Document 8 (1)

1. “We Had Three Sippy Cups Between Us —And Still Found Time for Wine and Laughs” Being a single parent means your life operates on a different timetable. “Spontaneity” is a forgotten word from a previous life. Your calendar is a chaotic tapestry of school plays, soccer practices, and doctor’s appointments. Trying to fit dating into that equation seems like a cruel joke. Who has the time? Who has the energy? Before I even started, the logistics of single parent dating felt like a whole other level of complicated. I found solace in online communities and informational pages like https://www.sofiadate.com/type-dating/single- parent-dating, where people shared their experiences. Reading about others making it work made the idea seem less impossible. That’s how I found myself creating a profile, highlighting the fact that my plus-one was a chatty six-year-old daughter. I matched with Mark, whose profile picture featured him getting a face full of spaghetti, courtesy of his two young sons. His bio read: “Looking for someone who understands that Saturday nights are for Disney movies and that ketchup can be considered a vegetable.” I had never felt so seen. Our first date was a logistical masterpiece that took two weeks to plan, involving a complex exchange of babysitter schedules. When we finally sat down at a restaurant, we both looked slightly shell-shocked to be out in the adult world past 7 p.m. The first thing we did was pull out our phones and exchange pictures of our kids. He had two boys, ages four and seven. That meant that between us, we were responsible for three small humans, three sippy cups, and an endless mountain of laundry. Instead of being a barrier, our shared reality was an instant bond. We didn't have to explain why we were tired. We didn't have to pretend our lives were glamorous and carefree. We skipped the small talk and went straight to the real stuff: the hilarious and horrifying things our kids had said that week, the magic of finding a babysitter you trust, the unparalleled joy of a quiet house after bedtime. We ordered a bottle of wine, and as we sat there, two exhausted parents on a rare night out, we laughed. We laughed until our sides hurt. It was a laugh of recognition, of relief, of shared absurdity. It was the sound of two people finding an oasis of adult conversation in the beautiful chaos of their lives. We were outnumbered by our children, but in that moment, we were a team.