The unexpected joy of letting others love your child

This story has significance for readers across Kenya and beyond.

Early this week, I found myself doing one of my favourite things: scrolling through my phone gallery and smiling at the hundreds of photos of my two-year-old. Between the videos of him dancing and blurry action shots of him running away from me, I realised the little guy has quite the social life.

There are photos of pretend motorbike rides with Uncle K, who lets him “drive” while making exaggerated engine noises; videos of animated conversations with Uncle G about...well, I honestly have no idea what they discuss, but both seem fully invested; of aunties who never arrive empty-handed; cousins who become human jungle gyms; and grandparents who somehow have the patience for answering the same question five times in a row.

It dawned on me that my child was getting love from all sides. Surprisingly, it wasn’t always easy to embrace that idea. As a first-time mum, I remember the anxiety of leaving my four-month-old with the nanny when I had to return to work.

I thought I was the only person who truly understood my baby; the one who knew what every cry meant; the only one who could comfort him properly. Well...his dad and I. You get the idea…

Returning to work wasn’t optional because bills are no respecter of baby blues. Every day I got to work, hyper-focused and dashed back home. In my mind, my baby was counting down the minutes until mummy returned. I was wrong.

One afternoon, I finished work unusually early, excited at the thought of surprising him. I imagined how his face would light up as I opened the door, arms outstretched, joyful squeals, overwhelming relief that his favourite person was home.

I walked in just after he had finished a bottle of milk. He took one glance at me and clung to his nanny. A full-body, “please-don’t-make-me-leave-this-wonderful-woman” kind of cling. The betrayal!

Apparently, on a full tummy, nanny was the love of his life. I was simply the lady responsible for milk supply, and he didn’t need it.

It stung. Thankfully, a colleague – a seasoned mum with the confidence only experience can give – offered a perspective I desperately needed. She said: “Isn’t it wonderful that your baby feels safe and loved even when you’re not there?”

It dawned on my broken heart that the nanny wasn’t replacing me. She was loving my child. And what a gift!

It still took a few days to fully appreciate that truth, but once I did, it changed my perception of motherhood. Love doesn’t shrink when it’s shared; it grows.

One of the greatest joys has become watching other people love my son. We are in the “handbag stage”, where he accompanies me everywhere outside office hours. That means I get front-row seats to the small acts of kindness people casually extend to children. The supermarket attendant who leans over to greet him before serving me or the granny who slips an extra banana in the shopping bag and quips: “hio ni ya toto.”

Let’s not forget the matatu conductor who offers him a fist bump or the burly butcher who pauses what he’s doing just to make him laugh.

The interesting bit about this is that none of these people knows they’re becoming part of a mother’s treasured memories. For the longest time, I struggled to describe the feeling such moments give me. It is unexplainable joy and admiration all rolled up in one, flooding the heart with warmth. Uncle G summed it up perfectly when he said: “It’s the warm reassurance that your child has someone looking out for them”.

It is a reassurance that someone sees them and cares, even if only for a passing moment. Isn’t that what every parent secretly hopes for? That wherever our children go, they will encounter kind people. That someone will offer a helping hand, a gentle word, a reassuring smile or simply make them feel seen.

It takes a village to raise a child, so the saying goes. I now believe this village can be built through ordinary moments. The village can be built through patient caregivers, playful uncles, doting aunties, attentive neighbours, friendly cashiers and strangers who choose kindness. Those tiny interactions remind our children that the world can be welcoming. They remind parents that we are not raising our little ones alone.

From one incredibly grateful mama, thank you for smiling at babies and waving back when tiny hands wave at you. Thank you for entertaining endless questions, accepting imaginary cups of tea and making silly faces despite your power suits and heels. To a parent watching from the sidelines, it means the world.

Reporting originally appeared via Nation Africa. Read the full source for additional context.