A while back I tallied how much I spent in childcare since Savannah was born. When I tried to share the figure with a single mom friend, she stopped me. “Don’t! It’s too depressing,” she barked.
She was right. But, oh, the things I could have done with that money. Bought beachfront property in the Hamptons. Got a boob job, facelift and a lifetime supply of Botox. Opened an orphanage in India and saved thousands of homeless children. Instead, I paid for college girls to sit on the couch and text their boyfriends.
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Tagged " babysit, "Three's Company, Botox, grandparents, Hamptons, Imelda Marcos, kids, New York City, New York Times, parenting, Single moms
The social worker from Administration from Children Services (ACS) kept calling. She was eager to close the case and get the file with the allegations from the rage-fueled off her desk. (See: Are All Fathers Created Equal? Not Really)
I was happy my nightmare was coming to an end but irked that taxpayer money was spent investigating me when somewhere there was a child locked in a closet or being denied food. Every year in New York another child makes headlines for dying at the hands of his parents. The common thread running through all these cases is that there was horrific abuse that occurred over a prolonged period because ACS dropped the ball.
When people hear I’m a single mom, curiosity often gets the best of them and I’m immediately bombarded with questions about my daughter’s baby daddy. I’ve been through the drill so many times I can recite the questions by heart. It goes something like this:
Acquaintance: “Is your daughter’s father still around?”
Me: “Yes, he lives across town.”
Acquaintance, assuming that all baby daddies fall off the grid: “Does he still take her?”
Me: “Yes, but it’s complicated.”
Acquaintance: “But does HE take her?”
Me: “Yea, but….”
Acquaintance: “No!” shaking their head, “All that matters is that he’s still involved!”
It was 6:30 a.m. and we were in the dog park with Sadie and Joey, our neighbor’s adorable mutts, when my 11-year-old announced she felt “guilty” for charging the dogs’ owners for her services. All I could think is the neighbors are snug in their bed and we’re scooping up poop, praying Joey, the older dog who clearly has one paw in the dog cemetery, doesn’t die on our shift and you feel guilty?
On the shelf where I keep Savannah’s medical supplies, there are several outdated prescriptions. I hang on to these bottles the way a needy child’s clings to her security blanket. Years will pass before I’ll throw those suckers out.
When you have a child with a medical condition that requires several medications, especially if one is expensive, you’re on constant alert for that one insurance company glitch that will prevent the specialty pharmacy from refilling your order. It keeps you on the defensive and you become a Nazi with your record keeping. You also do crazy things like keep old medicine “just in case.” In an emergency, something is better than nothing, you theorize.
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Tagged children, doctors, kids, Motherhood, New York City, parenting, pharmacies, prescription drugs, rare disease, Single mom, special needs