I must be a trendsetter. When I went looking for a father five and a half years ago, there was no word for it. Or maybe one that I heard everywhere: Madness! Today it is called co-parenting and seems to be finding a narrow way into society. I guess I only understand the word right off the bat because I’ve inevitably dealt with the concept behind it so much.
Single parent: trendsetter mother
We are a family: a proud wife of 32 years, a teenager in search of the right role and a four-year-old untamed mind.
My grandchild was a surprise that came to me when I was still in school. I wasn’t particularly bright or reflective back then, so I wasn’t afraid of what was coming. That’s why I was able to do just that: live it up and wait to see what happens. In retrospect, not a bad thing. The man was not a good choice and did not want the child, but did not even have the courage to say so. Therefore, it was actually very fortunate for us that we set out for a new life barely a year after the birth. I finished school and first oriented myself: Who do I want to be and where do I want to go? My girl always with me, a very dear, at university, traveling, walks, playgrounds, cinema. A dream. She grew and I became.
Towards the end of my studies, I felt the void rolling toward me. I had been responsible for someone else the whole time, so I had been rushing through my studies. Always something to do, I knew what for. Partying has never been my thing and I maintain a Prussian work ethic: better to get it done now than later. We were doing well, we were unbeatable. One day – I really don’t know from where – I felt the desire to have another child. All of a sudden, wherever I went, all I saw were pregnant women, or young mothers with this blissful gleam in their eyes, which in reality was probably fatigue. My child agreed to enthusiastic. I wanted a baby!
No man far and wide who seemed suitable.
I was in my mid-20s and my peers were still in completely different spheres. I don’t remember how I came up with it, but on the Internet I came across a forum where people could join together to fulfill their desire to have children. A large majority of the men seemed to have some kind of hoe off, many some kind of delusion of grandeur that whispered they needed to reproduce as often as possible. Others probably placed more value on the act than on procreation. Of the rest of the men, even a small number wanted to build some kind of family. I had already met with a few until I was approached by one who I seemed to be on the same page with in many ways.
We wrote each other messages and mails, talked a lot on the phone and finally met. Not all our ideas coincided, but we wanted to try: The child was to live with me, he was to join us on weekends and occasionally from the big city, with close contact in between. Between the two of us, however, only friendly agreements, no relationship, co-parenting just. When we knew each other about four months, we started the first attempt; because we are not prudes and that increases the chances, it was clear that we did not want a cup. An act of love, not of ours, but of the child.
Bingo! The early test showed a line so delicate that I feared I was imagining it. The one among my best friends whom I called first was horrified. Probably they had hoped that nothing would come of what they saw as a crazy idea, if they couldn’t talk me out of it despite all their efforts. Their idea of life has always been there and the same for everyone: high school graduation, apprenticeship or study, work. Have a boyfriend, move in together after a few years, marry a few more years after that, buy a house and then eventually the child can come. As if it were a natural order with fixed deadlines. I have never been like this before. What “one” does – I do not care!
No, I didn’t go about it as recklessly and irresponsibly as it probably sounds here in this one sentence. But there are enough doubts in the world, just as many reasons speak against a child in any situation in life. I wanted it anyway, and I haven’t regretted it for a second. At that time, I could not imagine how my life would go on without another child. Totally crazy and definitely selfish. But please let everyone take a look at his own nose: There is no non-egoistic reason for having a child. Too many hardships come with it and it can’t ask to be born itself.
So I was 27, so I had a healthy, happy child of eight, graduated from college, old and new friends, invaluable despite their lack of understanding, and I was pregnant. Never was I happier than at that time, as if in a bulging bubble of tumbling bliss.
The Co-Parent Partner, or in short: the grab in the toilet
And then my co-parent came in with a thick needle and burst it. To be more precise, I had to realize that many things were not quite as rosy as he had portrayed them: the job was only temporary, his view of people less positive, more indifferent – in general, the whole guy: a manipulative narcissist, so like so many others in the forum after all. Intelligent, yes, but in human terms, a real mess. There was still a crisis during the pregnancy. There were many tough and pointless arguments. Finally, he threw all agreements overboard and gradually withdrew. The child was a quarter of a year old when we last saw him. Definitely his loss!
That would have been the right time for the skeptics to point fingers at me: “We told you, it couldn’t work out.” But no one did. Not only out of decency, I maintain, but because everyone knows for themselves that even in the classical model, “till death do you part” is just a phrase. Interpersonal failure is good in all forms, even years later.
Single mother with wild bunch
There are three of us now, a wild bunch that to call unconventional would be a blatant understatement. My oldest is tall and beautiful, smart and strong, confident and independent. My Mini mixes up the kindergarten and has a good chance to steal my last nerve one day. The two are like day and night, two enchanting personalities with fractures and shadows, with dreams and depths. And I get to be there. I’m not a supermom with a frilly apron and Sunday cake. I like to work a lot and have a good time managing our daily life and breadwinning. But I can’t imagine anything else or a more beautiful version of my life. Nothing would be better, at best quieter, that is, boring. These children are my fulfillment. Warning, lard alert: I often look at them sleeping, chatting, arguing or being silly and just don’t know anything else in the world that is that precious.