As a single parent, I often find myself caught in a web of half-truths and gentle deceptions. I frequently tell my five-year-old daughter, Lily, little lies that help maintain harmony and structure in our daily lives. Whether it’s claiming that the toy store is closed or asserting that her nose will grow if she lies, these small fibs are commonplace among parents trying to navigate the complexities of raising a child. I’ve even perpetuated the myth of the jolly man in red who delivers presents each year—a tale that took a twist when Lily innocently questioned why Santa doesn’t visit children in need. Caught off guard, I quickly diverted her attention to something shiny, not wanting to unravel the carefully crafted narrative.
However, my situation is different from most parents. Unlike them, the child I am raising is not biologically mine. I did not give birth to Lily, nor have I adopted her legally; she is a ward of the state. Looking into her sparkling blue eyes, it’s difficult to think of her as just a statistic. Yet, I am aware that I, too, am a statistic in this system. The most significant narrative I’ve created revolves around our relationship. Lily believes I am her mother, that she emerged from my womb, and that her father—whom she barely knows—was once part of my life.
The reality is, I never intended to have children in the traditional sense. As a gay woman, the idea of becoming a parent through methods like artificial insemination was a fleeting thought that I never fully pursued. Then, at 33, my young niece, whom I shall call Lily, came to live with me. Instead of becoming a character from a romantic comedy, I found myself stepping into a new role that involved a different set of challenges and responsibilities.
Lily’s first week in nursery school brought about a significant shift in our dynamic when her caregiver asked if she could refer to me as her mommy. It felt natural for Lily to want to call me that, given that all her peers had mothers. Initially, I felt uncertain, but I soon realized that this label provided comfort and a sense of belonging for her. Over time, hearing her call me “mommy” became second nature, although she sometimes affectionately refers to me as “poophead.”
As of February 24th, Lily will have lived with me for four years. During this time, I have navigated parenting alone, without a co-parent or family nearby. I have built my life around her needs, learning everything from diaper changes to rocking her to sleep. My social life has morphed from bar outings to playdates, and I even chose our home based on the local school district. Through these years, I have discovered my limits—how long I can tolerate the Barney theme song or how often I can skip showers before feeling overwhelmed. More importantly, I have learned about the profound capacity for love that can exist between us, a love so deep that I would protect her at any cost.
It’s often said that no two people perceive colors in the same way, and I have pondered whether my feelings for Lily mirror those of a biological mother. I no longer dwell on those comparisons, realizing that such thoughts can diminish the joy I feel. My love for her is immense, perhaps even greater than that which any mother feels for her biological child.
This love has driven me to maintain the intricate narrative of our relationship. For all intents and purposes, I am her mother—I care for her, comfort her, and nurture her. Yet, I know that there will come a day when the truth must surface. There will be a moment when Lily asks about her origins, and I will have to explain that I am not her biological mother. My reluctance to address this topic now is rooted in a desire to prolong her innocence. However, I understand that honesty is essential, and I will have to prepare for that conversation, much like coming out in my own life. My hope is that Lily will understand my love for her remains unchanged, despite the labels.
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In summary, while my journey as a parent may not fit the conventional mold, the love I have for Lily transcends biological connections. As I navigate the complexities of our relationship, I realize that the day will come when honesty must prevail.