“Did you know that when Dad and I tie the knot, I’ll be your stepmom?” I caught the basketball he tossed my way, cradling it against my stomach as I leaned down to meet his gaze, curious about his reaction. At just seven years old, I wondered how much my soon-to-be-stepson truly comprehended. He’d been playing wedding games with his toys and seemed thrilled, but it’s often hard to read shy kids.
“Actually, you’ll be my only mum,” he replied softly.
I never envisioned myself raising boys. Before I had children, I hoped for girls. It wasn’t that I would have been disappointed with a son; I just had no clue about how to handle a boy’s energy. I am not particularly high-energy, and the boys I knew were rambunctious and loud. I worried about constantly reprimanding them or ending up overwhelmed. I imagined myself in a corner, surrounded by scattered toys and muddy clothes. It was an irrational fear, but I couldn’t shake it. Having grown up with sisters, I felt equipped to handle girls. Eventually, I had my own children, and to my relief, both were girls.
When I began dating my partner, I knew he had a young son, which made me anxious. At first, we kept our relationship a secret from him, wanting to ensure it was serious before involving the kids. I had a hunch that he sensed something was up; I often caught him glancing at me, trying to figure out why this new woman was spending time with his dad. I tried to give them plenty of room for father-son bonding, as I was also getting used to the idea of being a stepmom. Yet, the more time we spent together, the more I wished to win his affection. I began to think that raising boys might not be as daunting as I had anticipated, even if I still felt lost.
My stepson, rather than being loud and hyperactive, is reflective and quiet. He tends to be reserved with most people, even family, so when he finally warmed up to me, I felt privileged. One day at the pool, while my partner and his son were splashing around, my stepson swam over and wrapped his small arms around my neck, whispering, “Let’s push Dad under! Don’t tell him!” His giggle was infectious, and I felt a surge of joy at being included in his mischievous plan. Later, I shared this moment with my partner.
“He’s finally accepting you!” he exclaimed, his pride evident. It took a few months, but my stepson had decided I was alright after all.
I often ponder whether my stepson was hesitant about me because I represent a maternal figure. His birth mother transitioned to a man when he was very young, and he doesn’t remember anything different. To him, I’m the only mum he’s known, and he has no basis for comparison. My partner often receives the Mother’s Day cards and crafts from school. Last year, however, I noticed none came home. Perhaps they’ve recognized that such celebrations can be complicated for some kids.
When my stepson said, “You’ll be my only mum,” it struck me. I may not know how to be a mother to a boy, but he doesn’t know what a mum is like either. His understanding of motherhood likely comes from movies, TV shows, and the mothers of friends I haven’t met. Many portrayals of mothers in films are fraught with problems. My daughters and I have even joked about the frequency with which movie mothers meet tragic ends. “Wait for it,” we say as a film approaches an emotional moment, “the mother’s going to die.” This portrayal is so prevalent that when my youngest daughter was a preschooler, she once asked, “When are you going to die, mummy?” She believed that dying young was a common fate for mothers. At least in movies, mothers are generally shown as loving figures. However, if my stepson has seen films depicting stepmothers, he might have a very different, often negative, view of motherhood.
A few months ago, after dating for two years, my partner and I finally tied the knot. My stepson was excited, albeit in his understated manner. I had learned to pick up on his subtle cues, noting his delight in his new “grown-up” shoes, just like his dad’s. He felt important holding the rings during the ceremony. Our girls served as bridesmaids and flower girls, while my stepson stood proudly by his father’s side, looking dapper in his pinstriped vest and navy tie.
After the ceremony, as everyone enjoyed chocolate wedding cake and chatted, I found my stepson sitting quietly on his own.
“You’re my son now,” I said with a smile. “My only son.”
He nodded in agreement.
“What does a stepmum do?” I asked playfully, making a silly face. “Do I have to kick you in the butt and wipe boogers on you?” (He loves that kind of humor.) He laughed and shook his head. “No! I do that to you!”
“No!” I laughed too, sitting beside him. “What do only sons do? Do they make Mother’s Day cards?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“Neither do I,” I said, and we sat in comfortable silence, watching the stage.
Three weeks after our wedding, while having dinner together in the lounge, my stepson announced, “Oh yeah, I should start calling you by your new name.”
“What name?” I asked, expecting something silly.
“Mum, of course,” he replied matter-of-factly.
I guess we’ll figure out together what that means for us.
This article was originally published on March 31, 2021 and you can find more about parenting tips on our blog.
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In summary, navigating the journey of becoming a stepmom can be filled with uncertainties, especially for those like me who never pictured themselves in this role. However, the bond I’m forming with my stepson is unique and rewarding. Together we are redefining what “mum” means for him and for me.
Keyphrase: Stepmom Journey
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