Branded

Stella wakes with one word – Mama. In the morning, as she wakes from her nap and as she struggles in the middle of the night to find the light switch or snuggle more closely with her beloved cuddle, she mutters Mama. She saws it tenderly. She says it lovingly. She says it frantically. She says it longingly. She says it repeatedly. Mama. Mama. Mama.

I can’t say that I mind. Sure, there are moments when Stella’s clinginess proves to be challenging to say the least, and her occasional 3am pleas for Mama fail to rouse me with, um, joy. But mostly, when I hear that word upon her waking, whether it’s drizzly and soggy outside or crisp and bright, I feel my heart swell.

Of course, I never flinch when she asks for the Papa. If truth be told, I’m warmed and bewitched and tickled by Stella’s love for her Papa. Watching the two of them is, well, better than freshly baked bread and butter. It’s delicious and fabulous and, yes, sexy.

Stella has woken a handful of times asking for others, once for my mother and once for the Papa’s mother. And it’s honestly thrown me off kilter completely. I absolutely want to foster a strong and meaningful bond between Stella and her grandmothers. It’s a bond I never really fulfilled in my own life, so I enjoy watching her delight in that special connection, for sure.

But if I’m totally honest, the primal mama bear in me felt downright slighted on these two occasions. I, of course, hid it well, smiling and laughing as I fetched her with fresh stories of each of her wonderful grandmas. But what am I, Stella? Chopped Mama? I suppose this silliness on my part stems from the often raw and repressed feeling of servitude mamas experience when working tirelessly to create loving, engaging and safe environments for their children without fanfare or fuss. But that’s sort of immature, right? Because I know that Stella appreciates that I’m the one workin’ with her day in and day out. I’m her safety net and her comfort in all moments of panic or fear, and I’m usually the first person she looks to when she’s totally jazzed or excited. And I actually want her to feel connected and bonded to her amazing community of family and friends. So I can dismiss that part of the equation quickly. No need to announce my entitlement with this kid; the rewards and joys are clear. But I must admit that it’s more difficult to quell my feelings of pure mama bear possessiveness. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I found myself silently screaming, “She’s mine! She’s mine! Seriously, she’s mine!” when she uttered names other than my own.

Oh, how selfish and senseless. But oh, how truly real and powerful.

Because naturally, I feel branded by Stella’s calls for me. And it hasn’t been a gentle searing of tender care. Rather, it’s been a violent branding of my heart, the kind that rips me open and leaves me vulnerable and raw. But I honestly can’t imagine life without this branding. At times I feel a bit thrashed by the enormity of this kind of love – this branding – because, after all, being somebody's mama is undoubtedly the most important and massive responsibility I'll ever hold. But I also feel like its thrust me into a better, bigger and more open version of myself. So this branding – this love, this strength, this compassion, this patience – is a gift Stella bestows upon me with every sweet and sassy summoning.