I spent the first two weeks of February in the much colder, mountainous climes of Calgary, Alberta with my three year old god-daughter. It had been just over a year since I’d last seen her, when she couldn’t say my name and replaced it with a simple click of her tongue. Now she is talking to me in full sentences, her Canadian accent growing thicker each day. During my trip, her mother – my best friend – was nine months pregnant. I beared witness to so many types of mothering over those few weeks, not just from her, but from me as well.
As a godmother, my job is provide an extra dose of love and support. See also: life lessons, a safe pair of hands, and a shoulder to cry on should she need one. Slipping into that role was as easy as sliding into water, having spent months at a time with my god daughter at various points of her life. The routine was a strange comfort: taking her to daycare, putting her hair into a ponytail, reading her bedtime stories, making sure she sat properly at the table, and answering all her curiosities (which were plentiful).
I’ve had practice being an aunt – from nieces to family friends to kids of friends. And this trip confirmed to me that there are so many ways to be a mother.
That phrase ‘shall I be mum?’ has always rung true for me. Poised at the dinner table, I assume the role of ‘mother’, by dishing out food – most likely a plate of chicken and beans, a scoop or rice, or a big pile of salad. On this trip I occupied that maternal space not just for my god-daughter, but for her parents, too.
I’d pack up lunches, make sure my best friend ate enough protein throughout the day; I attended midwife appointments and saw the baby’s heartbeat on a monitor when her partner had to work; I made family dinners so they could relax or spend more time with their kid instead of hovering over a stove. I sat in the passenger seat and played DJ, Olivia Dean the soundtrack to every car ride; I hovered underneath my god-daughter on climbing frames when she insisted on playing on the ‘big girls monkey bars.’ My proudest moment yet was introducing her to the magic of The Parent Trap, which she watched with total awe and wonder, one night when we were in Banff. The refrain of the trip, as repeated by Lenny on a daily basis, was: “we’re the girls!”. SO cute.
I returned home to more acts of mothering: cooking for neighbours, joining families on beach walks and sauna trips, taking over Korean soup to another friend who’s a few weeks out from having her second baby. It’s one big reminder that the art of mothering is so expansive – we can give it and we can receive it, and it feels just like connection.
Our latest shoot was a celebration of that. I was lucky enough to invite friends (and little baby Basil) to a beautiful house in West Cornwall, where they caught up and toasted to each other, and celebrated the art of mothering themselves and each other.
So here’s to you all: the mums and mother-figures who take care of one another, and keep adding a dose of good feelings to all your lives.
Words by Cat Sarsfield
