The Other Mother

I look in the rearview mirror and I see her children riding in my backseat, their heads bent together staring at videos on their phones. I have helped and housed three of her six kids. They have spent holidays with me, gone to the pool with me, and contacted me for advice or just to chat. I pop up at family functions and people related to her are starting to know who I am. I was a stranger but now my presence is undeniable; it’s like I am all around, always there. Her child is my heart, my great blessing, so beautiful and strong. He hugs me each night before bed, he tells me about his day every evening over dinner. I love him fiercely and proudly, he is one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me.

 

I have pictures of her son when he was an infant stashed in my phone. I was there when he first rolled over, when he learned to walk and when he fell and broke his tooth. Her son calls me Mommy and leaps into my arms every afternoon when I pick him up at daycare. I kiss her sons soft cheeks and know his ticklish spot are his inner thighs. I know her son loves homemade chicken noodle soup and has never been fond of corn. When he wakes at night, her son calls for me, is soothed by my touch and warm embrace. I know her son loves drums and basketball and hates brushing his teeth. I enrolled her daughter in kindergarten and trundled her off to her first day of school. I also enrolled her daughter in karate and take her to the Y every week to watch her learn the moves. I have her daughter’s first school picture and hundreds of craft projects. I’m teaching her daughter how to craft, how to fold laundry and how to read. I have dried her daughter’s tears and played tooth fairy when she lost her teeth. I know her daughter loves sweets and hates beans but I make her eat them anyway. I give her kids a bath, I read them bedtime stories, I listen to their hopes and dreams. I give them my all, no matter how draining it can be sometimes, and I adore them to the ends of the earth.

 

I don’t know where she is right now or how she is doing. We aren’t friends on Facebook, we don’t text one another to check in. I’ve spent time with her, I’ve listened to her and had compassion for her situation, even the self-inflicted parts. I see her in her son’s smile, her daughter’s toss of her head, her son’s mannerisms. She is never far from my mind as I perform the motherly duties for her children. Sometimes I wish I knew her better or had known her before all the bad things and poor choices. Sometimes I’m content that she isn’t around drumming up big feelings in the hearts of the children I love so dearly. I wish life had been different for her. I wish she could see how amazing her children are, how precious they are together. It isn’t easy raising her children, but I am blessed to be able to do it, blessed that I am their mother too.