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The Girl Is Mine
The day someone mistook me for my daughter’s caregiver is etched in my memory as one of my most embarrassing moments. We were exiting our first music class in Georgia when the instructor casually mentioned, “You can just tell Emily’s parents that I’ll send them an email.” My cheeks flushed, and my heart raced as I stammered, “She’s my daughter.” The teacher quickly apologized, but as I bent down to grab our shoes, another mom chimed in, “She probably said that because you look so young.” I thanked her, but as soon as I was far enough away, I let the tears flow and my heart shatter.
The misunderstanding about the teacher’s comment became clearer in the following weeks as she repeatedly referred to the moms, dads, and the nanny. Surely, she couldn’t be including me, right? But after another awkward exchange where I reminded her of her earlier blunder, “Nanny-Gate 2014” finally came to a close.
When I first laid eyes on my daughter, I mentally steeled myself for the possibility that others might assume she wasn’t mine. But when it actually happened, I was in the thick of postpartum depression, and the grief it stirred was unexpected. I had spent months feeling unprepared for motherhood, questioning my ability to care for her. I loved her deeply, and that made me feel even less worthy.
The person who mistook me for Emily’s nanny based her assumption on the color of my child’s skin. Marrying someone of a different ethnicity, I never anticipated that my daughter might not resemble me. My racial identity is apparent, whereas Emily’s fair skin could easily lead someone to think she came from a different family.
It was painfully obvious that the assumption was steeped in racial undertones, but the real hurt stemmed from the internal monologue that whispered, “Of course she doesn’t see you as Emily’s mother. It’s because you’re a terrible mom.” I’ve faced both subtle and overt racism throughout my life, but in that moment, what truly broke me was losing the title of “Mom.”
It’s one thing to doubt yourself as a mother; it’s another entirely for someone else to strip that title away from you. I reflected on how one seemingly innocuous assumption robbed me of so much, and I mourned the loss.
After an exhausting 23 hours of labor, Emily came into my life, determined to turn it upside down. As a newborn, she insisted on being held around the clock, and her severe reflux led us to the ER one frantic night, where I ran down the hall in tears, convinced she had stopped breathing. I was the one waking up multiple times a night, stumbling through two years of sleeplessness, and I breastfed her on demand for 21 months.
It wasn’t until someone questioned my motherhood that I realized how profoundly important that title was to me. My resistance to embracing my role as a mom stemmed from self-doubt and guilt. I had fought against my new identity, but now I wanted to claim it with pride. I needed people to see the scars of my struggles. I craved not only to feel like a mom but also to be recognized as one.
Bit by bit, I am learning to believe that I am enough. The sting of being called Emily’s nanny fuels my determination to embrace my role as her mother. I know there’s no one else who could fill that role for her. There isn’t another woman waiting to pick her up after school.
As Emily grows and interacts with the world, I hope people will look beyond our skin color differences and recognize the undeniable bond we share. I wish that when they see us together, they instinctively know I’m her mom. I want her heart to remain unbroken when someone asks her why her mom is Black. I hope she finds a self-identity that empowers her, unrestrained by others’ perceptions. And if people fail to acknowledge my role, I aspire to channel my inner Brandy and Monica, confidently stating, “I’m sorry if you’re confused. She belongs to me. The girl is mine.”
This article was originally published on July 2, 2016. If you’re interested in more insights, check out this blog post for related topics. And when considering home insemination, Make a Mom provides excellent resources. For further reading on pregnancy and fertility, visit Science Daily.
Summary
The author shares her deeply personal experience of being mistaken for her daughter’s nanny, exploring themes of identity, race, and motherhood. The emotional turmoil she faced reveals the challenges of self-acceptance and the longing for recognition as a mother in an interracial family. Ultimately, she embraces her identity and hopes for understanding as her daughter grows.