I love my son. I love my step-sons. Can you see a difference between those two statements? Maybe if you heard me say them? Probably not, eh? That’s good, because there is a difference, and it’s hard to admit it and I don’t really want everyone to know that. But…here I am writing it, knowing full well that someone will read it.
Does that make me a terrible person? Because sometimes it makes me feel like an evil step-mother. Of course, I know I’m not alone with these feelings either. It’s hard to love another human being. Some parents even have a hard time learning to love their own biological spawn. When a woman gets pregnant, it is just assumed that she’ll bond with her baby right from the start and she’ll be enamored with the little gremlin, no matter what it does. Even their poop is supposed to be cute. We spend 10 months incubating a parasitic creature and then we have to spend many difficult hours (31 for me! Woop!) giving birth to a bloody, screaming mess. If women don’t always instantly fall in LOVE with that baby, the baby that stole our nutrients, sleep, and energy for 10 months, then how am I expected to fall in LOVE with a child that I didn’t have that
horrific beautiful experience with?
Being a step-mom is tough. I really thought it would be easier. It’s been a while now, and I still don’t feel fully bonded with my step-sons. I spend a lot of time with them. I try to be fair and impartial as often as possible. I give them snuggles and love. I feed and bathe and clothe them and am still wiping their butts, just like my own kid’s. So, what’s the problem? Why am I feeling more like Mommie Dearest than Mommy of the Year?
I have read that it can take many years for a blended family to finally get into a groove. the average I read was 7 years. Seven! I suppose I should be less hard on myself then, huh? If it takes most step-moms seven years to fall in love with their new kids, then I think I’m doing okay. I like them. Mostly.
That’s an improvement over last year, to be perfectly honest. I barely even liked them then. It’s the LOVE I need to work on. I do love them and care about them, but it’s a lot like when I worked at a daycare, and I got semi-attached to some of the kids there. I loved those kids. I cried when I had to quit and move away. I do love my step-kids more than that, but it’s kinda comparable. There’s a kind of disconnect with them still. It’s hard to explain, unless you’re a step-parent; and like I said, I’m worried about sounding like a horrible person, but it’s a chance I’ll take.
Before I had Lucas, my lifelong wish was to have 3 or more kids. Well, once Lucas was born I changed my tune real quick. That childhood dream got tossed out with the dirty diapers! I wanted no more children, thankyouverymuch! One was plenty. One was MORE than I could handle. There were times, in my darkest moments of PPD that I wished I didn’t even have him. I wished I could go back in time and leave The Douche before I had the chance to even get knocked up. I should have left when I stopped liking him. Hindsight is 20/20… Thank goodness I got through that mess somehow.
I have learned that we must be careful what we ask for, because the Universe is always listening. ALWAYS. I “asked” for lots of kids most of my life. I imagined myself; mother of 4. I thought it would be nice to have 3 boys and a girl. The girl being the youngest so the boys can look after her and be her bodyguards. That girl hasn’t happened yet, and probably never will, since the hubs is snipped ( HOLLA!).
So here I am. 35 with 3 kids. Only one of them lived in my uterus for 10 months, so he’s the only one who’s attached to me via that invisible cord. He’s the only one of my kids whose smell makes me feel like I’m home and like everything is perfect in the world.
My other 2 kids still mainly feel like someone else’s kids that live in my house 10 months out of the year. They aren’t attached to me at all, and they mostly smell like poop sandwiches and alien babies.
I comfort them all when they’re sad, and give them hugs often, but the hubs’ boys feel different in my arms. Like hugging a distant relative. There’s no meshing going on like there is when I hold my Lucas. He’s like an extension of me, and they’re like an extension of um…someone else (because they are someone else’s).
BUT I love them, support them, and I’d never let any harm come to them. The LOVE should come eventually. Probably not in time to win the nomination for Mommy of the Year, but I’m hoping to at least get the prize for Step-Mom of the Week.