Wicked Stepmother

By Nancy Larner

When I said, "I do," I took three to have and to hold. And from that day forth becoming a step-mother was like having dual-citizenship, trying to understand the foreign language of instant motherhood.

Should I be friend, big sister, or parent? I was so desirous, so hopeful of capturing your love -- of being your alpine Maria-singing "Do-a-deer" on a mountaintop. That prize could not easily be won. You turned up your pre-adolescent noses at my dinners; used my make-up for your Halloween fantasy, without asking; muttered under your breath (what I was relieved not to hear)at my smallest request.

Had I been blessed with the privilege of your births, my wods would naturally and easily flow. But being the stand-in, "Don't do that," stuck in my throat like a lump of confusion. My feelings were on the spin cycle of the washing machine. Desire became twisted with fear, anger tumbled with understanding, and jealously partnered with pleasing -- until centrifugal force pressed me into a lifeless, unrecognizable form.

I now understand that Cinderella's step-mother should have sued for libel. Perhaps her haughty, uncaring demeanor was a coverup. She may have feared rejection, always the outsider, forever unloved. Perhaps, in her heart, she only wanted to soar with the blessdness of belonging and acceptance.

Love in a step-family doesn't come easily. It has to be earned. When discouraged, I wanted to take flight, but was grounded like wingless birds. Grounded with the responsibility of trying, yet again, because I said, "I do." And thus, I will.

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Copyright 2003 Nancy Larner