Single Mom

“I’m about to ruin your life.” That’s what Amanda first uttered to her on again, off again boyfriend, Paul when she found out the news.

We’re standing in her kitchen making “mushy peas” as Amanda fills me in on the whole story. She opens the canned organic peas, dumps them in the food processor and lets it rip until the round peas turn to a thick soup-like mixture. Over the grinding of the processor she pushes up her thick, red glasses with one hand, the other hand holding onto the lid of the machine. She loudly explains, “He knew right away what I meant. He asked me ‘What, are you pregnant?’ I said ‘Yeah’ and he said ‘That won’t ruin my life, that will give my life a purpose.’”

The grinding stops and Amanda scoops the green mush into a silver strainer-like gadget that separates the pea skins from the mush. Her thick burgundy hair is pulled back into a clip but some loose strands fall in her face. She uses the back of her hand to wipe away the strays, sure not to get any peas in her shining, fiery hair. Amanda uses her fingers to clean out the skin gunk and flings it into the sink. I grimace. She doesn’t even flinch. “That was Paul’s one shining moment,” she says looking down into the sink.

The skin-free green pea goop is then spooned into ice cube trays and frozen for later. “Peas are Noah’s favorite,” she explains. Noah who has just had his fill of her homemade green goodness is fast asleep on the couch with pillows lined around him to ensure he doesn’t roll off. We finally get a couple minutes alone to talk. For the first time all morning we don’t have to watch that Noah doesn’t bump his head on the furniture, put something non-organic in his mouth, or crawl to an off-limits place.

Amanda’s rinses out the dishes she used and then quickly wipes the counter. Her loose jeans are splattered with bits of green and spots of water and her baggy green t-shirt is also speckled with water spots—or baby spit, I’m not sure. “When he was born he was so pure and perfect. I couldn’t stand to put anything imperfect in him,” she explains after stating that several people don’t understand why she makes her own organic baby food. “His first non-organic food will be cake for his first birthday,” she says with a slight frown. In just four months, Noah will get to taste artificial flavorings.

As she continues to clean up she shares more of her story. “I knew I was pregnant when I was walking through the Education building and I smelled Big Macs. I hate Big Macs, but that day I was craving them…like every part of my body wanted a burger. My toes wanted that Big Mac.” Sure enough, her cravings didn’t lie.

While her parents, her dad especially, continued to be excited for her and support her, Amanda’s relationship with Paul deteriorated. The two had been dating off and on for the past two years, even when Paul was stationed in Iraq. “I stopped talking to him five months into my pregnancy. I had to cut all ties. Paul came back from Iraq totally different, but by the time I realized it, I was already pregnant…The last time I talked to him was the day of my ultrasound to find out if I was having a boy or girl. I called Paul [before the appointment] and he started yelling and said ‘Don’t even talk to me. I don’t even care anymore.’” She told Paul she was having a boy through e-mail. He wasn’t there for parenting classes, he wasn’t there to put his hand on her stomach, he wasn’t there to feel the baby kick, he wasn’t there for the birth.

We walk from the kitchen back to the living room. Amanda’s motherly sense of timing is dead on. Noah wakes just as we sit on the two long white couches, both covered with cream blankets. Amanda sits on the couch Noah has just woken up on. I take my place on the opposite one, far enough away from any crying that may take place. “I’ve never told Paul he can’t see Noah,” she explains. He lives in Illinois, so he sees Noah whenever he makes an effort. “Sometimes I wish Noah had a different dad, but then he wouldn’t be Noah,” Amanda says as Noah sits up without a sound.

The mother and son share more than a small room in Amanda’s mom’s house. They share the same deep red hair, the same small, sharp nose and the same pale, pure skin. Amanda cradles Noah for a bit, but he’s eager to get down on the brown shag, carpeted floor. It’s an adventure land for a baby whose toys are littered about- the peek-a-boo trucks, a plastic strawberry that lightly vibrates when teethed on, a large cardboard box that’s perfect for sitting in when you’re miniature size and two silver pots accompanied by a wooden spoon—ideal for loud noises.

Noah rapidly crawls from truck to pot to box in his green onezie with tiny blue and green dinosaurs printed on it. The red mark above his eye has faded from a fall against the wooden edge of the TV center. The center is now surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals to ensure no sharp edges are exposed.

Another half hour passes of amusing an eight month old in high pitched voices asking him random questions. “You want to play drums on the pots?” and “You want to go get mommy?”

It’s an endless, exhausting, consuming routine. Eat, Sleep, Play, Eat, Sleep, Play. Eat, Sleep, Play. All day long. The hardest part of being a mom is time. “Having enough time to do anything. Trying to balance being a mom and being my own person. To do anything, I’m totally dependent on my parents. My dad understands I need time out. He’s huge. If I didn’t have him, I’d go crazy,” Amanda says as Noah grabs at her glasses. She continues, “I think it still hasn’t hit me. Sometimes I have moments of clarity like ‘oh my god I have a child. I’m a single mom.’ But that’s life. I definitely wouldn’t go back.”

And although it’s hard, there’s a light in her now. She has the purpose Paul once said his life would have. She still has plans to go back to school to either finish the 30 credits left for her education degree or to get a general studies degree, whichever is least time consuming. But that’s the future. For now Noah is happy as he sucks on his bottle filled with organic milk, and when Noah’s happy, Amanda’s happy. Yet another bond only mother and son can share. A mother and son who take on the world alone. “This is what we do everyday. It’s just one adventure after another.”