At 4:47 AM, there is a quiet, purposeful knock at the front door and I tiptoe down in my bare feet to get it. My Mom stands there, immaculately coiffed as always. The fact that she only got three hours sleep is only evident underneath her eyes: her sacks match mine.
“Hi. Thank you, Mom,” I say, and I am wracked with guilt again, as always.”He went to bed late, so hopefully he’ll sleep in till at least six — I put some pillows on the couch and the coffee’s on. Can you rest?”
I have my laptop, my business cards, my small box of schwag for potential customers. I slip on my Serious Business heels and slip my trusty black ballet flats in my purse and check one last time for my passport.
“We’ll be good,”my mom insists,”He’s a joy, don’t worry, I’ll email you and let you know how our day goes. You’ll have your Blackberry?”
I nod and slip out the door into the silent almost-morning, and watch as my Mom sits in front of the TV. She won’t sleep, I know.
I climb into the Jeep, making sure I have enough gas to the airport; I turn on the freaky alien and doomsday early-morning radio show to which I am inexplicably addicted. And I think.
I profess to be an almost fanatically independent single Mom to anyone who dares to ask. I work long hours and am able to provide food, shelter, and all basic necessities for my little family. I even have enough for an education fund for my son, money for a long weekend away if we feel up to it. I shop at Whole Foods on occasion. I have a couple pairs of way-too-expensive jeans. Nolan has a scooter, a bike, and hockey lessons.
But the fact is, I’m not completely independent. Most jobs that pay decently — at least, enough to support a family — will require either a high degree of stress or fairly frequent travel. My job has a bit of both, and though I have sold in Corporate America long enough to know I can handle either, I also understand I couldn’t hold this position without my parents.
Rather than staying the night in LA, San Francisco, and other parts of my territory, I do day trips, meaning I fly out by 6 AM and return close to midnight. During each one of those trips, my Mom helps. She either gets my son to daycare or feeds him spaghetti at her house while they wait for me to come back. Without her, I’d most definitely be relegated to a lower-paying career, and my guilt levels around that are borderline extreme.
Because I rely on my parents so much to help me, I feel I owe them a lot of my life. I’m a 33-year-old woman, and yet I consult them on more than is probably healthy. I’m loath to tell them about any semblance of a dating life because I’m sure they would disapprove. I feel like I’ve dragged them through a fairly horrific separation, and now I rely on them to keep my job. I can’t help thinking that the payback currency is their approval of the way I Mother.
I didn’t care about their approval when I was 23; the difference is now, I need it. I couldn’t do it without them; I wouldn’t even want to try.
Single Moms: do you rely on your parents at all? I sometimes wonder if I’m instigating an unhealthy imbalance.
Kristin Darguzas is an advertising sales executive, social media enthusiast, and fiercely proud Mama to a scarily tenacious three year old. More of her work can be found at Single Mom at Work over at Work It, Mom!
