Stepping

Last Sunday was Stepmother’s Day. Every year, Stepmother’s Day is the Sunday after Mother’s Day. I’m not sure if Hallmark knows this. If so, I haven’t seen much effort to capitalize on it through cards or similar merchandise. If that seems like an oversight, I’m not too worried about it. We don’t even have a Stepfather’s Day (though there is a National Stepfamily Day, which is September 16^th).

I think most people, if they have stepparents in their lives, are content to send multiple cards on the big parent day holidays, which makes perfect sense. In my little family, we have “Rachel Day” on some weekend around Mother’s Day. Ethan’s mom gets him on the actual Mother’s Day weekend, of course. That’s why we created our own little thing. We started doing this before we knew about Stepmother’s Day, but I like doing it our way because it is nice to have the flexibility.

I also like having it on a separate day because, despite what people say to me, I don’t feel like a “real mom.” I’m not complaining about that; everyone who has said that to me has had the best intentions. And I’m not saying that stepmoms aren’t “real moms.” I’m saying that every family is different, and in my family, I’m not the mom. I’m the stepmom.

Ethan has two biological parents who are 100% engaged and invested in him. The roles of mom and dad are filled admirably and completely. He also has me and his stepdad, and neither of us have biological children of our own. We are also 100% engaged and invested in him. The step roles are covered, but they are different. Ethan’s biological parents make decisions together, and as the steps, we fall… well, in step. Maybe that is where the name “stepparent” comes from.

This is what makes stepparenting a challenge, in my experience. The big ask is that I commit to investing my whole heart into the raising of a child where I have zero control over decisions that are made about said child. I have responsibilities and concerns, but no power. Not that I imagine biological parents have complete control of the outcomes of their kid’s lives, but they do get to make a lot of decisions. They pick schools and extracurricular activities, for instance. I shouldn’t air my dirty laundry here, but I want to provide an example, and no one reads my blog anyway, so here goes: I worry that Ethan’s school isn’t challenging him and he’s become a big fish in a small pond. I worry that when he gets into high school and must compete with peers who are smarter than he is for the first time, it’s going to be rough on him. Maybe even destabilizing to his core beliefs about himself. I’m worried that they (his parents) will put him in another small pond for high school and that he won’t face this reality until college, and then it will be worse. Matt listens to my concerns, but I don’t get a say. Ethan’s mom wants him to go to a small Charter school across town, so that is where he goes.

I suppose this wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t care, but I do care. I care a lot. I think this is why a lot of stepparents disengage from their partner’s children. Especially when they have children of their own that they can turn their attention to. It is difficult to open your heart completely in a parenting role when you don’t get much say over how anything is going to go. It isn’t investment without reward. It’s accountability without authority. And it is fucking hard.

I don’t know what it is like to be a biological mother who birthed and nursed a child. For a long time, I didn’t think I would know what it would be like to be any kind of mother. I remember when my younger sister’s oldest was a toddler, he wasn’t a good eater. (He’s still a finicky eater, in fact.) I went up to visit her in the Pacific Northwest and the three of us went out to lunch someplace. My nephew wasn’t interested in whatever we ordered for him, but he was very interested in my sister’s lunch. Thrilled by his appetite, she excitedly started feeding him bites from her plate. Internally, I gasped. I was thinking, “But… that’s the best part! You just gave him the best bite of your lunch!” I love food and this seemed like an unbearable sacrifice to me. I marveled at the selfless wonders of mothers in general and my sister in particular. I also silently thanked the goddess for the fact that I never had children, because if that was what was required, it seemed to me that I was not cut out for that job.

But you know what? Ethan can have the best bite on my plate. He could have when he was four, he can now that he’s eleven. And that’s not just a metaphor. Last Christmas, we went to a holiday festival and he ordered a strawberry waffle for dinner from a Belgian waffle stand. I gave him half of my chicken because I was worried he wouldn’t have enough protein. (And this was really good chicken. Like, so much better than Chick-Fil-A.) I didn’t even say anything. I just put that gorgeous crispy golden chicken tender on his plate and moved on. I don’t even recognize myself, sometimes.

Some stepmoms are the mom. There’s no one else. And they step up and fill the role completely. Some stepmoms don’t like being thought of anything but “real moms.” And that is great. All I am saying is that it doesn’t fit for me. When someone asks me if I have kids, I always say I’m a stepmom. And when someone tells me it’s the same thing, I respectfully disagree. It’s not the same. Stepparenting is a hard job. It requires special skills. It isn’t for everyone, but I think I’m pretty good at it most of the time. Over the last eight years, I’ve learned to accept the power dynamics and I haven’t allowed that reality to limit my ability to care and become vulnerable. I haven’t disengaged. I give what I can and I embrace the joy I get from having Ethan in my life. I’m a real stepmom, and I’m doing a damn good job. If Hallmark did make a card, that is what I would want it to say.