Dating…Oh Mama

By: Allison Norris

My parents divorced when I was ten years old. A tumultuous time, to say the least, but also a never ending source of priceless material.

“So, tell me something I don’t know about your mom…”

Did this new guy really just ask me this? What, are we new besties and can have “girl talk” about my mother?

“Well, for starters, she has horrible taste in men.”

With that, he stopped asking questions. One point, daughter.

As I am about to cluelessly embark on being a single mom, I have an entire childhood of being raised by one. Does the apple merely roll down the tree staying attached by a psychological umbilical cord? Are we doomed (or in some cases, blessed) to follow in the footsteps of the ones who raised us?

I’ve been thinking a ton about being a parent. Sure, this pregnancy stuff is good and great – there still isn’t really anyone else to worry about. I’m avoiding sushi and paying attention to when I feel exhausted, so I guess I’m thinking about the best for my son… but my whole world hasn’t totally changed – yet. I’m still able to hop out of my car and run into the grocery store without opening the back passenger door… and I don’t have any babysitter phone numbers. As my due date is in ten days, I can’t help but imagine how much is about to change…

My mother was 34, beautiful and single – with a ten, eight and one year old. She had opened a consignment shop where she could bring my infant brother and where we could go after school – ridding herself the cost of childcare. Not a bad plan, mom. We’d work the front register, wheeling and dealing with the locals. “Make us an offer!” and before we knew it, we were professional saleswomen…

I can remember the sweet old guys that would come in and innocently hit on my mother. She’d give them her charming smile and talk them into buying something in the store, or help her move a sofa to a different location. They always did!

Then, there was Bob. Bob was a 32 year old motorcycle riding, long haired, mustached guy who lived by our house. I can remember when we met Bob. She made us go on a nature walk with him.

He didn’t really pay attention to us, but was nice enough. We hated him, obviously, and couldn’t understand why she would like him. She got all gushy and sappy and wore make up and acted like a “girl” around him. It made us puke.

Then, there was Dave. A motorcycle riding, long haired heli-skier who had the deepest voice we’d ever heard. Dave knew everything about everything. He would start a conversation just to hear himself speak. We hated him, obviously.

My mom got a motorcycle, and started to let him talk more that she did. We hated her, obviously.

Dave broke her heart and she began to pick up the pieces… she was single for a few years, just focusing on her career and getting things back to “normal” while trying to be a mom to us.

My father, “King John” as he refers to himself, met Tina right around the same time my mother met Dave. Tina, a red headed construction worker had two girls from her previous marriage and instantly hated us, naturally. Then, they reproduced TWICE giving us two little sisters, who are darling. It’s been interesting, frustrating, and endearing to watch my dad care for them as he and Tina have a roller coaster ride of a relationship. Always off and on, they live in separate homes and are both, single parents. That story is for another day…

My mom met Bruce a couple of years ago online. Bruce is tall, has silvery hair, is retired, and loves wine. He’s never been married, has no children, and just lost his 18 year old companion, a dog named Cubbie, over Christmas. He saves slugs, holds a personal vendetta against our cat or dog if they harm a squirrel, and is easily told what to do. We love him, of course.

My mom and Bruce garden together, take walks and he loves to load and run the dishwasher. We call him “G-pa” because it makes him uncomfortable and it gives us a little rush when we feel like we are appropriately abusing him. I wouldn’t mind if my mom married Bruce and he was another g-pa for my little guy… heck, he already acts like one.

My point is this: as children, we forget the importance of companionship for our parents. We hold them to a standard that excludes them from making mistakes and from being human. I see this now, but then, I was so mad at my mom for putting someone else before us. Selfish of us? Maybe. Selfish of her? I don’t know.

Being 25 and a single mom (almost), I know I am going to date… or, at least I hope I will. I am certain that the acceptance of my little man is going to sort the “boys” from the “men” and I wonder if I’ll find someone who will be willing to love the whole package. Bob and Dave didn’t… jerks. I also feel this overwhelming sense of protectiveness for my son. Will anyone be good enough to even meet him? I remember what a strain it put on the relationship I had with my mother. Roll apple, roll! Far away from this dating tree!

When’s my next therapy appointment… I think I have a few topics I’d like to discuss.