Being a mom is hard. Being a step mom is even harder. Sometimes, and you can’t plan for this because you don’t know when it’s going to happen, your feelings about being a step mom or not being the “first wife” will creep up on you…or in my case sting me like a bee that leaves me with a persistent itch tougher than athlete’s foot.
The Bee Sting
Yesterday, I planned my husband’s birthday dinner and I wanted all of his kids to be with him. His ex-wife’s mom knew, so she called and asked if she could stop by to see the kids, especially since Richard’s oldest son was trekking up from Boston. Sure, sure…no problem…come on over. Mom is truly a beautiful and wonderful person.
The kids start arriving. First The Pregnant One and her adorable Chihuahua (my fur grandbaby) and then Richard’s oldest daughter arrives and she’s carrying what looks like a large cat carrier, so I thought she was bringing her kitty over to play with the Chihuahua and Ed the Wonder Dog. Only it’s a box, not a cat carrier, and it’s loaded with pictures of Richard’s kids, Richard, Richard’s family, memory lane and all that it entails.
The bee sting didn’t sting…it just left me with an itch…an irritating itch. My husband’s ex-wife’s mother and her husband are sitting on my couch and my step kids are going through this box of pictures so they can select certain pictures that they’re scanning in for a something they’re giving their mom for Mother’s Day.
I should be cool with all of this right? I should be. Only I’m not. I pour a shot of tequila for my margarita. I’m processing. I’m dealing with it. Fortunately, I’m making dinner and have to make frequent trips to the kitchen. I think my hair’s on fire. My youngest step son is trying to shove pictures of Richard and his ex in my face. I know they were married. I know they had four kids together. I know all this and my brain is really OK with it all but my stomach is doing a flip flop.
Of course Richard is sorting through pictures he hasn’t seen in decades…pictures from high school, pictures of his parents and his family. And there’s 
one of Richard in his Nova at the gravel pit…I remember the Nova. We made out in the front seat. I loved that car. I loved seeing pictures of Richard’s dad. I remember him and the time he walked in on me and Richard doing…well…let’s just say it was embarrassing and I was no longer allowed in Richard’s room unless he kept the door open.
Life happens and things change. I left the town Richard and I grew up in in 1983. I joined the Air Force and got married 5 months later to my first husband. I had Jessica in August, 1984. Richard married his second girlfriend and his oldest son arrived in March, 1985. More kids came…One more for me and three more for him. Pictures, lots of pictures were taken.
Is There a Cream for That?
The pictures of Richard’s past are in box on my living room floor. Mine are in a white cabinet downstairs in the basement. Our lives are documented on 3×5 and 4×6 images, along with the occasional 8×10 family photo. He has them. I have them. So why the itch? Why the irritation? Is there a cream for that?
After thinking about this, I realized two things (maybe three things).
1. It’s really good that my step kids feel comfortable sorting through a box of old family photographs…in my home. My inner cheerleader thinks this rocks…this is awesome…and it IS!
2. I miss my own kids. Terribly. And I have this dull ache that won’t go away. At the same time, I couldn’t be prouder. My oldest daughter, Jessica, lives in Seville, Spain and just landed a job in Lagos, Portugal for the busy summer season. She’s on cloud 9 and having the time of her life. My youngest daughter, Christina, is currently in Spain visiting her sister. But when she returns home, it’s not to my home, but to her home…in Vail, Colorado. She loves living in the Rockies, teaching snowboarding in the winter, working at a golf course in the summer and supplementing both jobs as a kick ass waitress in Vail Village. I won’t see my girls until they come home in August for The Pregnant One’s wedding.
3. Wistful. I can’t change my past life nor would I want to. But I can’t help but wonder, “what if Richard and I stayed together in high school?” This is the most non-productive thinking I can ever engage in. Truth is we didn’t. And we’re better people today because we didn’t. We traveled the path that led us back to each other – and that journey is what makes us so special.
So…it’s time to wear my Big Girl Panties because there’s a box of Richard’s past sitting on my living room floor…and that’s ok.
The Step Mom's Toolbox 