“Did you know that when Dad and I wed, I’ll be your stepmum?” I caught the basketball he threw my way, holding it close as I bent down to meet his gaze, curious about his thoughts as a seven-year-old. He had been excitedly playing weddings with his toys, but it’s often tricky to gauge the feelings of shy kids.
“Actually, you’ll be my only mum,” he replied softly.
I had never envisioned myself as a mother to boys. Before entering motherhood, I hoped my future children would all be girls. It wasn’t that I would have been disappointed with a boy; I just had no idea how to manage it. I’m not particularly energetic, and the boys I knew were always loud and full of energy. I worried I would be constantly shooing them outside or ending up overwhelmed and surrounded by chaos. Those thoughts were irrational, I knew, but I was raised with sisters and felt equipped to handle girls. Thankfully, when my children came, they were both girls.
When I began dating my partner, I was apprehensive about his little boy. At first, we kept our relationship from him, wanting to ensure it was serious before involving the kids. Yet, I could see him observing me, as if trying to understand why I was always around. I made it a point to give them time alone, as I too was adjusting to the idea of a potential stepson. But as we spent time together, I found myself wanting to connect with him. Perhaps raising boys wouldn’t be as daunting as I had imagined, although I still felt lost.
To my surprise, my stepson turned out to be introspective and quiet rather than rambunctious. He was shy with most people, even family, so when he began to open up to me, I felt truly honored. One day at the pool, while my partner and his son were splashing around, my stepson swam over and wrapped his arms around my neck. He leaned in and whispered, “Let’s push Dad under! Don’t tell him!” His giggle filled me with warmth. I felt like an accomplice in his little scheme. Later that day, I shared the moment with my partner.
“He’s finally accepting you!” he said with a proud smile. After months of patience, my stepson had decided I was alright.
I often ponder whether his initial hesitation towards me stemmed from the role of a mother figure. His biological mother transitioned to a man when he was very young, and he doesn’t really remember having a traditional mother. For him, I’m simply the only ‘mum’ he knows. While his father often receives Mother’s Day cards and projects from school, last year, none came home for me. Perhaps the school has recognized that these days can be complicated for some children.
When he told me, “You’ll be my only mum,” a realization washed over me. I may not know how to be a mother to a boy, but he also lacks a frame of reference for what a mum should be. His perceptions of motherhood come from movies, television, and friends’ mothers, none of whom I’ve met. In films, mothers are often portrayed in a problematic light. My daughters and I have even jokingly noted that in many movies, mothers often meet tragic fates early on. My youngest once asked me when I was going to die, convinced that all mothers faced an early demise. At least in films, mothers are typically depicted as loving. But if my stepson has seen movies featuring stepmothers, he might have a skewed idea of what to expect from me.
A few months back, after two years of dating, my partner and I tied the knot. My stepson seemed excited, albeit in his understated way. I had learned to recognize his subtle expressions of joy. He was thrilled to wear his new “grown-up” shoes, just like his dad’s, and felt important holding the rings during the ceremony. We chose to have only our kids up front, with our daughters as bridesmaids and flower girls, while my stepson stood proudly by his dad in his pinstriped vest and navy tie.
After the ceremony, amidst the chatter and chocolate wedding cake, I found my stepson sitting quietly by himself at the front. “You’re my son now,” I said, smiling. “My only son.”
He nodded.
“What does a stepmum do?” I asked playfully, making a silly face. “Should I kick you and wipe boogers on you?” (He loves the humor of butts and boogers.) He laughed and shook his head, “No! I do that to you!”
We both laughed, and I sat beside him. “So, what do only sons do? Do they make Mother’s Day cards?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“Neither do I.” We sat in silence, gazing at the stage.
Three weeks later, while we were having dinner, my stepson announced, “Oh yeah, I should start calling you by your new name.”
“What name?” I asked, expecting something amusing.
“Mum, of course,” he said.
I guess, together, we’ll discover what that truly means for us.
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In summary, as a stepmom navigating her unique role, I’ve discovered the importance of building a bond with my stepson, who views me not just as a stepmother, but as the only mother figure he knows. Our relationship continues to evolve as we learn together what our connection means.