The Problem with Step-Kids

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my step-kids. It’s just that I don’t want to call them my step-kids.

There’s something distant about that “step”, something that I really don’t like. That “step” implies that a degree of disconnect, a lessening of love. That “step” says, they’re only my partner’s kids, they’re not mine.

Wading back into the dating world, as a single mum, I realised that most prospective suitors would probably also have children. But I was concerned, remembering stories from acquaintances of how they could barely stand their partner’s kids. What if I wound up in that situation?

And then, a mate and I surprised ourselves by falling in love. I knew he had kids; he’d often shown me pictures of them, told me how great they were, how proud he was of them. I used to look at those pictures, nodding politely; never imaging I’d ever meet them, let alone that I’d love them too one day.

I remember the day I finally met them. Struck by that sweetness, the blend of the familiar and the unfamiliar, making them so easy to love. He’s charming like his dad, with his nick of mischief too, and an innate confidence that’s all his own. She’s got her father’s strange, endearing mix of impulse and caution, twisted in her own sense of humour.

Love is a funny thing; there is never quite enough time for everything, but there is always enough love for everyone. Suddenly I didn’t just have a boyfriend, I also had two bonus kids. They weren’t his children anymore, they were ours.

We have an understanding. When we’re out, people often say, “Does your daughter want…?”, “Doesn’t your son like…?” And we don’t correct them. Because it might not be factually accurate, but it’s certainly good enough for us.

I say to them, you know I’m not your mother, I’m not trying to be your mother, you have a wonderful mother already. But I love you like a mother does. I love you like a mother does.