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I’m Not the Caregiver, So Please Stop Asking
by Elena Carter
Updated: April 5, 2019
Originally Published: April 5, 2019
ELENA CARTER
“Oh, he’s adorable! Are you his caregiver?” This question has plagued me at least two or three times a week during the first year and a half of my son’s life. Once he started speaking, the puzzled expressions became even more evident when he referred to me as “Mommy.” The question shifted from “Are you the caregiver?” to a silent bewilderment, as if they couldn’t grasp the notion of me as his mother.
Even now, we still encounter those looks. I often find myself wanting to wave frantically and declare, “Yes, I’m a black woman. Yes, I’m his mother. He literally came from my body, and if you ask me again if I’m his caregiver, I might just react.” I don’t express this, although the sentiment is certainly warranted. I typically just nod and move on, refusing to indulge their curiosity.
After four years, I’ve become somewhat desensitized, but that doesn’t lessen the frustration. This experience is shared by many mothers of color with mixed-race children who don’t resemble them.
Not too long ago, a viral video featured a little girl interrupting her father during a live BBC interview. A visibly flustered woman rushed in to collect her, only to be followed by a baby in a walker. The woman’s embarrassment was palpable as she attempted to exit the room with the children in tow, wishing to avoid scrutiny. As a work-from-home mom, I found humor in the situation, having been in similar predicaments.
However, the commentary that followed was disheartening; many viewers labeled the woman as “the caregiver.” Why? Because she was Asian and her husband was white. When the truth surfaced—that she was the mother and spouse—many argued that her actions led to the assumption of her being a caregiver. But let’s be real; this reflects a deeper issue.
Women of color are often presumed to be “the nanny” until proven otherwise. When I’m out with my son, I’m frequently met with the same assumption until I clarify, “Oh, no, he’s mine!”
A quick search on popular stock photo websites using the term “mixed race family” reveals that around 75% of the images depict a family with a father of color and a white mother. According to research from Essence magazine, black men are twice as likely to engage in interracial relationships compared to black women. Nonetheless, many women of color, including myself, are in interracial relationships. It’s perplexing to see how people readily assume that a black woman (or any woman of color) with a child who may resemble their father’s race is simply the caregiver.
It’s both ignorant and inconsiderate to inquire about a stranger’s children’s heritage. I shouldn’t even need to state this, yet here we are.
The issue of representation for mothers of color with mixed-race children is a cascading problem. I’ve had children ask me directly, “Why is your son white?” While I’m patient with kids, I find it disheartening that adults often neglect to teach their children about diverse family structures.
As my son approaches school age, I dread the questions he’ll face from peers. I refuse to teach him to just endure these inquiries. I don’t care if it makes him (or me) seem rude; he shouldn’t have to explain his identity repeatedly while trying to navigate life.
As a black mother to a child with lighter skin, the struggle is real. When I say that my son may present as white, it often makes some uncomfortable. People hastily claim he looks just like me, which is true, but he also shares traits with his father. And that’s perfectly acceptable. Many mixed-race children embody characteristics from both parents.
Acknowledging that my experience as a black mother with a fair-skinned child differs markedly from a white mother with mixed children (regardless of skin tone) isn’t defensive or overly sensitive; it’s a fact. White mothers of mixed-race children seldom face the label of “nanny” upon first glance. They aren’t regularly questioned about their children’s skin tones. While it does happen, it’s not at the same intensity or frequency.
This isn’t my first time addressing this topic. The invalidation of women of color’s feelings in these scenarios is rampant. Comments like, “Can’t you just be happy about your child?” or “Why do you care what others think?” reflect a lack of understanding. The core question remains: Why do people feel entitled to ask intrusive questions about me and my child? Compliments about my son are welcome; I know he’s cute, smart, and a joy. However, when inquiries delve into personal matters about his father’s race or our relationship, they cross a boundary, and it’s imperative to call it out.
Discussing this frustrating phenomenon doesn’t render me or other women of color overly sensitive or difficult. We are not obligated to overlook others’ ignorance or odd curiosity.
I’m not the caregiver. I owe no one explanations.
For more insight on pregnancy and home insemination, check out these resources: CDC for comprehensive information and At Home Insemination Kit for practical guidance.
In summary, the assumption that mothers of color are simply caregivers reveals deep-rooted biases and underscores the need for greater awareness and education about diverse family dynamics. It’s vital to recognize and respect the identities and experiences of all mothers, regardless of the appearance of their children.