Step by Step Parenting

I love the idea of Mother’s Day, but never the reality. Not since I got divorced almost four years ago.

When I was married the first time, the day always led to disappointment. To be fair, I do believe that in a marriage, you sometimes have to advocate for yourself. If you never once mention that you expect flowers on your birthday or breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day, how is your husband supposed to read your mind? But at the same time, it’s always nice to be celebrated without having to remind anyone to celebrate you in the first place. So even though I knew that after creating human life and giving birth to my first daughter, that I deserved some recognition, the day always left a bad taste in my mouth. My mom and friends did their best to make sure I knew I was loved, but it still wasn’t quite the same.

My first Mother’s Day with my now husband, we had only been dating for a few weeks. I was shocked and delighted when he got me flowers and a card. I hadn’t yet met his kids, so it had nothing to do with that. He simply saw how hard I worked to be a good mom to my then two-year-old daughter and wanted to make me feel special and appreciated. I remember feeling elated for days afterwards, so touched that he went out of his way to show me extra love that day.

I met his kids a few months later, and sometime between then and the next Mother’s Day, they started calling me “mom.” They were so young at the time — five and two — and I think they were looking to make sense of all of the big changes in their lives. We never told them not to call me mom, and looking back, maybe we should have, but over that first year, I loved taking on the role of being a bonus parent to them. All three kids got along so wonderfully, that on the good days, it was easy to forget that they hadn’t known each other for their whole lives. By the time it was Mother’s Day again, there was an engagement ring in my boyfriend’s nightstand that I knew I would be getting before the end of the year. We were all just one question away from officially becoming a family.

But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever is in a blended family.

On the morning of Mother’s Day, we first drove to a grocery store parking lot right by the county line to drop off my boyfriend’s two kids to their mom. They practically leaped out of the car, construction paper cards (that I had them make) in hand. Then, we drove twenty minutes across town to pickup my daughter. She grumbled about not wanting to come to my house early, and I tried not to take it personally since she wasn’t even four years old. My boyfriend tried to hype up the occasion, saying, “But it’s Mother’s Day, you get to hang out with mommy!” which seemed to remind her dad what day it was, so he gave a half-hearted, “Oh yeah, happy Mother’s Day.” And we left. It was all very transactional. Very sanitary, very neat. No funny business.

On paper, I had no reason to be upset. Of course I expected my stepkids to spend the day with their mom. Of course I didn’t expect the kids, at the ages of six and three, to acknowledge the fact that I acted as a mother figure to them half of the time. That I packed lunches, washed clothes, bought shoes, played games, wiped tears. Of course I didn’t expect their mom to thank me for any of it, either, because she is their mom, it is her day, and I was just her ex-husband’s girlfriend — not even his fiancé. And of course I didn’t expect any recognition from my daughter’s dad. We weren’t married anymore, he didn’t owe me anything.

But that doesn’t mean the whole situation didn’t just… suck. The whole day just felt like a big reminder that my family wasn’t normal. It was a reminder that my parenting status wasn’t as “valid” as other moms, because I’m not their real mom. And thanks to divorce, I felt like only a part-time mom to my own daughter. I didn’t get to wake up to the sound of her playing with her toys, or wishing me happy Mother’s Day as she crawled into bed with me. Instead, I had to wake up in an empty house. I had to go pick her up, as if I was borrowing time with my own child.

That first Mother’s Day as a stepmom stirred up lots of complicated feelings of jealousy and guilt and shame. I was envious of all of the moms who got to have a completely ordinary day, seemingly oblivious to how lucky they were to be able to be with their kids every single day. And then that made me feel disappointed, like I had somehow failed myself and my daughter by getting divorced. To top it all off, I felt deeply insecure about my role in my stepkids’ lives, and that first Mother’s Day brought all of those insecurities right to the surface. I felt the weight of parenting another mother’s children, the judgment from people who viewed me as an imposter in my stepkids’ lives, and the stigma that society as a whole places on stepmoms. I wasn’t yet confident enough in my role as a stepmom to tune it out.

It’s not surprise, really.

People are encouraged to recognize and celebrate all types of moms on Mother’s Day, or anyone who is like a mother figure in anyone’s lives. Adoptive moms, bereaved moms, foster moms, aunts, grandmas, and even dog moms, all get a seat at the table. But not stepmoms.

We’re told to stay in our lane. That the day is not about us. That we’re not real moms. In fact, we’re so excluded from Mother’s Day, that we get exiled to Stepmother’s Day. Did you even know that existed? Of course not. I didn’t either. Because society doesn’t give a rip about stepmoms. One quick perusal of Disney movies, and I don’t even think society likes stepmoms.

At the end of the day, if you’re a stepmom, it’s your husband’s job to make sure you feel celebrated, not the kids. The kids didn’t ask to be put in this situation, and although you hope that they’ll one day recognize the love and hard work and sacrifice that goes into being a stepparent, that burden should never be on them. The same is true for biological kids. Parenting is largely a thankless job for many, many years. But we don’t parent to elicit gratitude from our kids; we parent because we chose to, and because we love them, biological child or not.

The truth is, becoming a stepmom didn’t ruin Mother’s Day for me, but it did change it — I haven’t decided if that change is for better or for worse. Now, I am more attuned to how painful or complicated this day is for many people, and I am more appreciative of all women who love and mentor others in their lives, not just mothers. Maybe this year, now that my husband and I have two of our own babies (“ours” babies is a topic I will have to revisit another time), the day will feel different. Better.

But if not, that’s okay, too. Regardless of my complicated feelings surrounding Mother’s Day, I feel beyond blessed to have five precious souls who all call me, “Mom.”