The married mum who says she ENVIES single mothers
Her single mother best friend says she’s crazy! So why does Alex think life would be EASIER without a husband?
THE other side of the fence can always seem more desirable — and parenting is no exception. But could a married mum in a stable, loving family really feel a pang of envy when eyeing the life of a single-parent friend?
Can fantasies of lazy lie-ins and child-free weekends ever seem to outweigh the benefits of settled family life — when most evidence shows children do better socially and educationally in a two-parent home?
Yes, according to Alex Manson-Smith, the 40-year-old married mother of Emilio, six, and Xavier, three. In this profoundly provocative article, she explains why she believes her newly single friend, Sarah Thompson, 40, mother of Stanley, nine, and Betty, seven, has it so much easier than her.
But Sarah feels very differently . . .
ALEX SAYS
AS SARAH tells it, life as a single mother is full of difficulties. And yes, I don’t doubt that for a second: raising children without the emotional support of someone who loves you must feel terrifying and isolating.
But crazy as it may seem, I envy her. Why? Because of the perks that come with being a newly single mum these days.
For a few nights a week, Sarah’s children stay with their father. Is she sitting at home knitting, waiting for her little ones to return? Is she eating a mournful meal for one in front of repeats on the TV?
Is she hell. She can go out as late as she likes, wherever she likes — and she does. unlike me on my rare nights out, she doesn’t have to rush home at 10.30pm to relieve the babysitter. Even more infuriatingly, she can — luxury of luxuries — have an uninterrupted night’s sleep and lie in as late as she likes.
Yes, sleep. The Holy Grail for all mothers of young children. Even though they’re six and three, my two boys rarely sleep through the night — someone’s always having a nightmare or wetting the bed.
They’re usually up by 5.30am, so I can’t remember the last time I had a full eight hours of sleep.
My husband works seriously long days as a TV and film director, which leaves all the domestic chores at my door.
I work full-time as a writer, but still fit in giving the children breakfast every morning before they head off for nursery and school. After a day’s work, I do bathtime and bedtime, plus all the cooking, cleaning and laundry.
It’s exhausting and I’d absolutely love to cast off those responsibilities once or twice a week.
Spontaneity is another new characteristic of Sarah’s. Of course, in the early days of her separation she was too emotionally bruised to embrace her new-found freedom. However, in the past 12 months she’s been able to do all sorts of exciting things, often at the drop of a hat.
She’ll say: ‘Fancy going to Prague for the weekend?’ Something she never could have done when she was with her husband. Because she effectively has free overnight babysitting, she can disappear for a couple of days at short notice.
How can I go off gallivanting for the weekend? Who’d cover for me?
And there’s the rub. Sometimes I feel incredibly resentful of what seems to be a life of non- stop domestic drudgery because, after all, my husband is still very much around. It’s just that I always pick up the snotty tissues and the broken toys, so he doesn’t have to. Somehow, our family dynamic has automatically become him: breadwinner; me: domestic.
And while it works, it does sometimes grate. At least Sarah knows that when her children go to her ex’s home, he’s dealing with all the tantrums and non- stop demands on his own.
In a way, their relationship is more equal than mine and my husband’s because they’ve had to split everything down the middle.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt tempted to leave my husband to it, so I could experience the relief of leaving the children in his hands, just for once.
And there are other perks to the single life that I couldn’t fail to notice. Sarah’s home, once strewn with detritus, has transformed into a stylish haven. Her clutter has effectively halved — and she has the time to lavish on it. Nor does she have to deal with another adult’s mess on a daily basis. My husband has never knowingly hung up his clothes or thrown away an opened envelope. If you complain about those things you are called a nag. If you ignore it, you live in chaos. And if you tidy uncomplainingly, you’re a drudge. You can’t win. Sarah looks fantastic, too. I plod through my days wearing the same uniform of jeans, trainers and a grey sweatshirt — anything easy that I can just grab from the wardrobe in a hurry before seeing to the children in the morning. Sarah used to look just the same
as me. But now she’ll team her jeans with a sexy leopard-print shoe or a sparkly top.
