Not-the-Mama!

Perhaps you are familiar with the sitcom Dionosaurs, which aired in the early 1990s. Since it was Jim Henson's final project (he was working on it up until his death, but died before it went into production), I was a fan from the start (Jim Henson was one of my childhood heroes). The show chronicles the lives of a family of anthropomorphic dinosaurs, which includes a mom, dad, son, daughter and baby. Throughout the show, the baby dinosaur (known simply as "Baby," if my memory serves), commonly refers to his father as "Not-the-Mama!" Though I hadn't thought of this show in the nearly 20 years since I last watched it, over the past couple of months this phrase, "not-the-mama!" has occasionally been ringing in my ears.

Leo has reached a new stage in his development. At 8 months old, he no longer allows himself to be passed from person to person, seemingly oblivious (or at least indifferent and willing), as he did in his first several months. He only smiles readily for familiar people (he used to smile at everyone, everywhere we went), and he often buries his head in my shirt when strangers talk to him. Most significantly, he has developed object permanence. He knows that objects exist even when he can't see them. And he knows that his Mama exists even when he can't see her. This last one is what's often leaving me with a feeling of "not-the-mama!, not-the-mama!, not-the-mama!" as Leo crawls around the house, whimpering, in search of his other half. When she comes into the room, and I'm holding him, he flaps his arms and kicks his legs with such an uncensored enthusiasm. And then he reaches for her, grasping at the air, nuzzling into her bosom once he's finally got her. I sometimes feel a bit dejected. But for the most part, this love affair between my baby and my wife just makes me smile.

I decided to sign up for a local music class with Leo, and it's been wonderful. I took music classes with the other kids when they were little (though not this little), mostly just to break up the monotony of my stay-at-home-mama days. But it's different with Leo. It feels important. Not because of the music exposure (I'm certainly not concerned about that), or really for any reason relating to Leo's development. Rather, it feels important for me to be his in-public mama, to get validation from strangers--and the other parents in the class--who see me simply as Leo's mom. To be his mom without qualifiers. To be the one who he crawls to when he feels suddenly shy. The one he checks in with, and seems to ask, eyes wide with amazement, "is this really happening?" ("am I really getting to bang my very own rhythm stick while I suck on another one?").

Mostly, though, I am content to be Not-the-Mama! I am getting increasingly comfortable in my new role, in this new way of mothering a baby. That said, I admit that I sometimes feel more like a Papa than I ever thought I would. I come home from work and get my hands on the baby and feel inclined to toss him in the air (and in my head I think, "Papa?").


I tickle him and make him laugh and hold him upside down (he loves that), and feel exceptionally more playful with him than I remember being with the other kids as babies ("Papa?"). Which is not to say that I didn't also do these things with them, but it wasn't one of my main ways of interacting with them.


It's fascinating to me, really. I never imagined that having a pregnant wife, and then parenting the baby who my wife gave birth to, would make me feel so identified with men. The other day I was working at Cradle and a woman and man came in together with a brand new--12 days old--baby. The mom left the baby with the man and went into the bathroom to try on a nursing bra. I found myself looking at this new papa in such a different light than I would have, pre-Leo.

"How has all of this been for you?" I asked, "how are you feeling?"

The man blushed a little and said, "well, I'm fine, but, um . . . this actually isn't my baby. I'm the proud uncle."

I find myself so eager to connect with the other non-gestational parents in my life, to compare experiences and validate feelings. When Leo was first born, I really struggled to accept my new role. But I soon learned to focus on enjoying the experience of mothering Leo for all that it is, rather than obsessing over what it isn't. Now, eight months into it, I find myself wanting to really celebrate my NGP status. I want to help other NGPs--lesbians and papas alike--to enjoy their parenting roles as much as I am enjoying mine.

Because for every Not-the-Mama! moment, there is an equal and opposite moment--a hug or a love-filled grin from the baby--that feels somehow more special for the fact that our relationship is lacking in biological connection. Because I am his mother not because I gestated him or birthed him, but simply because I've mothered him. I've had to work to deserve the title of Leo's mom. And I've earned it.

I love this picture because in some ways it looks
like a picture of Lena and me.
Look what we've made.
And they really love each other.