Being a single parent could be one of the hardest things a person can ever experience, and I guess everyone who’s ever found in a situation like that can tell you that.
It was early that morning when I sat outside the mall in my car with Ivy and Lily sleeping in their stroller listening to an old voice note from Claire left after the delivery.
In that message, she told me: “Mason, don’t forget to buy some zip-up sleepers.” And I asked laughing, “Why not buttoned ones?” But she firmly replied, “No buttons at three in the morning,” saying, “Listen, you will cry before the babies do.” She said it while I was pressing my thumb on my wedding ring because the recorded me was agreeing “Fine,” and “Zip-ups.” Then Claire said, “And yellow,” as, in her opinion, “Everyone chooses pink and babies are not cupcakes.”
I laughed at first, but soon those laughs changed into tears. Claire was gone for three weeks already, but I kept catching myself looking behind to say something to her. Everybody told me how brave I was managing alone, but I was not brave. I was just tired, scared, and improvising. However, as Claire chose yellow sleepers, I took stroller by the handle and whispered “Okay, girls,” and “We’re doing this for mom.”
I found the sleepers at the mall. As I looked down at Lily, I said, “Your mom was right” and “Buttons are a trap.” The babies began screaming at once. Ivy was soaking wet. I softly said, “Oh, bug” before turning to Lily, “Yeah, I know. You too. We’re going.”
There was no changing table in the men’s bathroom. A guard informed me that the family room was closed. I sighed, saying again, “So, the family room is closed, and there’s no changing table in the men’s bathroom?” He simply said, “Yes,” and “Sorry,” while he pointed me towards the distant East Wing. An onlooker lady said to me, “No, you cannot go there. You are a man.” When I explained what was going on and that I couldn’t go elsewhere, she said it was not her problem.
It wasn’t something that could wait until we got home, so I said to my twins, “Girls, daddy’s got you,” and then I slung Ivy and walked towards the entrance to the women’s restroom.
“Sorry,” I called out before entering. “I have twin babies. There is no changing table in the men’s restroom, the family room is not open, and I will only be two minutes.” I laid Ivy down, and that’s when this woman, Patricia, walked in.
“You need to leave,” she said. I began to apologize, “I’m sorry. I’ll be out in one minute. My daughters needed…” but Patricia interrupted, “Sorry, not caring. This is a women’s restroom.”
“Ma’am, I announced myself. I checked. I am not trying to disrupt anything,” I continued. But she only said, “Then leave.”
But when both babies cried, Patricia said, “That’s why babies need mothers and not some dumb man who knows nothing about them.” That hurt because my head was flooded by Claire’s voice that told me “You are going to be such a good father,” before the doctor’s devastating “We are sorry.”
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“Their mother died giving birth to them. Don’t use that to their disadvantage.” She then said, “Not an excuse for invading women’s private places.” As she continued saying, “Leave! Now!” I looked into her eyes and said, “No.”
She blinked in surprise saying, “No?” As I completed zipping Ivy, I said, “No, I’m not leaving Lily wet because I don’t feel like being uncomfortable about fathers fulfilling their duties.” She responded saying that it wasn’t my choice; however, I said, “It is, since she is my daughter.” She took out her cell phone saying, “Then, I’ll call the security.” I responded saying, “Yes, go ahead and call them,” adding, “But don’t stand so close.”
She called aloud, “Security to the women’s bathroom by the baby department. There is a man in here who isn’t leaving.” She even shouted from the door saying, “There is a man in the women’s restroom!” I didn’t pay attention to her and said softly to Lily, “I’m almost done,” while Patricia kept asking me to pack up. I told her, “Step back please, I’m holding one baby and changing another.”
In the hallway, Patricia followed me, demanding, “Do you understand who you’re talking to?” She bragged about her job at the city’s largest rental network—where I had just applied for housing. Seeing my face fall, she threatened, “One call,” and “and you’ll never find a place to live in this city again. I just need your name, and it’s all over.” I told her, “That’s illegal,” but she insisted rules didn’t apply to me. When I said, “You can’t threaten housing because I changed my babies,” she claimed, “I can protect my community from unstable people.” I stood my ground: “You can call whoever you want, but you’re not going to shame me into failing my daughters.”
All of a sudden, a young pregnant couple appeared before me. The woman said, “Mom. Stop.” Patricia urged them to keep out of it.
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