This weekend I'm catching my breath in the overwhelm of single mom-ness.
Little N went to his dad's on Friday so I got a little time to hang out with Miss A - and she introduced me to Netflix streaming and Call The Midwife (love!) (I signed myself up Saturday and started watching immediately). Little N missed me so his dad brought him home Saturday morning. It was a grey downpour day. I managed to get some chores done while kiddo watched Tangled (4 times in a row?) (funny & exciting Every Time!), practiced his writing, and crashed around out on the deck. L came back to get Little N Sunday afternoon for a few hours giving me a little more time for Call The Midwife and some batch cooking for my greatly anticipated Whole30.
I don't expect there's some great relief coming to me. I expect that these little pauses are what I can hope for and rest in and savor when I get them. I do experience these odd waves of emotion in the quiet hours alone. A feeling that says something like, "I shouldn't have to do this alone. I should have a partner in this." This being parenting, at least, and maybe life as a whole. But in these same alone pauses, which I am grateful for, I also know that I'm not alone. Little N is with his dad. I am connected to friends and family near and far who care and are thinking of me and Little N as we make our way through this. It's not the same as a partner. It's not the same as a best friend next door. But it matters and I find myself counting on it. Just as I've come to count on these little pauses.