“Is this your first?”
I welcome any inquiry, any excuse to talk about the baby and the pregnancy that is now so obvious with my bump.
But this question is never so smoothly or directly answered. I usually reply with an enthusiastic “I have a x-year old stepdaughter!” to give context to our blended family system, and the inherent nuance that comes with being a caregiver without the official title of “mom” or “dad.”
Is this my first? No. How many school lunches I’ve made, playdates coordinated, park trips taken? This is not my first rodeo with “toilet teaching” or waking up to little steps padding their way into our bedroom way too early in the morning. How many years have my partner and I worked tirelessly in the name of Christmas magic and over-the-top Halloween costumes to meet the exacting specifics of a child’s imagination?
It has been the privilege of a lifetime to share in my stepdaughter’s life. She’ll always be the person that launched me into a new era of my identity.
But: is this my first? Yes. I hold that inner knowing close. My first birth and post-partum. My first time being there for his firsts: bath, foods, smile, words, steps. My first time living on this planet with someone who will call me mama.