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The Baby Mama Dalai Lama

In case you didn’t know, Wikipedia is god.  Not like, in a literal or literary sense.  But, in the sense of a QUICK reference – like a few suspect dudes walking your way in a dark alley or a rabid dog running rampant in your backyard, and you yell, “Oh Lord!  Help me Jesus!” – well, like that.  For your reference: Wikipedia: Dalai Lama: In religious terms, the Dalai Lama is believed by his devotees to be the rebirth of a long line of tulkus, who have chosen to be reborn in order to enlighten others.  Also for your reference: Wikipedia: Baby Mama (I swear it’s in there!): A baby mama is generally defined as a mother who is not married to her child’s father.  Now, put those two terms together.  Deep right?  One would assume that this “woman”, the mother of a certain child, has chosen to be reborn to enlighten other mothers who are not married to their child or children’s fathers.  I like it.  It is me.

Back in a time when there was war in the world, I accepted a sperm donation in the literal sense from a donor with proficient swimmers.  Nine months later, unto us a child was born in the city of Tacoma, Washington.  Through the course of what I commonly refer to as “our personal bizness” we did a Brown v. Board of Education and decided to parent separate but equal.  For the last 15 years I have been a single parent.  Yes, of course, now you’re wondering whether I was young and promiscuous or old and responsible when I procreated.  Neither.  I will tell you this.  Single parenting is hard.  PARENTING is hard.  I don’t doubt that God (with a big G) intended two people, if not a whole dang village, to raise a child.  When my daughter was 4 years old she was the coolest kid.  When she was 14, I didn’t think either of us would make it out alive.  It is my testimony.  Parenting has made me a better person, a stronger woman. I’d like to believe that parenting has made her father a better man.  But, I’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep trying to prove me wrong.

A few days ago I placed a simple phone call.  I practiced my ‘Becky and Susie’ responses several times in my head before I dialed the number.  I recently completed an Effective Communications Class at my workplace.  I use every opportunity to employ those tactics learned.  I spoke in low tones and explained patiently and thoroughly that the purpose of my call was to inquire about my daughter’s sixteenth birthday party.  Did he have any plans?  Could he possibly get on board with my plans if he did not have any plans himself?  Somewhere in the process of my inquiry, things went horribly awry.  He began with the words, “See, you came at me all wrong!”  Yep.  That’s what he said.  I was blindsided, especially since my docile woman was in full effect!  He was yelling and screaming like I had asked him to scale the Great Wall of China and bring me back a panda bear.  When he began using profanity, I simply closed the telephonic device.  I had had enough.  I have no idea how long he stood there ranting and raving before he noticed there was no connection.  Lucky for me, I noticed there was no connection 15 and a half years ago. 

Now, you are free to judge me as you will.  However, I have never once said a harsh or condemning word to my daughter about her father.  NOT EVER.  There have been many instances when I could have laid his bizness out bare for the world to see his nekkid azz.  I could have shaped and molded his image in my child’s eyes like the hunchback of Notre Dame.  Yet, I adhere to a strict code of non-transference that was passed on to me from my mother.  She said, “There’s no need to paint a picture for a child of their mother or father.  When they grow up, they will view the person for themselves and paint their own picture.”  ‘Nuff said.  Sometimes withholding words was like repressing the Red Sea.  But, it is not my job nor is it my duty, to tear down my daughter’s father in her sight.  No matter his shortcomings, he was the product of my intelligent choice, not hers.  He is the person I chose to procreate with.  Yes, I know that one hurt.  It is truth.

Many moons ago, I was slightly bitter about my plight.  Who isn’t?  But, I have chosen to be reborn as one baby mama with purpose and enlightenment.  It is my responsibility to model productive behavior and unconditional love thus teaching my child to do the same.  It is my responsibility to grow each day in my actions and reactions in order to bless those baby mamas who were not so fortunate as to have a mother like mine with a little knowledge and understanding.  As ‘the best baby mama a man could ever ask for’, I’ve chosen the high road on many occasions.  (Don’t you dare laugh.  That was verbatim and he meant it as a compliment.)  I know that nothing lasts forever.  In the meantime, I’m counting the days until her eighteenth birthday joyfully.

Persnickety Self-Adjustment: Never have a baby for a stupid muther… you get the point.


One comment on “The Baby Mama Dalai Lama

  1. Not a Baby Momma and Loved It!

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