Our House Has Two Mommies

Who would’ve thought we’d have two mommies in our house?

One mommy has lived here forever. And the other mommy joined us this summer.

One is sneaking up on 40. And the other just celebrated her Sweet 16.

One cooks the dinners. And flips the laundry. And drives our horde of people from appointment to appointment. 

The other mama practices her make-up at the dining room table. And does her math homework on the iPad. And washes baby bottles in the sink.

In a house with two mommies, our kids are learning there are lots of ways to be a great mommy. 

Whether you have smooth skin or your face is pressed with wrinkles, your kids still think you’re beautiful.

Whether you bottle feed or breastfeed, your kids still fall asleep with a full belly.

Whether you bathe your baby every day or you count pool days as bath days, your kids are still [mostly] clean

Whether you had a teen pregnancy or a geriatric pregnancy, your baby’s heart and brain and fingers and toes still grew in your belly. And that fact is a complete miracle.

Fostering a teen mom has taught me new ways to have grace for myself and to extend excessive grace to others.

We all have hard days. And she has a front row seat to mine.

We feel each other’s frenzies. The groaning. The stomping. The sighing. The irritation when babies don’t nap. When they refuse to get dressed. When spaghetti ends up on the walls. And when milk spills between the floorboards.

We share this little life together. I teach her cooking techniques. She teaches me TikTok trends. I wear faded t-shirts and yoga pants. She wears fishnets and miniskirts.

She reads stories to my kids as they snuggle up on her lap. They call her Mama. And they call me Momma. It’s different.

But she loves them. She listens to them. And she’s patient with them.

Our days are filled with park trips and snack breaks and nap times. Side by side, we discipline our babies and snuggle them close.

We’ve settled into new routines and rhythms. A boring, little life. 

A boring, little, safe, well-fed, well-cared-for, well-loved life.

We see our mundane routines with new eyes. With awe and with gratefulness. 

Some days I catch my breath when I hear my words come out of her mouth as they float across the room to her baby.

My words. Her voice. 

It’s a sobering privilege. And an honor I hold close to my heart. 

Sometimes I forget she’s just a child herself. 

A young and beautiful child. Full of life and potential.

She is resilient against all odds. Though heaviness has held her, she has not become hardened. Though grief has found her, she has not given into sorrow. Despite all of her pain, she still breathes out joy. 

Some days, though, she huddles under the weight of it all. And I’m there to hold her up. With my hands open to carry the load for a while. For as long as she needs.

Sometimes I gasp at the sight of her grief. Tears well up, and I blink them away. A deep breath in. A slow breath out. There’s no time for tears yet.

Some days are hard and chaotic and confusing for all of us. We don’t know what the future holds or how long we’ll all be together under one roof.

Truthfully, we could not do this daily work without full faith that God knows our needs and sees our pain. He carries our burdens and fills us with peace. 

Things are not always easy. But there is beauty wrapped in every day. 

This season of life is a privilege. And we know our kids are becoming better humans because they’re growing up in a home with two mommies.