It’s kind of like prom. Signs are everywhere, everybody is making plans, and everyone is going to celebrate. You stare at everyone and look at their excitement, but you aren’t going. You haven’t been invited. An invisible trombone from heaven rings out a sad wuh wuh wuuuuuh, and you stand with a half smile on your face while life pushes forward.
That’s Mother’s Day for the average step-mom. No, it’s not tragic or life-ending, but it’s the reminder that you’re a substitute, an alternative, a fill in.
I was reminded of this by my step-daughter Ryen during her nightly bath. Well, my five year-old said as I rinsed shampoo from her hair, I have to go to mommy’s house on Sunday because she’s my mom, she stated to clarify her calendar schedule with me. I agreed and listened to her talk about the card she made her and the lunch plans they had and all the fun things they would do.
I felt like the girl standing by the lockers with an over-sized backpack who didn’t get asked to prom. I heard about the plans, helped pick out outfits, and planned transportation—except I wasn’t the one going.
After dinner was served, baths were done, and bedtime books were read, I told Matt the truth.
Who knew I could be jealous of a five year olds calendar plans?
I totally and completely didn’t know I was this immature!
I do everything for them like a real mom except I don’t get any fun.
[enter sad trombone sound here]
The week went on and I–tried–to mature. I mean, really! I’m a grown adult who is paralleling life to PROM. [Get a grip, Bianca! Get. A. Grip.] Matt consoled me and told me that I matter, that they do love me, and that one day I’ll get asked to prom—um, I mean celebrate Mother’s day.
As a s’mom, I don’t want to take the role of mom. Nor do I want them to choose who to love. I want them to know there are three people in their lives that love them and parent them. I also had to grapple with why I needed their affirmation and why it mattered. The bottom line is I needed to grow up.
And at this point people, I nearly DIE. I gushed about how I loved it, how totally awesome my flowers are, and thanked him for inviting me to be part of his life. He smiled, probably unsure as to why I acted like I was just asked to prom, and casually said, You’re welcome, B.
The night was filled with fun as I received a card from Matt, my in-laws, and the kids for Mother’s day. I totally reinacted a Sally Fields moment minus the whole, You love me! You really, really love me! That would have been overboard. And we all know dramatic girls never get asked to prom again. 😉
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Brad That was the point of calling you Baby. To throw some of your dismissiveness back in your face, since it seems to be the language you speak.
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