Becoming Mama

Turo has called me mama since our initial week together. The first time he called me this my heart soared. This is what I had been waiting for. To be somebody’s mother. Only I wasn’t. Not yet. Not until I noticed the subtle shifts in his interactions with me did I realize that to him I had been yet another caregiver in a series of changing faces. He had been coping with this latest upheaval by staying busy, which gave the false appearance of acceptance. “Mama” could have been easily substituted for “hey, lady.” Each would’ve served the purpose of getting my attention and making his needs known. A few times he even called a couple of my friends “mama.” He didn’t associate this name as being exclusively for me.

At some point in the middle of last summer, Turo began to show flashes of affection and belonging. He started to seek out my lap. As I cooked or carried him up the stairs, he would shimmy up my side and nestle his head on my shoulder with his little arms around my neck. On our third trip to the doctor, he realized I could comfort him. He sat wailing in my arms, imploring “mama, mama” in a way that said, “I’m scared.” When he fell or bumped his head, he started looking to me to sooth him.

With each new moment of intimacy, our relationship deepened.

Some moments were subtle. Like the way we read together at night. For months, we sat side by side in the big chair. Then he started draping his arm across my leg or leaned against me as we turned the pages. He initiated hand holding as we strolled around the neighborhood. In our toddler classes, rather than going off to explore until I called him back, he began to check in from time to time or pull me to play with him.

And some moments were more obvious. The way he started to grip my face in his hands to pull me in for a kiss. Or how he drops his toys and runs screaming across the YMCA child watch when I come to retrieve him after my 90 minute workout. Or the way he scoots across the bed into my arms for early morning snuggle.

“Mama” no longer just means “hey, you” although it is still the most efficient way to get my attention. It is now the name, infused with affection, reserved just for me.

I didn’t become a mother the day of our referral or when we passed court or even the moment Turo was handed to us in Ethiopia. Rather, I became a mother as my son realized I was his and he was mine. Over the last twelve months, Turo has slowly opened his heart to me. And it is through these tender moments I have entered motherhood.