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Depression, suicide, drug abuse, jail and psychiatric medications are all more common in populations of children raised by single mothers. journalid=37&articleid=107§ionid=692 Ladies, this is why abortion exists!
Children of single mothers do poorly on every imaginable scale: they have more emotional problems, experience more stress, are more likely to grow up poor, they have lower educational achievements and experience way more behavioral problems than children who grow up with married parents.
Updated to add: The use of the term ‘single mother’ is not exactly accurate. If you screw up and get pregnant, don’t screw up even more and bring an innocent child along with you! Divorced moms who escaped abusive marriages with drug/sex/gambling/whatever addicts should not get a free pass from you, either.
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Later I did, leaning against a car parked at a meter outside an elementary school. The next morning, he called to ask me to a modern dance performance in two weeks.
We both lived in Brooklyn but met, for the second time, in Manhattan.
When we removed our hiking boots and socks in the car, we stared at each other’s naked feet. I chose the cover from the remnants section of a fabric store on the Lower East Side.
It was something I could unzip and clean whenever a child spit up, spilled Cheerios or wiped peanut butter on it. And that’s when he confessed, “I’m dating someone else.” She was a fellow economist he had met at a conference around the same time he met me, an Iranian-American who lived in Washington, D. ”“You knew we could only be friends.”“You have sex with all your friends? “I bet she doesn’t even know about me.”I told him we had to either date or not see each other again.
Somehow I had turned myself into a dating-show contestant, a real-life version of one of those “Bachelor” shows my friends watch.
I flew to Austin, Tex., to share the holiday with my brother. “Just because it sounds corny doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”“Does he feel the same way? I asked myself that question from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed, and sometimes in the middle of the night, too. The door opened to reveal the most beautiful rug I had ever seen, so finely woven it was more like a tapestry. I cooked Jonah’s favorite, “chicken with crumbs,” and after our dessert of apple crisp, we played Clue. It holds a place of honor in the house James and I bought together.
That child is aching for a man to call his or her own.
Every child of a single mother lies awake at night in bed, longing for the Daddy he sees on TV, in books, in the lives of the other kids at school.
Yet I also agreed to be “just friends” with James, at first. We had both joined a dating service called, pretentiously enough, The Right Stuff, after seeing an ad for it in The New Yorker. I met a man who humble-bragged about the ,000-a-month child support his ex-wife demanded for his daughters’ clothing allowance. So when I saw the Right Stuff ad, I thought: At least someone I meet through an ad in The New Yorker will be someone who reads The New Yorker, and we’d have that to talk about. But dating a woman with a child would be complicated, as I’m sure you know.”I did.“Let’s not date,” he suggested. An economist, he would answer a question with: “Probability of 1.”“I love it when you talk math talk,” I’d say.
“I liked your profile,” he wrote in his first email, “but didn’t contact you because you have a child.”At least he didn’t write, as several others had, “Thank you for being so honest.”It’s a line that makes you ask yourself: How could a mother lie about being a mother? Maybe a liar would wait until the man is smitten, then spring the child on him and shout, “Surprise! I met another who asked how much I weighed, as if I were a chicken he was considering for a recipe. Maybe I could find a man who reads the arts listings, and maybe even (if I could be this lucky) the poetry and fiction. “Let’s just get together as friends.”That summer we both had travel plans, so a whole month passed before our first date — or our first “playdate,” I guess. And he would reply, “I can do it any time you want.”Our first meeting was on Smith Street.
“But I should nurse my cold.”I wanted to nurse his cold, too.