As a single mom, my social life is reduced to two days per week (which, now that I think about it, is probably way more than a non-single mom has. Haha! Suckers!). Even so, it gets kind of tricky dating someone seriously and trying to integrate that relationship into the routine that goes along with parenting.
The new Beau and I have done romantic grocery shopping together (only, I’m being totally sarcastic about the romantic part), he’s met my friends at dinner/play dates, and when we watch movies together, it’s usually Monster’s choice.
This past weekend, I lured the Beau the 40 minute drive to my houes with the promise of a roasted chicken dinner, home made by me. When I picked up Monster from the Ex, it became apparent that it was going to be pretty hard to pull off what I said I would. First, pick up time is smack dab in the middle of dinner prep time. Second, poor Monster had fallen ill again (this early spring has been my worst nightmare Monster-health-wise). When we got home, all he wanted to do was snuggle with me and watch Toy Story 2. I couldn’t even get up from the couch to preheat the oven without upsetting him. So I texted the Beau, who volunteered to pick up some sandwiches on his way over. At the very least, dinner would be served. After that, though, nothing went even remotely according to a dating agenda.
Because of course, Monster would have tummy troubles. And tummy troubles for him means a desperate attempt at keeping a horrifying and toxic mess from happening all over my house and company for me.
I ran upstairs to run a bath and when that was done, Beau carried Monster in outstretched arms and as far away from his person as possible, up the steps. Between the two of us, we managed to remove the diaper and keep the contents from spilling onto everything. And thank goodness there were two of us. I understand now why a child needs two parents. Beau kept watch over bath time while I ran to the store to get constipation-inducing food items.
After Monster was all clean and pajama-fied, the Beau stuck around for a few minutes before conspicuously looking at the clock and jetting. No doubt to go home, bathe in Lysol and drink himself silly. Probably not at all what he expected when I invited him over for a nice chicken dinner. Sorry babe! Thanks for continuing to call me though. You’re definitely a champ for taking all this on.