This Stepmother’s Story

I’ve just finished reading  an article in this month’s Today’s Parent called A Stepmother’s Story by Gabrielle Bauer.  There have been a number of similar articles in recent Canadian publications. They are all very honest accounts of becoming a stepparent, about the "struggle", the conflicts and the visitation schedules. But not many of them sing the praises of step-parenthood and although the challenges can be mighty, in my experience, the rewards are even greater.

Mr. Husband’s children are one of the reason’s I fell in love with him. Not everyone gets to see their future spouses’ parenting skills without producing a child of their own. I watched movies with my then boyfriend and his three children, all 5 of us on the couch munching on popcorn and snuggling together. I watched him boil frozen vegetables for them at every meal and talk to them about their days as if they were mini adults.

I was lucky. They were 4, 6, and 8 when we first started dating. The prebuscent hormones and mood swings were still a few years away, giving me some time to settle in. They were lovely. I was overwhelmed by the busyness of the house and the lack of privacy and personal space that happens when a single adult who has been living alone for a number of years moves into a bustling home of 4 (on Tuesdays and alternating Thursdays and weekends). Maybe my glasses are rose-coloured, but I don’t recall anything too stressful or untoward in those first couple of years. I relished my role of step-mom. I made lunches, drove to Brownies and Guides and attended Christmas concerts. I helped plan a haunted house Hallowe’en party at our house, complete with boiled noodles and peeled grapes. I help hair out of the toilet and rubbed backs during the stomach flu and applied calamine lotion for the chicken pox.

The only negative I remember at that time was one I invented myself. They were a big, "I love you" family. Each night the girls would tell both of us that they loved us when we tucked them in, but Sirtalksalot never said a thing. I’d climb into bed and worry about it to Mr. Husband. He told me not to worry about it. He said, "What until he says ‘I hate you’…then you’ll know he really cares about you."

Fast forward a couple of years and a battle royale over homework and I finally heard the words I’d been longing to hear. In hating my, Sirtalksalot had cemented our relationship. Those three words told me that he was secure enough with me in his life to push boundaries he knew would not crumble. Have there been times that he could just as easily devestate me in anger? Absolutely. Just as many of you have had to hear mean comments from your children when they are frustrated and the world is not giving them what they want. I’d be happy to trade in our arguments, but never my role.

Never have I been more proud of my role in this family than when I was pregnant and gave birth to The Gaffer. I was sick all the time and they were wonderful. Sirtalksalot even made me a tuna melt one afternoon when I was lying green on the top of my bed, unable to move. He had trouble opening the can and dripped tuna oil from the kitchen to my bedroom and back again, but he did make me the only thing I could eat. These three big kids have enveloped The Gaffer into their lives like the sister that she is. They have held, her changed her, fed her, bathed her and put her to bed. Now that she’s older and more talkative, they include her in their conversations and jokes and get just as annoyed at her as they do at each other. They treat her like a sister in every way.

Being a stepmother is hard work. I am not the mom. They have a mom, an excellent mom whom they love very much, and rightly so. They also have a dad with all the same levels of affection. We live close together so they can move from house to house with relative ease and never be far from their friends or their schools. Mlle Jensaispas and I used to be especially close. We played lots of games and did activities together. She kept me company when I was learning to run and held my hand when we walked to Baskin Robbins for after dinner treats. She’s a little more distant these days, but she’s also 14. Last week we sat around the dining table while everyone else was getting ready for bed and had a chat. I can’t remember about what but it was warming to be in her company. Tonight she needed homework help for the first time in ages and I flashed back on all the afternoons I had wished away hoping she’d start doing her homework without requiring so much attention from me.

My life is busy and fraught with conflict, hormones, after-school schedules and snacks. It is exhausting and overwhelming. And it is full in all the most wonderful ways. For me, being a step-mother is a gift. A family has allowed me to join them and grow with them and I am grateful every day, even the ones when I am pulling my hair out, that their father invited me into their lives and they have let me stay there.