We’re two women making a family. We’re two loving mums raising a lovely daughter. We’re both maternal and equally committed to creating a supportive and love-filled home for our family. But there’s only one mummy in our family, and it’s not me.
A few weeks ago, Quin had her first cold at almost 5 months old. She was sniffly and grumpy and she didn’t want a bar of me. Before this, Quin had never shown a preference for either of us. Except for boob-milk time we were equal and interchangeable. I could change her, shower her, put her to sleep, calm her down if she got upset. But when she was sick she only had eyes and arms for mummy.
I could tell this concerned Shan at first. I know she was worried I would feel rejected or unwanted and it would create some kind of animosity, but that couldn’t have been more wrong. I adored how much Quin wanted her mummy and loved seeing her little face and body relax as soon as she was back in her mummy’s arms. I didn’t feel jealousy or frustration, only admiration for my wife and her ability to be so patient and loving and calm with a sick, grumpy baby when neither had had a lot of sleep.
For Quin, her mummy is her rock. Her mummy is home with her all day every day and knows her inside out. She knows all her sounds and her cries and when she needs a nap and when she’s hungry. Mummy will always be the go-to for make-the-pain-stop-kisses and cold-cuddles and bad-dream-snuggles. And I’m ok with that because I’m not mummy.
I am mama. And mama gets to go to work everyday knowing I’m making it possible for the two people I love most to spend their days together being happy. I get to be the one they miss during the day and who they look forward to seeing at night. I get welcome home slobbery kisses and smiles so big my heart explodes. I get to be fun-mum who helps to make a mess all in the name of adventure.
My wife will be having all our babies and will always be mummy. And I’ll always get to be mama. And that is just perfect for us.