Last night was a late night for us. It seemed like the entire universe was combined against us to make sure we didn’t get to bed on time. We did finally make it to bed, but within a few hours my three year old woke up screaming. He was still thoroughly exhausted and try as I might, I could not get him to tell me what was wrong. Was he in pain? Did he have a bad dream? Was he scared? Did he wet the bed? I couldn’t figure it out. As I sat in bed holding him I felt so helpless. I had done everything that I could possibly think of and it hadn’t worked. I wanted help. I wanted someone to come up with something that I hadn’t already tried. But I was on my own. There was no one there to make it all better. I had to figure it out on my own. It turned out that he had had too much to drink and needed to go potty and was too tired to tell me, but I couldn’t get over how alone I felt in that moment.
I’ve gotten used to doing this parenting thing on my own. It’s nothing new to me. I’ve been doing it for a while now, but sitting there at two o’clock in the morning with a crying baby makes me long for things to be different. I knew everything was going to be ok, but I felt helpless and I wanted someone to take that away from me. I wanted someone to put their arms around me and make it all better. I was crying out for help, but there was no one there to hear me.
Most of the time, being a single parent doesn’t really bother me. It’s far from easy, but I’ve gotten used to it, except on nights like this. Sometimes, I just need someone to tell me it’s all going to be ok.