When you’re a single mom, Valentine’s Day isn’t about romantic dinners, roses, or decadent chocolates. No, it’s a whirlwind of last-minute preparations and sugary chaos. Picture this: on February 13th, I’m frantically rummaging through the clearance cards at Target, trying to find something that isn’t too cringeworthy. Then I spend hours stuffing Pop Rocks and Sweet Tarts into tiny envelopes, all while racing against the clock to email my kid’s teacher for the class list, since I can only recall five out of twenty-three names. After the valentines are packed with sugar, it’s time to hit Pinterest, where I search for a “healthy” snack that won’t make parents cringe but will be appealing to kids. I’ll come across a seemingly simple idea like ladybugs made from chocolate-dipped clementines or watermelon hearts with grape cupids, only to find that it takes me an entire afternoon to put together. Yes, this is the reality of my life—transforming fruit into whimsical creations on the day dedicated to love.
As a single mom, holidays take on a different meaning. My child’s teacher fills the role of the “other parent,” sending home cards for every holiday. Without those macaroni hearts and handprint turkeys, my fridge would feel empty, and my heart would be just as hollow.
But don’t shed a tear for me, my friends. I’ve accepted this phase of life. Honestly, I’m not desperate for a valentine. I’m not unattractive, nor am I sporting an unflattering physique. Someday, I may try for a February 14th date, but right now, I would be the most distracted date ever.
“Here’s a card I didn’t sign because I was too busy juggling library books, grocery shopping, making phone calls, whipping up dinner, and cleaning out the guinea pig’s cage. By the time I got to the pharmacy, the only card left was in Spanish and meant for someone’s grandma—“Feliz día de la de San Valentín, abuelita!” All the candy was gone, but I did find a Smurfs Pez dispenser in the parking lot, so Happy Valentine’s Day!”
I have my daughter, Emma, with me 100% of the time except for a few weekends a year. Finding time to date feels like searching for a lost Barbie shoe in a toy box or trying to remember how my body looked before motherhood—pointless and frustrating.
This year, instead of making dinner reservations or shopping for a sexy outfit, I’ll be picking up my hyperactive child from school, her lips smeared with neon pink frosting. For the next few hours, she’ll be bouncing off the walls, begging for “just one more gummy heart! Please, Mommy! I need it! I neeeeeed it!” I’ll wipe her frosting mustache, give her a kiss on the forehead, and remind her to take life one day at a time.
While others share romantic posts on social media, flaunting their partner, flowers, and chocolates, I’ll look at Emma, who, after a sugar crash and some potential vomit, finally drifts off to sleep. And in that moment, I know I’ve never loved a valentine more.
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In summary, being a single mom on Valentine’s Day means redefining love through the eyes of your child, where the focus is on those small, sweet moments rather than traditional romance.