|
Something is going on in the stepmothering camp. Call it an uprising, or a rebranding.[1] There was the story about the woman in Australia who went to court to prevent her daughter calling her stepmother Mummy D. It was a small item in the news one of those designed to make you marvel at the pettiness of divorced couples[2] but look closely and there is something else going on here. A mother battling to maintain her unique status. A stepmother who imagines she is no different to a birth mother, and wants to rewrite history with her centre stage in the family portrait[3]. I am a stepmother. Im not crazy about the term the step part makes it sound cold and hard, not to mention all the negative baggage that goes with itbut it serves a useful purpose, which is to clarify exactly where I stand in relation to my stepchildren, and they to me.[4] I am not my stepchildrens mother. I did not give birth to them. I had not even met them until they were in their teens. Those are the plain facts and they are the sort of facts you mess with at your peril[5]. What I am is a full time parent someone who fulfils a motherly role in their lives on a daily basis. I am the one who bandages the cuts, buys the spot cream, answers the homework questions, takes them clothes shopping, gets their hair cut, and nags them to shower.[6] Ive done my share of delousing and standing on the touchline in the rain, separating fights, clearing up sick and talking through various problems, from oblivious girls to trunk rash.[7] Its me who gets the phone call after the exam. Me who sobs at airports when they disappear on gap years[8] and me who worries when they arent home on time. Still, Im not their mother. I am something important, but significantly different. I am their stepmother. | 
