So what does one write in a blog? I've seen movies about them, I have read them, but when it comes down to it, I have to wonder what exactly am I prepared to share with strangers? Part of me is fearful that folks I know may potentially see what I write. Am I prepared for them to see it? I suppose I am overreacting a bit since I doubt anyone will read what I have to say. Then again a part of me (the narcissistic part) thinks that the whole world would love to read about me and will become hopelessly addicted to every word; checking in day after day for updates on my riveting, wonderfully ordinary life. Either way, here it is, the first post of my blog on being a single mother.
Should I start with the circumstances under which I became a single mother? I reckon that is the beginning of my "adventure". There are two beginnings to be honest. You see, I have two children, with different fathers. I have endured quite a bit of scorn for this bit of information, mostly from my family. But I am getting off track a bit. The first beginning came out of a divorce. I was married when my daughter was born. The picture perfect setting I suppose. At least that is what my husband wanted to believe, what he wanted to show. He was a well meaning type of guy I guess. He loved to be the hero, would give the shirt off his back if it got him attention. He also liked control. He liked his laundry done a certain way, always facing to the left when they got hung up so he wouldn't have to flip the shirts back and forth when he was looking for something to wear. Dirty dishes needed to be placed in the sink, not beside the sink. Don't get me started on going out in public. If we were able to make it through a dinner at a restaurant without the manager being called over due to an over cooked piece of meat I was thankful. I had a nervous breakdown every year for the five years we were married. I am not here to bash my ex-husband, which is an entirely different blog, I just wanted to give you a bit of history. At the same time, I know I am not the perfect, docile little house wife, not by any means. I am not the neatest, easiest person to live with. But I also didn't send my spouse to a mental facility once a year for five years either.
Anyway, my little girl was born and I was overjoyed. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. I knew my husband was controlling before she was born. What I didn't realize is how it was affecting me, my family, and how it would affect my daughter. I decided to leave the relationship when my daughter was two years old. My husband had started in on me for something; I can't even recall the reason. My daughter, at two years old, flung her little body over me as if she were trying to shield me from him. My two year old little girl was trying to protect me. She was inconsolable, yelling at him that I was her Mommy and for him to leave me alone. I was devastated. Had I become such a weak, defenseless being that my two year old little girl felt like she had to stand up for me because I couldn't? I decided then and there, no more. To be continued....
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