When I first heard him call her, “Mommy,” my heart felt a stab of pain. But, looking at his joy at her arrival, I couldn’t fault him. Many days in the pregnancy, my little boy has settled for a tired and slow companion in me. She breathes fresh energy into our home with her food, her smile, and her eagerness to play little boy games. I had moments I was counting the minutes until she arrived to relieve me, so how could I blame him for doing the same?
And, then, our dear friend warmly welcomed him to the alley on our afternoon visit from the sterile third floor apartment and I heard it again. “Mommy.” The word carries so many connotations. It is pregnant with meanings of love, of security, of comfort, of emotional home. Mommy is the woman you love more than anything. Mommy is the one you run to when you hurt, or when you discover something new, or when you want a snack.
When I can overlook the sting, I am so thankful that my boy has three mommies. We live as foreigners in a land that values sameness. We live far, far from home and Grammas, and blood relatives. The raw truth is that I am not enough mommy for him in my pregnant state. I am in need. And, we are blessed by community that fills our lives with more care and covers over my gaps. Little boys don’t delicately hide the truth. He calls it like it is….for now.
I know I will still be here when these days are distant memories. I know my blood is in his veins, and that at the end of the day I will be the one singing blessings over him and tucking him in under my roof. So, for now, I will swallow my catty jealousy. I will savor the happy faces of my boy, and the women he has wooed into our lives. They are deeply connected to us because of my weaknesses, because of our need. The Creator knows, and He has planted us here in this distant land for deeper work than teaching my son how to address whom.
