I have a terrible potty mouth.
Anyone who knows me at all can attest to this. I do my best to keep it under wraps as well as I can, but every now and again I let a handful of four-letter words fly. In my house, there are a number of other “four-letter words” – the bad ones, the ones I don’t like to hear. Monday, for example, is a four letter word. My toddler might tell you that bedtime and toothbrush also fall into this category, though we aren’t quite seeing eye-to-eye on that.
Dad is also on my list of four-letter words.
Last week, I was filling out the registration forms for F’s new daycare teacher and chatting with her about his favourite foods, his routine and his personality (I probably should have prepared a book). After signing my name for the umpteenth time, I scanned through all of the paperwork again to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. “It’s all there, we’ll see you on Monday!” I said as I handed her the booklet. She asked me to wait until she signed it, and told me she had something else to send with me. She flipped through the pages and then stopped, looked at me and told me I “must have forgotten” to fill out the Father’s Information.
So I told her about my list of four-letter words. I don’t think she liked it much.
For all intents and purposes, in spite of a pretty diamond ring and a fancy wedding ceremony, I have always been a single mom. F’s dad was never totally involved, though I can give some credit for the times he made an effort (which is wasted on the almost year that’s gone by since he last saw his own child). It might not have been my dream, certainly raising a child alone wasn’t the future I had envisioned for myself but I own it and I love it and we do just fine, F and I. But I definitely don’t forget about the Father’s Information on anything.
I don’t forget about the fact that F’s dad has nothing to do with us. I don’t forget that I pay every bill, every childcare hour and every last expense from socks to car payments without a single penny in child support. I don’t forget about the awful hurt that I feel when another kid asks F why his Daddy doesn’t pick him up.
And F won’t ever forget that he had a Mom who did it because she loved him that much.