The Not-So-Wicked Stepmother

It took me ten years to become a mum.

But less than one before I was launched into the alien world of adolescence.

Because, even before my first-born was born, I was thrust onto planet parenthood with the arrival in our household of my stepson, then aged 9.

If being a mother is one of the hardest jobs in the world, I can tell you a stepmother’s lot is a whole lot harder.

Aside from the obvious difference between a birth and a ‘blended’ parent, just look at the bad rap stepmothers have been given over the years. She’s invariably cast as the villain in the piece in all the classic fairytales and plays from writers like the Brothers Grimm, Shakespeare…even the ancient Greek playwright Euripides who lived way back in 480-406 BC is quoted as saying: "Better a serpent than a stepmother!" Boo, Hissssssss.

And I’m holding Disney personally responsible for a lot of it: just look at their adaptations of Cinderella, Snow White, even “Enchanted” features the classic ‘Wicked Stepmother’ character. She's usually ugly too, just to add insult to injury (although Susan Sarandon is still gorgeous at age 63, if you ask me)!

Kinda makes it tough on the rest of us in that role.

To make it even harder, my stepson was told he didn’t have to listen to me since I wasn’t his ‘real’ mother (no prizes for guessing who gave him that helpful little piece of advice). So I found myself resorting to the age-old trick of parenthood in any guise: reverse psychology. If I wanted him to do something, I simply said for him not to. You can’t argue with that (even if one does have O.D.D.).

But being a stepmother can also make it simpler to deal with certain conversations and situations that can make a biological parent cringe. Since we’re “the bad guy” anyway, we may as well blunder in where others dare to tread.

Like with the facts of life.

When my stepson came to live with us, he had no clue whatsoever about the differences between men and women, let alone where babies come from. And since I was pregnant at the time, a crash course in sex education was definitely on the cards.

Here I pause and reflect upon my Beloved’s insightful and informative approach. It went something like: girls don’t have the bits boys have and so girls have the babies. And left it at that. Naturally I had to step in and explain a few things, especially since he was in the delivery room with us barely minutes after my son was born. Yes, seeing me in all my glory (complete with Grumpy-the-Dwarf nightshirt and wearing a sick-bowl as a party hat) certainly brought him up to speed. And how.

Fast forward a few years and my 16 y.o. stepson has moved back to his mother. You can imagine my utter delight when he informs me that his also 16 y.o. girlfriend spends nearly every night with him in his caravan, so I straight up asked if they were practicing safe sex. He did the ‘Aw shutup’ thing and denied it, but I pressed ahead anyway: “Just make sure you use protection, because the last thing you need at your age is a baby, ok? Or a disease!” I got the distinct impression that no one else had been game enough to venture forth on the topic, so we chatted about it a bit. When I later related the conversation to my Beloved, he kinda blushed (god love him) and said “I’m glad he’ll talk to you about stuff like that.”

He also says he prefers me to take him for driving lessons over anyone else because apparently I don’t yell at him anywhere near as much as the others do. I told him I’m saving my breath lest I need it for screaming. (He thinks I’m kidding.) Mind you, it’s a little scary when he’s laughing so much he can’t keep the car going in a straight line. (I never realized just how handy those little straps above the window really are, until now.)

Yes it’s certainly a different kind of parenting when there’s a “step” involved. But if you’re lucky you can develop a special kind of relationship, in spite of the odds.

And so, back to my original point about stepmothers and the reputation we’ve been given over the centuries, maybe we’re really not so wicked in the traditional sense, more like “wikkid” in the way that perhaps only a teenager can appreciate.

I’m hanging out for the day Disney makes a movie with that kind of happy ending.

Let’s just hope it comes out well before I become a wicked stepgrandmother…

*cackles*

Jx
©2009