I rolled over to the sound of my alarm at dark-thirty, aggravated because it was time to get ready for work. I reached out to grab my phone, and I saw a text message from my niece. My heart sank. “Who died?” I thought because we don’t typically call or text each other before noon unless it’s an emergency. Instead of reading a message informing me that Armageddon was upon us, I saw a picture. It was a sonogram with a message underneath that said, “It’s true! I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”  

At this point, I am fully awake and rubbing my eyes to make sure that I am reading the message correctly. I was confused. Had we talked about someone being pregnant and she was sending me proof? I sat up in the bed realizing that the last vestiges of my sleep were gone, so I clicked my phone to call my sister, her mom, to see what I missed. “Is Ashlyn pregnant?” I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that the sonogram belonged to her, but it didn’t. She had just graduated college, and she was preparing to start her journey into adulthood. Besides, I thought she and her boyfriend were on a break and she hadn’t mentioned anyone else. It didn’t mean she couldn’t get pregnant, it just wasn’t on my radar. 

When we talked later that day, I asked her why she told me the news via text message. For some reason, she thought I would be mad at her. As an educator, I’d had enough experience with young women getting pregnant out of wedlock, and despite what our elders told us, I knew it wasn’t the end of the world. “You’re grown!  I’m only upset because you didn’t call me and tell me…and because I am going to be a great-aunt!”  

The news that I would have a great-niece just made me feel…old. “Being a great-aunt is just not cool,” I said. It was then that she gave me the greatest gift that anyone has ever given me. “You can be the godmother.” That one sentence changed my life forever. 

I was in my mid-forties. I didn’t have any kids nor did I have any prospects for a husband. I also had fibroid tumors that were pressing against my ovaries which was going to make having children difficult for me, and I was wrestling with the decision whether or not to have a hysterectomy.  

Becoming a godmother allowed me to be a mother in my own way. When my goddaughter was born, I was in the delivery room. My niece was still living in Houston at the time, so I took off work for a week. I drove from Fort Worth to Houston with my sister so we could help Ashlyn prepare for childbirth. When my great-niece’s head came forth from her mother’s womb into this world, I was there to see it. To hear her first cry. Take her first breath. And my heart opened in a way that I never would have imagined.  

I am now the godmother to two amazing children, Rilynn and her little brother, Leighton.  

Before I was allowed to be a part of their lives, I believed that children owed the adults in their lives love and affection. Like I thought it was automatic—this is my aunt. I love her. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them both the minute their mother told me they were coming into the world, but I had to watch these babies grow to love me. I should have felt some type of way about the shady side-eyes they both gave me as infants, but I knew I needed to give them time. I followed their leads, getting to know their personalities and boundaries, and allowing them to get to know me while I set my own boundaries. Slowly, our bond grew. And, it was a bond that wasn’t made out of obligation, but one that was forged out of trust, built over time, and cemented in love.  

It’s not perfect. Some days they hurt my feelings. Some days I let them down. And most days, I am not the cool aunt. Now that Rilynn is seven years old, I am trying hard not to be the embarrassing geriatric aunt ( I won’t not talk about the Field Day disaster. That is another story for another day). However, every day my heart is full of love for them.  

Because my opportunity to have children was at risk, I never thought that I would get to experience the unconditional love that a mother has for a child. Although I didn’t give birth to these children, I love them like they are my own. At night I worry and pray for them like they are my own. When I feel they have been threatened, I am willing to fight like they are my own. When they are hurting, my heart breaks like they are my own. When they stay with me, I am exhausted like they are my own. 

Experiencing motherhood in this way has taught me that being a mother is giving one thousand percent to someone who might not fully appreciate it. Loving these kids allows me to experience that sacrificial love that I thought I had missed out on. For that, I am forever grateful.