Abandoned Ship.

When I was younger, I imagined that when I was married, I would live with my husband in a house with our child. These were things I believed to be true.

My values and beliefs were smashed.

I was married, however, I was living at home with my parents.
I was married, although my husband left us.
I had a child, although her father had skipped the country.

Fine then. I am an unemployed single-mother. I stayed married because he told me he would send money to help with the financial burdens of raising a child. He has sent me $500 in two years, $100 of that was syphoned out of my daughters savings account.

That's like .55 per day. I need to tell him to send that money to a starving child in Africa. Maybe then it could be appreciated.

I am married today still, just because I can't seem to get the damn paperwork in order, in addition to the fees associated with filing for an international divorce. I am kicking myself and can't figure out why I should have to pay for this divorce in addition to diapers and the daily stuff I have to keep on hand in order to maintain my daughter's healthy life.

I have to pay for it. Otherwise, I will end up being married to him forever by default. Dead weight on a sinking ship has to be thrown overboard, whether it has value or not. I'd throw bars of gold in addition to the carcasses of every ex (and future ex) boyfriend/ husband off of the S.S. Sarah in order to stay buoyant.

So there I was, buoyant but barely making it. I was living with my parents, and sharing the responsibilities of raising my daughter. At first, this was welcome. How wonderful to have live-in baby-sitters!

As time drew on, the situation became more difficult. My parents are seasoned veterans in this "child-rearing" bologna that I was feeling out for the first time. I am the oldest of, like seven kids. My parents loved raising kids. My parents loved each other.

What a magical experience that must be.

To see them raise my daughter; to see her stop crying as they hug her is a devastating experience. My daughter will scream for what seems like hours and will not respond to me. I hug her, I sing (actually, that makes sense), I do everything in my power to help her feel better. Then, grandma or grandpa swoop in and hug her a little, and she stops having the fit.

Much like the doppler radar, it's freakin' witchcraft.

I love when my parents go out of town for small periods at a time. I love when my daughter and I are together, without interruption. Sure, it is pretty lame that I can't go out dancing or partying with my friends, but I am nearly 30 years old, and I know at the end of the day, I was the one who took care of my princess.

Just me.

Not her father (obviously) nor her grandparents. She stayed healthy and happy and she learned new things all because of me.

Today may have been the day where she began to make memories for herself. Maybe she will tell me in five years that she remembers when we went to Bob's Java Hut and met that crazy character, or when we went to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts and met that even crazier character.

Maybe.

So I am now assuming the responsibilities of creating memories for my child. Good ones; ones without the bitchy rhetoric that I sometimes possess. I know what I need to do.

I became employed once again in August and am making a decent living. I am working to provide a home for my daughter and myself so we can have our own lives and can create a new set of our own collective values and beliefs.

I have trashed the ideals of what I thought a family should be and accepted the uniqueness of my family. My daughter and I are at the center and my family are nearby. Her father is non-existent at this point.

This new concept of family may not be typical, but it's value; comprised of both strengths and weaknesses is creating a tactile and physical value that I can feel in my soul.