The other day Skye and I were watching Cinderella. As the carriage pulled away to take Cindy and Charming off to their happily ever after and the credits rolled up, Skye looked at me and asked, “Mommy, where’s your Prince Charming?”

The sincerity and frankness with which this question was delivered shocked any intelligent answer right out of me. My four-year-old was genuinely concerned over my relationship status. Something I couldn’t care less about.

I said I didn’t know, an answer so clearly inadequate to her I was surprised she let it go at that. She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, but I could see the wheels turning as the movie reround.

While I have no real desire to date, I do sometimes wonder in what ways I’m possibly screwing up my kid with my infallible independence. Fairy tales almost exclusively require the hero or heroine to be part of a couple to reach their happy endings.

But those are fairy tales. Sometimes in real life we have to be our own Prince Charmings, and the masters of what defines our happy endings.

In my case, that definition has nothing to do with a guy. Any single mom can tell you dating isn’t easy; for me it’s an obstacle I don’t care enough to try and overcome. I’ve always been cautious with my heart, but now it’s not just my heart I need to protect. My walls are built up higher than ever and I’m not waiting in anticipation for them to be scaled.

Truth is, I’m not yet ready to let any successful climber into mine and Skye’s bubble of love.

I actually attempt to use being a mom as a crutch, to ward off random guys on the rare occasions I do go out with friends. Much to my chagrin, simply telling them that I’m a mom isn’t the powerful “f-off” I initially hoped it would be.

Instead of running away, they feign interest as a way of furthering the conversation; a question like “how old is your kid,” or “what’s her name,” becomes some weird form of pickup line. My favorite are the clueless pet owners. The, “that’s awesome, I have a black lab and he’s just like my baby,” guys.

Yeah bro, that’s exactly the same.

So I’ve come up with a new strategy. I’ve discovered it takes less than 20 seconds after first mentioning your child’s feces, for a guy to stop hitting on you.

Or at least any guy who isn’t a parent himself.

Poop is just one of those things that somehow, strangely, becomes less gross when you’re a parent. I mean, it’s still nasty. It’s just that now, it’s simply one of the many nasty things we deal with on a daily basis. It eventually loses the ick-factor; to an extent non-parents can never understand.

I used to feel flattered when I got approached by guys, even if there was no possibility of attraction. Now, it all just feels so exhausting.

When I go out with friends, I just want a couple hours of not being solely responsible for someone else’s happiness and well-being, not try to find someone to be responsible for mine. If there’s one thing I do want my daughter to learn from my being single, it’s that happiness isn’t always found in a couple.

As I was putting Skye to bed that night,  I tried to revisit the subject and substantiate my answer. While saying goodnight, I reminded her of the Prince Charming question. I told her that she was my Prince Charming, immediately eliciting profuse giggling.

“I can’t be your Prince Charming,” she said, “I’m a girl!”

“Yes, you are a girl,” I replied. “But you’re my girl, and you’re all I need to have a happy ending.”

She agreed with my logic, if not fully comprehending it, and promised to be my Prince Charming forever.

I may not be single for forever, and I’m not quite jaded enough yet to hope for it. But either way, I’ve already found my happily ever after, and her name is Skye.

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