What a 16 year age gap taught me about motherhood

Words by Keven Amfo

I have two daughters, ages 2 and 18—it’s a massive age gap. The childhood of my eldest, Lulu, was  carefree and joyous; my naïveté as a human translated to blissful parenting that was essentially free of the  pervasive and persistent anxiety that has crept in as my knowledge of the world has deepened. 

We spent her life until age 12 in NYC, and she was my sidekick, accompanying me to parties, bars, and  concerts in a Baby Bjorn or holding my hand. She slept on restaurant banquettes, on friend's laps, in taxis  on our way home at midnight, and in bed with me until age 11 since I was a single mom. We were as close  as two people could possibly be, and I cherished our bond. Friends would ask if I was worried about the  teen years. Why would I be? I'd say ignorantly, Our relationship is different.  

When Lulu was 11, I married and we moved across the world to live with her stepdad in London. During the  whimsy of our courtship, I was in love and dismissive of the obvious challenges that would await our  adjustment to life in the UK… Things weren't easy for Lulu in London. Navigating a completely divergent  school system as not only the new girl but as a mixed-race foreigner took a toll on her already fragile  stability as she tried to accept life amongst a very different culture. A new person was in the house, and she  suddenly needed to share mom. Then covid happened, and things became worse; lockdowns, remote  school and forced separation from her dad in NYC. 

Around this time, I suffered a devastating ectopic pregnancy. I had been fortunate to become pregnant  again at age 36 quite easily, but then I began bleeding. We thought it was a miscarriage and traveled to  Jamaica with friends for New Year's. The bleeding didn't stop, though, and instead increased—as did my  HCG levels. After many scans, they finally found my minuscule 9-week-old baby living in my left fallopian  tube. Emergency surgery was scheduled, and I lost the baby and the tube in one go.  

I was unable to become pregnant again naturally (they suspected the other tube had a blockage), so we  embarked on the long, grueling, and expensive journey that is IVF. Fertility and IVF is a story of its own, but  suffice to say it was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done. It nearly ended me: physically, emotionally,  and metaphorically. But in the end, we were amongst the lucky ones, and after many many rounds I  became pregnant through our clinic in Barcelona with my baby Goldie.  

Lulu didn't share our elation regarding the impending arrival of her sister and made her antipathy well  known through words and actions. She rebelled by taking drugs, staying out, calling me names, and failing  in school. A shitstorm of variables combined during peak teenage transition to make everything feel  impossible for us all. 

After Goldie’s safe arrival, the dyadic nature of the newborn days swirled through a haze of intense love,  exhaustion, and hormonal chaos—and the elemental necessities of food, water, warmth, and shelter, as  recovering from a c-section and caring for a baby demands. In comparison, the complexity of Lulu's needs  made me feel like I was drowning. While I could keep Goldie safe in my arms, feel the soft rhythm of her  breath against my heart, Lulu felt out of reach. Her analytical intelligence and self-destructive nature, paired  with teenage hormones, resulted in a scary volatility. 

The energy in our household took on a sudden protean sensibility. I didn't feel comfortable leaving them  alone together as Lulu was so unpredictable, and painful as it is to say, it really seemed like she hated  Goldie. One would cry, then the other would cry, Lulu would scream at me, Goldie would startle. It was a  circle of chaos that I wasn't sure how to break. Still, amongst it all, there were moments of affection. I  caught them in the mirror once, with Lulu stroking Goldie's cheek and staring over her lovingly. You're so soft, baby, she said. Do we look alike?  

In reflection, it’s clear Lulu wanted to connect but didn't know how. Because of her own losses, I think she  needed to ensure Goldie's permanence before she was willing to open her heart. In my own muddle of  postpartum anxiety and IVF trauma, I was also wondering if Goldie was real and here to stay… perhaps  preventing me from accelerating their connection and simultaneously threatening the mother-daughter bond  Lulu and I had cultivated for over 16 years. As their mom, I wish I would've been a better help in facilitating  closeness.

Now, it seems we've passed through to the other side, although there are moments when the vast  difference between their ages still leaves me perplexed. Scrambled, I call one the other's name or  accidentally give Goldie advice not applicable for decades. I intensely desire to protect them each in such  bizarre, similar, yet strikingly different ways. The bond between sisters, thankfully, has grown immensely,  and moments of tenderness and love supersede anger and animosity by a landslide. Goldie is still a toddler,  and Lulu is still a teenager—neither phase is particularly celebrated for its ease and simplicity—but I have  begun to cherish and enjoy spending time as the three of us. The thread between us is palpable; Goldie has  a voice, and Lulu has a sense of self, and they are both so clearly their own person but also so much a part  of me.