She has her hair done more often and makes sure she fits in spin or yoga classes, so she looks trimmer, too.
Admittedly, she feels she has to make more of an effort since she’s rejoined the dating scene. She looks fabulous.
It’s only natural that frumpy old me has the occasional pang of jealousy.
And while I can’t say I’d relish the thought of internet dating, I do envy her for that delicious, intoxicating excitement of a new relationship. We all remember those early days of romance with undisguised longing.
I’ve completely forgotten what it’s like to worry about what underwear I’m wearing or if it matches my bra.
At times, it feels like Sarah is in a different world to me. Our friendship used to be one founded on familiar rhythms — we were bonded in the same daily routine.
Now it’s all so different. And I sometimes miss the feeling that we’re on the same side.
from here, being a single mum seems a lot like being a young woman again. And who wouldn’t want that?
SARAH SAYS
LIBERATED, excited, young. Yes, since becoming a single mum 12 months ago I’ve felt all these things.
But that’s not to say that I don’t envy Alex for managing to keep her marriage intact, not least for her children, who get to grow up under one roof.
Yet it’s the little things I truly miss: the minutiae of daily married life. When I see Alex and her husband working as a team, and the comfortable, companionable love they share — him bringing her a cup of tea without being asked, for example — it can bring a lump to my throat.
Being the only adult in the house can be a real struggle, and sometimes lonely.
And there are the practicalities, too: my children are still too young to be left alone, so when I run out of milk or find there’s no fruit for their lunches, I can’t just pop to the shops.
Consequently, I am constantly planning ahead, never letting my domestic guard down. I remember how nice it was to be able to share those little tasks.
As for the daily grind of coping with young children, I’ve found it easier to parent them on my own. I’m more inclined to be spontaneous and a bit more fun.
there’s no other grown-up to take into consideration — so why shouldn’t we head out for ice cream at 10am?
But it’s true that I miss the back-up of another parent and a voice of reason to help when I’m stressed.
When I’m screaming at the children to get dressed for school in the next three minutes — and getting nowhere — I don’t have the ‘Daddy will deal with this’ card to play.
Alex and her husband do a kind of parenting ping-pong. If their youngest is having a tantrum and one parent is struggling to contain it, the other will step in with a distraction and diffuse it.
I’m proud of myself for coping on my own, but would love an ally sometimes. Who wouldn’t?
And I know Alex thinks my social life has had a boost since I’ve been single — to a certain extent, she’s right — but as one social door opens, another shuts firmly in my face.
DINNER parties and school socials once dominated my weekends. But nowadays, I don’t get invited to so many. People don’t know what to do with a lone woman at the table.
Perhaps they think I’m threatening. Or that I’ll get drunk and cry. Who knows? But my diary is suddenly very clear of those cosy kitchen suppers.
there’s an easy, automatic social life and status that comes with being married. And since I’ve become single, I’ve missed being a part of that world.
finances are a squeeze, too. I’ve always worked and been responsible for the family banking, but it’s still tough learning to manage my new, much smaller budget. I know married women like Alex have their own financial challenges, but it feels as if theirs are on an altogether more grown-up level.
While they’re buying new houses, I’m emptying the children’s moneyboxes for change to buy a newspaper.
It’s as if I’ve regressed to my student days, while they’re still forging forwards.
Perhaps the thing that bothers me the most is that Alex doesn’t have to explain her domestic situation to anyone. She’s married — that’s it, all questions answered.
But the words ‘ I’m a single mother’ throw up so many variables. Was the father ever on the scene? Do the children still see him? Who finished with whom? And on and on it goes.
Meeting new people, I often find myself talking about ‘ my children’s dad’, hoping they’ll understand and that I won’t have to tell the whole story.
Alex doesn’t have people feeling sorry for her or have to answer that loaded question: ‘How are the children doing?’
It’s as if she’s doing things the right way. And I’m somehow not.
Follow Sarah and alex on twitter @youresomummy and read their blog at youresomummy.com. their book, You’re So mummy (michael Joseph/penguin) is out on February 25, 2016.