When My Son Chose His Dad
From single parenthood to life on the road as the every-other-weekend-mom
“I’ve been thinking, I’d like to try living with Dad when we move out of this house.”
I’m totally unprepared for these words from my nine-year-old son, Jay.
I’ve just arrived back from the last big festival of the summer, where as well as holding writing workshops, I’ve danced and sung myself into a state of bliss. I’m a little raw from sleep deprivation but have been listening to Jay chattering cheerfully about Lego and games, able to focus with the newly refreshed attention that comes easily after a few days’ break from mothering.
In the background, my excitement is mounting: my partner of six months, Volt, who is part of the festival take-down crew, is due to join me here in a few days to begin our new phase together.
His plan is to bring his summer travels in his live-in van to an end and base himself in the small town on the edge of the countryside where my nine-year-old son Jay and I have lived for nearly half a decade. Though he’d still have his van as a base, we’d be half living together.
My excitement is tinged with nerves. Our relationship, sparked in early summer, had been conducted largely at festivals and on road trips, sidestepping the…
