A routine that is my “new” life as a single parent.
A new way of doing things on my own.
A one-man show.
It is something I despise. It is a routine that is born out of necessity, not out of want. My everyday doing is empty and lonely and boring and mundane.
Get out of bed in the morning. No one to talk to while I get ready for work. No one to tell me I look pretty today.
Drive to work. No one to text when I get bored. No one to text me to say they are just thinking of me.
Drive home. No one to call to say I am on my way as was our ritual.
I come home and decide what the girls should eat for dinner with little regard for nourishing myself. I don’t want to prepare a meal for one.
I bathe the girls and brush their teeth. No one to help me get them out of the tub.
I get them ready for bed and give them their nighttime cuddles- having to take turns with who gets to sit on my lap and who just gets to sit beside me. There isn’t another lap for them to cuddle on.
I tuck them in and wish them sweet dreams- one child at a time. They must take turns with me as I only have one set of arms to carry them to bed.
I close up the house, check that the doors are locked, and turn out all the lights. No one to protect me in the quiet darkness.
I wash my face and brush my teeth- staring in the mirror at a reflection of a girl I don’t know anymore. A girl I don’t want to know.
I crawl into bed, thankful for the reprieve that sleep brings. No one to wish good night.
Then I do it all again the next day because, afterall
the show must go on…
A new way of doing things on my own.
A one-man show.
It is something I despise. It is a routine that is born out of necessity, not out of want. My everyday doing is empty and lonely and boring and mundane.
Get out of bed in the morning. No one to talk to while I get ready for work. No one to tell me I look pretty today.
Drive to work. No one to text when I get bored. No one to text me to say they are just thinking of me.
Drive home. No one to call to say I am on my way as was our ritual.
I come home and decide what the girls should eat for dinner with little regard for nourishing myself. I don’t want to prepare a meal for one.
I bathe the girls and brush their teeth. No one to help me get them out of the tub.
I get them ready for bed and give them their nighttime cuddles- having to take turns with who gets to sit on my lap and who just gets to sit beside me. There isn’t another lap for them to cuddle on.
I tuck them in and wish them sweet dreams- one child at a time. They must take turns with me as I only have one set of arms to carry them to bed.
I close up the house, check that the doors are locked, and turn out all the lights. No one to protect me in the quiet darkness.
I wash my face and brush my teeth- staring in the mirror at a reflection of a girl I don’t know anymore. A girl I don’t want to know.
I crawl into bed, thankful for the reprieve that sleep brings. No one to wish good night.
Then I do it all again the next day because, afterall
the show must go on…
exactly...exactly. thank you for articulating it so well.
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