, are really not helpful.

Does this child look miserable, disadvantaged and
destined for a life of crime to you?

This report seems to be suggesting that single mothers are in some way responsible for delinquent behaviour. But there is no proof of cause and effect here. Do single mothers cause delinquent behaviour, or does the disadvantage and stigma inflicted upon us cause a situation we are helpless to improve? It sounds to me like the people who compiled the report need to learn the difference between causation and correlation.

According to the CSJ Director, Christian Guy, there is a "tsunami" of family breakdown "battering" the country. Sensationalist statements like this are just not helpful. Would it not be more beneficial to look into the reasons people end up raising children alone, and ways the government can support them in doing so?

Perhaps the absent father has left, and is just not interested in the child. In that case, does the mother who has been left behind, struggling to do her best for her child, really need to be told that her efforts are in vain, and her child will still grow up to be horribly disadvantaged?

Perhaps the absent father is really not a good role model for the child. Perhaps he has had a string of girlfriends since he left, is in and out of prison, maybe he's addicted to drugs or alcohol, or only turns up at Christmas. Is the CSJ suggesting that any role model is better than none?

We cannot go back to the 1950s; these days families are not a man, his wife, two point four children and a white picket fence. More than half the people I know have step-siblings, half-siblings, and any number of weird and wonderful family set-ups. The family is evolving, and the government seem hell-bent on resisting it by punishing those of us who don't fit into their neatly outlined ideal.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a woman in an abusive relationship. Perhaps your partner beats you, rapes you, calls you names, doesn't let you out of the house. But you have children with him. He is their father and they love him. You have stayed with him and put up with it for so long, "for the children," because you don't want them to suffer. But now, you have a black eye and bruised ribs, and you really want to take your children and go and live somewhere safe. And now, the media is telling you that if you don't stay with this abusive man, your children will fail to make friends at school. They'll be likely to engage in crime as a teenager, to become pregnant as a teenager, and generally live a disadvantaged, miserable life.

Is it not hard enough for women to leave abusive relationships as it is, with all the cuts to funding for charities who help in these situations? With the changes to Legal Aid entitlement? Now the women who are trying to leave in order to give their children a better life are being brow-beaten into staying, with their children's welfare being used as the stick.

Single mothers are already battling benefit cuts, proposed cuts to free school meals, childcare costs, returning to work on reduced hours and woefully low wages. This government already treats us with utter contempt; we are already at the lowest possible point on the social scale, being battered from all angles. Please, CSJ, do not give the right-wing media something else to throw at us!

Rather than demand the government promote family stability, why not demand they provide single parents with more support to raise happy, well-rounded children?

If it's such a problem for one million children to be growing up in a single parent household, why not help us to make a single parent household a better place to grow up?

Why not petition the government to encourage male teachers into primary schools instead of blaming single mothers for their children not having male role models?

Oh, wait. I know why you won't do those things. Because you were set up by Iain Duncan Smith, who has already shown his utter contempt for anyone less well-off than himself.

I guarantee you that my child, as the product of a single parent family, with no contact from her father, will grow up ten times happier and more well rounded than if I had stayed with him. Surely it is better for a child to have one good role model, of whichever sex, than two bad ones?

I spoke briefly about this on Five Live on Monday morning; I'm glad I had that opportunity, as this is something I feel very strongly about.

If you liked this post, you may also enjoy Single Mothers: The Scourge of Society?

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Things NOT to Say to Me

Being a single mother, in the situation I am in, I seem to hear the same lines over and over again. Here is a list of the ones I'd really rather you didn't allow to escape from your pie-holes. (yes, I am a grumpy bitch; what of it?)

This is how I feel, 90% of the time.

• "I don't know how you do it"/"I couldn't do it." Oh right, so if you were left alone with a small baby to care for you'd... what? Give up? Sell the baby?  It's a matter of having no choice but to cope. We all just get on with what life throws at us.

• "Where's her dad?" Not bloody here, obviously.

• "I'm almost a single mum; my partner works long hours/is only about at weekends/doesn't change many nappies." No.You. Are. Not. Even if you have the worst, most useless partner in the world, you still have someone to hold the baby while you go to the loo, or someone to stay with the baby while you run to the shop to top up the gas card.

• "You're so brave!" Yes, and I fought a lion on the way to work this morning. I'm a single mother, not an idiot. Don't talk down to me.

• You're so strong!" see above, and kindly knob off.

• "Good for you for going back to work!" No, good for you - now you don't have to feel bad about being friends with benefit scum. And also: see above. Don't talk down to me.

• "Surely you get some time to yourself though?" Yes, when I go to the toilet at work, and 2 hours when S goes to bed, if the noise from outside/next door doesn't wake her. Those two hours are spent cleaning up after the day, preparing for the next day, attempting to catch up on the washing, and studying. And often sitting on the sofa staring into space, wondering how the chuffing hell to get through tomorrow.

• "I'm sure you have someone you can leave her with though!" Yes, I do. For a couple of hours, here and there. When that person doesn't have a better offer, which, as the weather gets better and the novelty of looking after my child wears off, they invariably do.

• "You get lots of benefits though; me and my partner don't get any help!" Well boo-hoo for you. I don't get any help with sleepless nights, nappy changing, shopping, meal times, bath times, teething, colds, nursery drop-off and pick-up, going out without my child, eating a meal that hasn't gone cold, getting the buggy up and down the stairs to my flat, telling my neighbours to STFU when my child is trying to sleep, popping to the shop to get the one thing I missed off the shopping trip I dragged us both around earlier, peeing and bathing without an audience. There are often days where I speak to nobody but my child and shop assistants. Should I continue?

• "Oh, you must be so tired..." Thank you so much for reminding me. Really, it's so helpful when you stand there and state the bleeding obvious. In other news, water is wet and the Earth is round. Now shut up.

• "I know just how you feel." Just fuck off.

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