Broke and broken hearted: 48 hours of single parenting in Brooklyn
Mental health, money, and heartbreak, all in one Brooklyn weekend.
Saturday: kid wakes up at 6:30am. I leave options out for him so that he can grab something and sit and watch TV for a few hours while I try uselessly to sleep in. I get up around 8:30am. I am bombarded with enthusiastic energy. He’s bouncing a ball, running around with the cat in his arms, trying to fly his mini drone inside.
I make coffee quickly, check real estate postings for an apartment that’s not a 4th floor walk up with no laundry in my budget range (doesn’t exist), and check my bank account (dire until payday). I think about how many things I’ll say no to today because of said bank account. I drink coffee quickly while my son runs back and forth through our small apartment demanding to go to the playground. I check the weather, 44 degrees.
We bundle up and walk 3 blocks to the playground. I sit on the bench while my son rides around on his scooter looking for someone to play with. I take out my phone and open two dating apps, hoping for interest, adult conversation, anything dopamine. There is nothing. Dating apps are dead, but that’s a different article.
I put my phone back in my pocket and watch my son. His friend arrives, I’m happy for him. I don’t talk to other parents. We stay for an hour, then walk to the grocery store. I take out my list and hope it will come to around 40 bucks. I grab what I need, and toss in two shitty grocery store bottled cocktails. It comes to $57. I cringe internally, pay, and we leave. I walk home and berate myself in my head for not being better with money. Why am I so bad at this? Why didn’t I work harder in school so I could have a better-paying job? How will I make it until payday?
We eat lunch, and head out again to gymnastics. We take the bus and arrive with 2 minutes to spare. I deposit kid in his class, hand him his water bottle, and walk out to spend an hour alone while he flips around. When I’m not depressed I enjoy this time alone to wander and listen to music.
Today I am depressed. I put in my headphones and wander past shops and cafes. I look at families and couples and feel a few tears slide out. I feel unworthy of an entire weekend of adult company. I look at everyone else and wonder what they did right. I ponder my desirability to other human beings. Doesn’t look good. I am lonely.
I sit down on a bench and text a single parent friend. No reply. I scroll. I wish my phone would vibrate with something interesting. I open my dating apps again. Still nothing. I think about money again, because its always there, and always a problem.
Gymnastics end. I buy my kid a donut and we go home. I lay down in my room and try to nap but can’t. I want to cry, but try not to do it when my son is awake.
We stay in for a few hours, then go out to get pizza for dinner. I enjoy being outside of my apartment and around other people. We return home. A friend texts me that she just broke up with her partner. We talk for a bit, and while I’m not happy for her heartbreak, I’m grateful for any kind of adult conversation.
Kid and I bake some cookies and get ready for bed. I take some newly prescribed trazadone. I put my son to bed around 8:30pm and fall asleep soon after.
Sunday: I wake up angry. It’s cold, I am still broke, I’m out of ideas to entertain my high-energy kid. I make coffee while my kid suggests activities I can’t afford. I scan real estate ads again. Nothing.
I drink coffee and stare into the void while my kid bounces balls and I think about an entire day with no agenda. I should take a shower but I don’t. I compare monthly memberships to the YMCA and the indoor trampoline park. I settle on the trampoline park. I swallow my pride and call my parents and ask if they’d like to treat my son to a $28/month trampoline park membership.
They would. Thank fucking god. Off we go to Urban Air. I pack my laptop and we walk to the train. My son runs back and forth through the subway car until I grab his body and redirect him to a seat. We exit at our subway stop and my son runs over to the filthy wall and begins to drag his body across it while running. I yell loudly at him and he stops.
We arrive at Urban Air, check in, take off shoes, and I show my son where I’ll be sitting. Off he goes. I take out my laptop, start writing, and feel a little better being immersed in adult thoughts. We stay for an hour and a half.
We come back home and I try and take a nap. I think about rejection and feel ashamed that it takes me so long to get over it. I think about my need to keep putting myself out there and wish I would knock it off already and gracefully accept being alone. I think about all of the things I wanted to tell Most Recent Man. I tuck each excited thought, each topic, back into it’s accordion folder pocket in my mind. Not for you. That life, with you, not for me.
Every ten minutes my son knocks on my bedroom door and tells me he’s bored and he wants to go outside. I can’t sleep, I’m too sad, but I make him wait an hour anyway so I can be alone in my room. We bundle up and go back to the playground. I put in my headphones and stare at nothing. I open my dating apps. I close my dating apps. I fantasize about leaving New York and feel frustrated that I can’t figure out how to get out of here. I hate it here. Everything is hard.
We come home and I start making dinner. I am relieved the weekend is almost over. I open a grocery store cocktail, put in my headphones to drown out the sound of PBS kids, and wash dishes while the water boils. After dinner I bathe my kid, and as I get him into his pajamas he looks me and says he misses when I used to play with him more.
I see tears welling up. I am horrified. I scroll back through memories in my head; did I used to be more fun? I can’t remember. I’m sorry you have a shitty depressed parent, I think to myself. I offer to play a game and he cheers up.
I play with him while wondering what kind of parent I am. I put him to bed. I take trazadone and try and watch TV but I don’t care about anything. The weekend is over. I go to sleep.
