MAMA’S BOY

So you can never become friends with your kids? Stephanie Merritt begs to differ. After 16 years of solo parenting, she is discovering the joys of a friendship with her son Patrick

The joy of being friends with your son by Stephanie Merritt

Ifound out I was expecting a boy a couple of weeks after I learnt that I would be raising him on my own. I knew deep down that my relationship with his father was too superficial for a long-term prospect. The pregnancy was unexpected and, after an initial burst of enthusiasm, he had changed his mind about the commitment involved in raising a child and left me to it. I was 27, living in a studio flat in central London and enjoying my demanding job on a national paper; becoming a single parent had definitely not been part of the plan. I went alone to the 20-week scan that told me the baby’s sex, and though I was still numb with distress and anxiety about facing this on my own, I felt a sudden jolt of delight at the news that I was having a son, and realised I’d been secretly hoping that would be the case. I soon realised other people saw it differently. No one ever quite came out and said so, but from the comments of friends and family, I got the impression that everyone agreed that I’d have had an easier time of it with a girl. ‘Oh dear – you’ll have to learn the offside rule now,’ one friend joked, and it made me more anxious – was I really up to the job of being mother and father? But it also occurred to me that these remarks were based on stereotypical assumptions. If I had the energy, I’d point out that I might well have had a girl who wanted to play football, and there was as much chance of having a boy who liked drawing or music. The first few years after Patrick was born proved difficult, as they are for all new parents. I experienced severe postnatal depression, which I masked for a year while commuting three hours a day to work a full-time job, getting up several times a night for the baby and taking legal action against his father to get child support. I’d moved out of London to live near my parents, who were (and continue to be) amazingly supportive, but as a result I

‘THE FIRST FEW YEARS DID PROVE DIFFICULT’

felt isolated from my friends, who were busy doing what single, child-free people do. I also found it hard to make new friends among the other mothers where I lived, whose lives seemed a million miles from mine with their hands-on husbands and lovely houses. Though my parents made it possible for me to have the odd night out with friends, I felt permanently exhausted and overwhelmed by this little person whose demands appeared to be never ending. I often cried myself to sleep wondering where my life had gone and whether I would ever get it back.

When you’re in the early years of parenthood, it can feel as if they will last for ever. But children grow up, and suddenly, almost overnight, you realise the squalling toddler has turned into an actual person, and your relationship changes. When Patrick was four, I borrowed a camper van and we drove to an arts festival in Cornwall run by a friend. After a day of puppet-making and storytelling workshops, we sat side by side on top of a hill eating chips and watching the sunset over the estuary. ‘I love my life!’ he announced, with the absolute certainty of children, and I realised that after feeling floored by circumstances I hadn’t anticipated for so long, I did, too. More than that, I was surprised to find how much I was enjoying watching him take everything in. I had expected to feel lonely at the festival, as most of the friends I knew there were in couples, but as the weekend progressed I came to feel, for the first time since becoming a mother, that I had not just a responsibility, but a companion.

All that seems a lifetime ago. Patrick has just turned 16 and, at 6ft 4in, he towers over me. I’d been dreading the teenage years, fearing that my adorable little scamp would mutate into a grunting Neanderthal who hated me, like Harry Enfield’s Kevin. I worried that I’d find myself out of my depth. Parenting a small boy was one thing, but I felt ill-equipped to guide him through becoming a man. Would the bond we had built together through his childhood withstand the onslaught of hormones and peer pressure? Perhaps we’ve been lucky, but I believe the companionship that was nurtured in those early years when it was just the two of us has sustained us through the hardest part of his growing up.

In many ways, we’re closer than ever now. I’ve watched him grow into someone thoughtful and kind with a wicked sense of humour (when I asked if he would mind me writing this piece, he said, ‘A boy’s best friend is his mother,’ in a Norman Bates voice, which I found both hilarious and unnerving at the same time). That cheerful ‘I love my life’ attitude remains part of his character; he’s a natural optimist, unlike me, and he often reminds me to have a more positive outlook. It makes me feel proud and humble to realise that there are lessons I can learn from him, and that the support now goes both ways.

Friendship might seem a suspect word to use about your relationship with your child. We’ve all had that friend whose mum or dad tried too hard to be cool by wanting to hang out with their kids’ friends. But in a single parent family, the hierarchies are less clearly defined. All our holidays are usually just the two of us, so the rules are more relaxed. At the same time, I’ve been careful of not treating him like a mini-adult and making sure he always got the chance to muck about and be a kid, too.

Many of us, if we’re lucky, get to discover a friendship with our parents a bit later in life, often once we’ve left home and they’ve had to learn to leave us to make our own mistakes. It’s been a challenge to find the balance while my son is still young enough to need my discipline and guidance (even if he doesn’t think he does), and that’s tricky for both of us as he tests his independence and I try to resist being a helicopter parent. One of the hardest things is the realisation that, just as he’s reached an age where he is great company to travel or go out for dinner with, he will soon be leaving me. But the knowledge that the time is coming when he’ll set off on adventures of his own only makes these next few years more precious.

I spent a lot of Patrick’s childhood worrying that I wasn’t a good enough mother, that I wasn’t doing it ‘right’ – a concern that’s not limited to single parents. Parenthood is hard and often lonely, even in the best of circumstances, but the reward is getting to watch this tiny person you taught to talk growing into someone with their own opinions, someone whose company you enjoy, someone you can laugh with about the fact that neither of you understands the offside rule. While You Sleep by Stephanie Merritt is out now in hardback (Harpercollins, £12.99)

‘IN MANY WAYS, WE’RE CLOSER THAN EVER NOW’