Waiting to Become a Mom

Photo:  Jessica Felicio for Unsplash

This post is a part of a special series Mom/Me: An exploration of motherhood and beyond. This collection of poetry, essays, and visual media showcase the many facets of motherhood and our relationship to it. In partnership with Mater Mea.

By Tomi Akitunde

I didn’t think about marriage or children until I met my husband Scott in 2013. Or I did, but as eventual inevitabilities. The sun rises in the east, it sets in the west, and I’ll probably be someone’s wife and mother one day.

Unlike becoming a journalist or moving to New York, being “someone’s wife and mom” weren’t goals I had and they weren’t honorifics I thought I would have to work hard to receive. They would just be milestones I would reach whenever I was supposed to reach them, like getting boobs or growing a few more inches.

I thought of Scott as a father before I ever thought of myself as a mother. I had a vision that’s so clear, sometimes it feels like a memory: He was walking toward the corner outside my first New York apartment, heading toward the bodega, with an about 3-year-old boy on his shoulders. I could only see their backs, but I knew they were mine. My husband carrying our son.

I can’t remember when I could start hearing my biological clock ticking, but that shit got real loud in my early 30s. I would cry when I saw mothers and fathers loving on their babies in commercials, I would cry when I saw children abandoned or abused. (“Who would do that?” I would sob into Scott’s chest. “How could somebody hurt a child? Should we start fostering kids?!”)

Read the full post on Mater Mea.