It has taken me a really long time to write this part of the book. It wasn’t til recently did I realize that I can’t keep it in the same format of the first half of this book. My memory of THIS part of our lives is very fuzzy on the actual day to day. What stands out is the times I was almost fired or did get fired from a job. I was so deep in survival mode at that time, I wasn’t processing fully. My anxiety forced out some of my memories. Years later trying to write about it, only the super stressed out moments are very clear. How unfortunate that I can’t remember all the calm, non dramatic simple moments. The calm, non dramatic simple moments that I do remember are kind of my anchor. They remind me that no matter how desperate I was for a damn break from hunger, exhaustion and negative bank accounts I made everyday an adventure for him. There was always a quick park play or Jamba Juice or pizza slice or book purchase from Barnes & Nobles or the Scholastics store. There were lots of smiles and giggles and bubbles and Thomas the train rides the 1 train moments. The ones I do remember have become so much more precious to me.

So, of course he made the swim team. Not the meet once a week, 9 months out of the year, swim team we have been doing off and on for the past 4 years. No. He made the, you have practice 5 days a week, 2.5 hours a day Swim Team. And I’m reading through this email like, “What in the actual HELL!?!?!?! This says for kids 9 and older! 9?!?!? There are 9 year olds that are doing this PLUS homework?!?!?” And for my single parents who have sole custody and you don't have family that lives nearby. How Sway? How are you able to do it? I’m not PLAYING when I say it takes a village. Because BAY-BEE I’m tired reading through the requirements and we ain't even started yet.

The “Hustle” started before my son was born. I actually think, upon my arrival to NYC, was when the hustle was started. Now when I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t have a job. As you already know, the cruise ship job I thought I had, had mysteriously vanished, as they had no record of me applying. (if you don't know what I’m talking about, go back and read “How we got here - pt.3) So once I moved out of my apt and was in South Jersey, I got to looking. I mean, the move came with a built in part time job. I would be judging for a dance competition that was in its early phase of existence and teaching at a local dance studio. But I knew that was not enough. So I was looking at every fitness gym, dance studio, maternity clothing, baby furniture and essential store I could find. It was the dead of winter, middle of the season for dance studios, and after the holidays down time for new hires. Most places told me, “Come back around May. We’ll be looking to hire for June.” Problem was I didn’t know where I was going to be in June.

They can make it look like they made less than they actually do. Or they know someone in the Medicaid office that “hooked up” the application for them. Or they would use the social security number of someone they knew to claim more people lived with them. I even know of a woman who was receiving benefits for 5 whole kids, that she claimed her sister in law’s daycare was watching. She got food stamps for a household of 6, and the sister in law got a check for daycare assistance for 5 whole kids. And those kids were living with their grandmother, in another country. And the crazy thing is the workers KNOW that the system is broken. Most of them are the ones that ask me...

“Is there anyone else you can claim, like a younger friend or sibling?”

Of course there was no manager available to speak with, without me going back through the whole process from the beginning, which meant a new number and another wait. I could absolutely NOT. We finished with the questions and I was told I would get notification in the mail. Each number I called to complain about the actions of that worker, there was no answer and a voicemail that was completely full. Never got a hold of anyone. I eventually received the news that I qualified for ALL benefits. But that was only because I had zero income.

Once I got a (part time) job that all changed. I had to come in for them to recalculate my benefits. That was another day spent waiting, getting new numbers, going from floor to floor, answering questions that could have been relayed over the phone. They gave me paperwork that my babysitter needed to fill out in order to pay her. Then I needed to bring that paper back… another day spent waiting, getting new numbers, going floor to floor, etc. But then I lost that job. My babysitter was flaky. She would call me the morning of and tell me that she couldn't watch him that day because she had an appointment to go to. It happened about 3 times. That mixed with having to take off for Public Assistance appointments equals unemployed… again.

So now we are in our new place, I have 3 jobs

I had given up on Public Assistance when my son was 8 months. But now that we didn't have a roommate and I was hustling to keep a roof over our heads, I gave it another shot. There was an office near our new apartment. I made an appointment for a Wednesday morning (I was told that was the best day and time to be seen.) So I gathered all of the paperwork I knew they would ask for and I gathered all the patiences I could muster up and headed down to our appointment. By now my embarrassment had gone from a level 10 to a level 6. But I still wasn't ready to make eye contact with anyone in the room. I literally looked at the floor unless I was speaking with a case worker. The shame was still thick. This visit was different. Much different. First let me tell you about my first visit…

