CAN I PHONE A FRIEND?
CLICK TO LISTEN OR READ BELOW - TOTES UP TO YOU KIDS
Being a parent is hard. Really, really, really, really hard.
I found adult’ing (I may have made that word up but hey it’s kind of cool) bloody difficult enough. Let alone looking after another human.
Then I got knocked up and next thing I know, well technically nine months on, me and my partner were handed this squishy slightly alien bundle, and life as we knew it disappeared in a puff of smoke and feeding schedules. Welcome to the world of sore backs, sleepless nights and leaky nipples – and that’s just the Dad’s.
WHERE WAS THIS MANUAL WHEN I NEEDED IT?
It’s fair to say most of us are winging this whole parenting thing. Annoyingly the baby doesn’t come with an instruction manual and so you are left reaching for the phone to call your parents, friends who have bred before you and of course Google. Yep most of the time us parent types are all quite literally clueless. Thank goodness for strong coffee to kick-start your day and then wine to wind down. Wake up, hit repeat and then do it all over again!
So as I was saying parenting is tough, but single parenting is next level.
Life is never dull for a single parent let me tell you.
Side note…. I personally hate the phrase ‘single parent’ it sounds so depressing and miserable, it conjures up images of the character Vicky Pollard from Little Britain pushing a pram with her seven kids in it. Instead, I rather think all single parents should be seen as super heroes.
NO, BUT YEAH BUT NO - WHAT YOU LOOKING AT??
When you go to Medicare to get your new card with just yours and your child’s name on it you should also get a pack detailing your specific new super powers as well as your own super hero cape. Being a single parent is a juggle and you are basically doing the job of two people – we should be celebrated! Actually there probably already is a World Single Caregivers Day on the calendar – hopefully it’s the same day as St Patrick’s Day and we can all raise a glass of Guinness together.
THIS IS ME IN MY CAPE. I NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT IT OR MY RED LIPSTICK.. EDWINA WHITE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATION
One of the downsides of being a mum to a young boy and being husband free is when ‘male’ stuff comes up its not really my domain. For example a few years ago when ‘the small one’ was much younger (not quite 5) he I were in the car having one of our deep chats. Deep chats usually consisted of topics like ‘what’s your favourite dinosaur mum?’, or ‘If a meteorite hit the earth now would we all die?’. And as always we were arguing over who could pick the next song on Spotify (there is only so much Michael Jackson I can take) when the chat turned to front bottoms.
“Mum I have a new name for girls bits.”
“What’s that then?”
“No balls. Boys have one ball and girls have none.”
“One ball? I think you mean two, boys have two balls.”
“No one ball. I have one ball.”
“No you have two balls.”
“I don’t. Mum I have one.”
Panic stations!! Was there something wrong with my child?? Only one ball, how on earth did I not know this? What sort of shit parent was I? This screams Dad territory. But in the event of a male-linked emergency (and without a father figure or husband type around) smash emergency glass with mini hammer and phone a friend.
I drove home as quickly as I could. I let the 'small one' play every Michael Jackson song he wanted on the remainder of the trip while I silently worried he may never father a child of his own.
I mean I don’t know balls… as a young boy do they start as one ball and then split into two? I know they drop but do they split too? Balls were just not my bag excuse the pun.
As soon as I got home I headed to the bedroom and got straight on the phone. I called my friend Mim. As a mother of two boys and part of a family who engage in frequent group nudity in the bathroom, she’s well versed in the male anatomy. In short if anyone knew balls it would be her.
Post Mim chat and now armed with the knowledge that my son should definitely have two not one ball I headed back into the lounge. (For those playing at home… balls do drop but they don’t split in two).
In a moment that I hope the ‘small one’ has wiped from his memory I asked him to take his shorts off and lie on the floor in his undies. A super quick investigation took place. “One, two. Two! Two balls, you have two balls!”
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT KNOW THIS MAN. BALLS NOT TO SCALE
I left him to watch Cartoon Network in his undies while I went to have a lie down, emotionally exhausted but relieved to know my son was intact and could father a whole Von Trapp family if he so wished!
WHO DOESN'T LOVE THE VON TRAPPS... CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN