Le sigh. Of nine children, I seem to be the only one who was born without the craftiness gene. My sisters sew their baby’s cloth diapers and whip up cakes in the shape of a teapot, just like that. I can’t even seem to tie a nice looking bow out of ribbon!

My boyfriend and I have been dating for three months today. On our first date I told him about having a daughter, a conversation which always terrifies me. Because I am young, I suppose, it tends to catch people off guard.

He reacted to my revelation so respectfully, with such understanding and when I said I don’t introduce her right away to men I date he agreed it is a prudent decision. I’ve made mistakes before where this is concerned—allowing Cali to get close to my boyfriends, even knowing the relationships were unlikely to last.

Two nights in a row lunches have been made the night before—but even better than that…..Cali is making her own lunch! It was my mother who pointed out that she’s more than capable, which had never really occurred to me. I still make the sandwiches, but she gets everything else prepared.

Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s not enough time in the mornings—today I was half an hour late for work (and damned lucky my boss wasn’t in). I rushed to make breakfast, I rushed to make lunches, I rushed to do Cali’s hair. I barely had time to throw on make up and find clothes. My morning jog has long since become a fantasy I only commit to in theory. Is it necessary to be this rushed? No, of course not. I’m this rushed because I wake up twenty minutes, half an hour max before I need to be out the door.

The birthday party, that is. Fewer kids attended than I expected (a combination of Thanksgiving weekend and flu season!) but that actually worked in my favour—fewer kids to entertain!

As the girls arrived we painted their faces to look like cats and had them decorate Hello Kitty ears (black, foam ears glued to headbands) with stickers and glitter glue.

Ugh, I’m too hungover to blog. I stayed out too late, drank too much, stayed over at my boyfriend’s when I should have gone home. I had to take the subway to my place at seven in the morning so I could make Cali’s lunch before she left for school. I’m incredibly lucky where my living situation is concerned, in that I never need to find a babysitter. Cali has a bedroom in my apartment and another one upstairs in my sister’s house—when my sister’s stepdaughter is there they are inseparable.

Cali’s official birthday party is next Saturday and I have nothing planned. Birthday parties stress me out. Oh man do they stress me out! The theme is Hello Kitty, and as of today I have no activities planned, no loot bags prepared and nothing but dread over the cake making. My sister, Martha Stewart 2.0, typically handles these aspects of Cali’s parties, but with the new baby she won’t be able to hold my hand through this.

My sister’s step daughter had a Hello Kitty party earlier this year and I will definitely be poaching some of her ideas. One of the best activities was decorating Hello Kitty cake pops. Basically, she baked small, round pieces of cake with a stick in them, like cake popsicles.

I’ve got the paperwork printed off and partially filled out. I’ve got the incentive—raising a kid in the city is expensive. So why can’t I bring myself to sit down, sort everything out and pursue child support from Cali’s father?

The process is daunting. Even once I gather all the information and complete all the forms I’m still faced with the challenge of finding him. And when I do find him I have to be prepared for the possibility that he will seek access.

I feel like I should introduce myself or give a long rambling biography…but I’m not going to. You know everything you need to know—I’m twenty five, I’m a single mother, I have an eight year old girl named Cali. Everything else you’ll learn through the blog.

Yesterday was my daughter’s eighth birthday. Just now, as I typed those words, I had to stop and really consider it one more time: Cali is eight years old. When I was eight I had the world figured out. I think she does too.

Her birthday was lovely, if not a little hectic. My sister gave birth to her first daughter a little after eight in the morning and Cali was thrilled. “My wish came true!” she said, and we both headed upstairs (we rent the basement apartment in my sister’s house) to check out the new baby girl. Birthdays are always cause to reflect on our own and our children’s lives, but seeing my sister with her newborn baby brought back all the memories and emotion of Cali’s birth.