We finally had our own place. Just me and the Dude. The day after I got the keys, I packed up my clothes and whatever baby stuff I could fit into a cab and we moved in. I had no furniture. It was all in storage… again. After the year of trying with my ex, we called it quits and since the lease was up it was perfect timing to move out. Because of my credit I was having a hard time finding a place. She found something almost immediately. She suggested if I didn’t find a place before we had to be out, I could stay with her til I did. So I moved my stuff into storage and couch surfed with her. In theory, it would only last a few days. But it was more like a few weeks. And it made things even worse. So once the keys were in hand, we were on to the next. I sat and slept on the hardwood floor of our new place. It sucked, it was painful and depressing but I couldn’t stand another minute arguing in circles about the same shit! Now we had our own place, free of drama, free of noise, free of opinions. It was just the 2 of us. Once I had enough money to rent a uhaul, I recruited helpers. Young college kids that were friends of a former student. They were not very helpful. Broke stuff, moved slow, took 5 million breaks to talk on the phone etc. I had to do most of the heavy lifting by myself plus keep an eye on my small child. Whew, I’m tired just thinking about that day.

At 7 months it became apparent that the Sperm Donor wouldn't be capable of the responsibilities that lay ahead because we were not an item, and so I asked him…

“If you knew that we weren't going to end up together, would you have wanted me to still have the baby?”

To which he replied, “No.”

“Well I’m giving you this opportunity to walk away. Since it's so hard for you to deal with things because we are not together, then I’m giving you freedom to walk away. No strings attached.”

“I’m not going to do that. Even though you don’t want to be with me anymore, I’m going to work to take care of you and my son. I’ll pay your rent and bills, so you don't have to worry. Even if I have to work 3 jobs.”

For a moment I admired his tenacity. But reality hit very quickly (3 weeks later) and he was nowhere to be found.

By this time I had to vacate the place I was subletting and I still hadn't found an apt. Many plans fell through.

As we sat in the mental ward and I watched all the people around LITERALLY lose their minds, I thought… Was he serious?!?!?

This was our second time at the Veterans hospital. I had talked him into registering there since he was a member of the military that had done White House security after 9/11 and had recently (2 months before we met) had a benign brain tumor removed. The mentality that he had inherited was, “Just collect your SSI. There’s no need to work. Just show them you had surgery and they will send you your SSI checks. You could be getting that check and working a job under the table. They’ll never know.” But the problem was, they WOULD know. He was fine. His doctor’s records showed that he could walk, run, lift, and sprint if you needed him to. Needless to say he was denied his SSI.

Back to the psych ward.

The line to the clinic rang twice. I hung up. I needed a plan. Like, what the hell was I going to do now. The perfect job, my plan A, to get me out of this mess was GONE. I needed a minute to process. Processing meant, smoking cigarettes, eating crappy ass cheap food and watching my DVD Box set of Sex in the City. For those short 27 min intervals, I didn't have to live in my world. I could let the glitz and glam of Carrie’s outfits and Samantha’s sexual conquest, Miranda’s boss moves at the firm and Charlotte’s money swallow me whole and live vicariously through them. I was one episode into season 4 and it hit me. Plan B! Get an abortion, pack up and store my apartment, take a one way flgiht to Thailand to help out after the tsunami and return when it felt right. A plan of escape but that also had purpose. I thought, maybe I can find myself there. Helping people makes me feel right with the world. The woman on the phone at the clinic asked if I had had my first ultrasound yet. No. She told me for the procedure their clinic does I have to be between a certain amount of weeks, so that was step #1. As we talked further she informed me that I would need to be off my feet, taking it easy for a while after the procedure and there would be no traveling, especially to a foreign country until I made a full recovery. Well that didn't work with my time frame. In my best Doofenshmirtz voice…

So I’m sure you all are wondering, “why all the Strip club stories, I thought she was telling us how she became a single mom?” Well I needed to paint a picture. Hang the backdrop, load in the set, program lighting cues and organize costume changes. It needed to be clear how it started from a dark place. I was so lost in my own shit that I couldn't see the light. Actually I didn't want to see the light. My insides had become cold and numb. I didn't want to be a part of my life anymore. I wanted to be someone else. Someone who didn't fight so hard to live in the light. I wanted to live in the dark. So I lived the darkest corner I could create. At first I was leading a double life. No one knew about the dark corner. By day, I was a wild curly hair fashion forward dresser, attending honoring events, walking through Barnes & Noble looking for new read, organizing peoples home and offices, head cashier at trendy restaurant/bar, teaching youth dance workshops, very Carrie Bradshaw. By night, I was a

Thank you Universe for Blessing me with a lil Angel.

That saved me from the darkness I was so happy to be engulfed in.

I know I fall short of your standards,

Hell, I fall short to my own.

I’m trying to be better everyday. Some days are better than others. But the unlimited opportunities to “get it right” that you have afforded me do not go unnoticed.

Thank You

This journey has taught me more than I knew ever existed.

I am extreme;y grateful.

Even when I’m feeling broken down, tired and defeated, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.

Because he brings me so much joy.