I would honestly drive myself insane if I attempted to remember the infinite evenings I headed straight to the kitchen and cooked dinner, still in my heels and pearls. Or the mornings I rose before the moon was fully hidden by the early dawn, so I could cram in a brief minutes to myself; my only moments of silence. Or perhaps the number of nights I still reach for her in the dark, to check on her and comfort myself with the easy rhythm of her tiny shallow breaths. Welcome to the system.The life of a single Black mother is often misconstrued. On various ignorant occasions I have seen a young single mother pushing a stroller, and in my head, her tale all mapped out- her baby’s daddy wanted nothing to do with her or their child so he split to live happily ever after with someone else. The end. Boy, ignorance is a virus. Allow me to enlighten you with a personal story of my own.
The beginning of my tale is quite cliché- high school sweethearts playing house and along comes baby. As teenagers whirling aimlessly in the throws of oncoming adulthood, we were in love. Not the kind of love that isn’t selfish and plagued by pride. Nor the kind where lovers build a foundation, build up each other, or build a future. Instead we had a lackadaisical love; one that was blind and ever-blaming yet blood-rushing and inextinguishable. Real love, I thought.
From the evening our baby girl came home from the hospital, our home was tormented with arguments. There was no trust and waning honesty. Although we shared a common love for our child, the love we had for each other was changing. Growing with that man was a task, and due to the unhealthy environment we were creating, I asked him to leave. As he shuffled to the door with his last box in hand he said, “All I ever wanted was for you to love me like you love our child.” The moment he shut the door, my eyes and heart were left open to many things-yet all I saw was her.
It was time to gear up! As a young woman raised by a single mother, I had no fear in my heart for the oncoming struggle. If I didn’t make a way, who would? Most of my days are so systematic I couldn’t tell you the day of the week if it was the million dollar question! The routine is undying- home, bath, dinner, television; with a few adventurous moments tucked in between. She is two years old now. Which is a terribly busy age! When I’m making dinner, she pulls up her stool next to the counter and helps season the chicken. When I’m drawing water for her bath, she is pouring the bubbles. When I’m on the phone, she tugs on my leg, “Mommy, can we play Princess now? You can be the Queen! Can we play a minute, Mommy?” How could I not?
For me, in between work and finishing up finals in preparation for graduation, I would hold an Ethics of Law text in one hand, and help her color in a Princess Jasmine with the next. Today, life is about balance, finding it, receiving it, and creating it. It was my decision to be without her father so our lives would be more peaceful, thus quality time is imperative. Although he is still a major part of her life, there is nothing like being on call 24 hours a day, every day. I am the woman who kissed her scraped knee and applied a Hello Kitty band aid. I am the woman she wakes up when the Boogie Man creeps into her dreams. I am the woman who taught her to kneel every night and talk to Jesus for a little while… I am Mommy….. On many weary nights, after I’ve laid her down to sleep, I just stare, and thank God for giving me the strength to be strong-hearted and strong-willed, for making me the ultimate example for my daughter. It isn’t easy, but motherhood never was meant to be.
So the next time you see me having a date night with my child, look past the fact that I am holding her hand alone. Instead, pay attention to our girlish giggles and how we bow our heads before our meals. Glance a little longer and you will see the truth- a mother doing all she can to nurture her child the best way she knows how. Welcome to the love we share. Real love. I know.
~Teriana Griggs