Being a single mom is tough. Indiana Jones thought he had it rough: Nazis, boulder dodging, snakes? Feh. Try doing all that with a two year old.
Once he could walk it got harder. I couldn’t just strap him to my back anymore, because he wanted to be toddling around, chewing on everything shiny in a burial chamber. I guess once he could start carrying things it was okay, like having an extra backpack that I only had to lug around sometimes. Although it didn’t help that he got heavier as he grew.
I would imagine that it’s a lot easier to evade armed aggressors alone, but I don’t want to send him to stay with my aunts back home. Besides, he loves the life just as much as I do. Most seven year olds would start to cry when being dangled off the sided of a fast moving motorcycle in order to elude enemies, but not my kid. He just stays focused.
Some people stare, judge me, and tell me I’m a terrible mother. I just shrug and say, “He knows there’s no way I’d leave him. Especially when he’s got the loot.”
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