By Marcia Lynx Qualey
December 2003
I get this question at least twice a month, usually from some half-interested stranger. I always give the same answer, and people have one of two reactions: they understand, or they want to call in Child Services.

Of course, I don’t think they could interest the government in my case out here in Egypt—they have bigger problems than a mouthy white lady—but nonetheless, I have confused, or scared, several people.

Those who fall into the "scared" category are usually in their middle 40s and older, far out of this phase of parenthood. These are the same people who asked me if my three-week-old was sleeping through the night and if my two-month-old was sitting up yet. My husband has a theory about these people: this part of parenthood is now a compressed blur for them. Did Jr. start rolling over at four weeks or four months? They can’t remember, and tend to give their little man the benefit of the doubt.

Now, the people with small children, with babies—they understand that when I say, "I don’t know," it’s not that I’m a monster. When I say, "I don’t feel like a mother," it doesn’t mean I’m leaving Isaac in a closet and going about my business all day, as if he were a pet hamster. Of course my days have been overwhelmed by feedings and diapers and cooing and crying and washing and sucking and laundry, laundry, immense mountains of laundry!

But is this really motherhood? Because I don’t feel changed; I don’t feel the otherworldly wisdom of my own mother. I don’t feel that I’m doing much more than taking care of Isaac’s immediate physical needs. Friends tell me it will be different once he starts moving around, playing, talking. I hope so. Because when I saw my name on Isaac’s "proof of birth abroad" certificate yesterday—there was my name in black and white, under the word MOTHER—I shivered and looked again, not quite believing.