Blurting about the Hurt
4 May
I’m Monkey Boy’s stepmom. I am not a monster, but I’ll never be his mom. I’ll probably never be anyone’s mom. I resolved myself to this fact years ago when Boog and I first became involved in a committed relationship, and he told me that he did not want nor could he have more children. I knew that when I married Boog I was giving up the chance to ever have a child of my own. This has always been a difficult thing for me to talk about, so putting these words down in my blog for all the world to read is troublesome.
Boog was married to Shoeless Sue, Monkey Boy’s mom, for less than two years. He was her second husband, and Monkey Boy is her second child. She divorced her first husband and abandoned her first son. She then met and fell in love with Boog. While they were planning to be married, she found out she was pregnant again. She and Boog were married shortly after Monkey Boy was born. They moved from Florida to Louisiana sometime after Monkey Boy was a year old to work in the casino industry. She got pregnant with and aborted another child. She and Boog decided that they did not want to have more children, and he agreed to a vasectomy. She then cheated on Boog with someone they both worked with, and this devastated him enough to try to commit suicide. They legally separated and were planning to divorce when we met shortly after Monkey Boy’s third birthday. He was ready to move on, and I was ready to move away from Louisiana. After a visit to Las Vegas, we decided to give it a go and moved out here.
It took me four years to finally get Boog to marry me. During this time, Shoeless Sue was in two long-term committed relationships that eventually ended as her two marriages had. She called them off and moved on to the next flavor of the month. Monkey Boy was shuffled from Louisiana back to Florida and then to Colorado during the second of these post-Boog relationships. He became very close to “Rick” and was crushed by the news. We moved Monkey Boy to Las Vegas for third and fourth grade to give Shoeless Sue a chance to get her own life in order, for Boog to bond with Monkey Boy, and for me to see what kind of stepmom I was or was not meant to be.
There were many ups and downs during the time Monkey Boy lived with us. Without going into all of the details, let me clarify that we did see a family therapist and also put Monkey Boy into private therapy as well. At some point, Shoeless Sue convinced Monkey Boy to move back to Colorado. It was not too challenging to figure out why. She has a new beau, Grizzly Adams, was pregnant again, and had recently married in a secretive ceremony. Long story short, she could offer him the sibling we could not, and he moved back to Colorado at the beginning of fifth grade.
Boog was lonesome; I was heartbroken. I felt like I could not win for losing with Monkey Boy. I could never compete with his mom before Devil Incarnate was born; how was I supposed to now that he had a sibling? Soon afterward, we learned that Monkey Boy had been diagnosed with depression; it was not really a big surprise as both Boog and Shoeless Sue suffer from clinical depression. Monkey Boy has been under doctor’s care and on medication for the past four and a half years and seems to be doing much better overall despite being one of those evil beings commonly known as a teenager.
When Monkey Boy was here at Christmas, we learned that things were tense with Shoeless Sue and Grizzly Adams. We took the opportunity as we do every time we get to let Monkey Boy know that he is loved and welcome in our home anytime he wishes to move back. As you can imagine, things went from bad to worse and Shoeless Sue admitted to Boog that she and Grizzly Adams were in therapy.
A few weeks ago, Boog and I sensed that Monkey Boy was unhappy and reiterated to him that we wanted him to come live with us but would support whatever decision he made. As he is now 15 years old, we know that any court of law would want to hear his opinion, and we have always left the “moving back to Las Vegas decision” with Monkey Boy. He stated again that he did not think he wanted to move back here as he was now in high school, has friends and a girlfriend, and would not want to leave his now five-year-old brother. Under that all was the feeling that Monkey Boy knew something was going to happen between Shoeless Sue and Grizzly Adams. Boog and I could sense it and have been able to predict it for years now. We were just waiting for the ball to drop.
The ball dropped today. Shoeless Sue called and told Boog that she and Grizzly Adams were divorcing. She is staying put in Colorado because she has made somewhat of a life there for her two children. Monkey Boy has not talked to either his father or me about this, and I suspect he is waiting until he comes for his summer visit. He may or may not say anything, but I feel for him today because he has been through this so many times before now. Even if he wanted to move back to Las Vegas (which I suspect he does now that he will be a full-time live-in babysitter for his mom), he will not ever do it because of his loyalty to her. She is, after all, his mom, and he should feel loyalty to her; however, I know Boog misses him and wants him here now more than ever.
I want everyone to be happy, including me. Right now I am worried about Monkey Boy, hoping that this doesn’t affect Boog in a negative way, and weeping inside for the child of my own I’ll never have. Is it selfish of me to resent Shoeless Sue’s free-spirited ways? Maybe I will never be able to make sense of my feelings about motherhood. All I know for the moment is I do not understand why some people are chosen to be mothers and others are not. Monkey Boy may have not grown in my belly, but he has grown in my heart.
It sounds so tough for everyone involved…and for different reasons. I hope Monkey Boy gets the help he needs and that Sue does as well, for Monkey Boy’s sake and for the sake of her other children.
I’m childless as well, and often wonder what kind of mom I would’ve been…
I have nothing insightful or wise to say. Just know that my heart hurts for you and them. I’m here.
I know something about the pain you’re feeling, though not in the same way. i’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do other than ‘yup, I know what you mean’.
Here’s a hug and a bottle of wine. And here’s a handful of hope that Monkey Boy will be strong enough to make the right decisions at the right times. You have to know he’s learned something from your love.
((((HUGS)))) to all three of you. It hurts my heart to think about MB going through yet another upheaval and you already know how I feel about you and motherhood…..more for private viewing via e-mail.
Love all three of you!
I’ve seen so much of this – you’d be surprised how common this exact situation is – and it always sucks. sucks, sucks, sucks.
I am sorry you don’t call yourself “mother”. You might not have given birth to the boy, but loving him makes you a mother. That love is never lost – even if it feels so small and insignificant.
Your love is extraordinarily powerful – that’s why you are mother to so many children (monkey boy, boog, all those kids at school, your boss and on and on), instead of a select few. Most people aren’t blessed with your power.
Thanks for sharing about your situation. I knew bits and pieces from our conversations over the years, but asking for the whole picture somehow seemed like prying.
I really admire your willingness to be so vulnerable here. I feel for you and I wish I could ease your hurt.
If anything, your story reminds me of the incredible responsibility Homer and I have to make our marriage work – not only for own happiness, but also so we can have a healthy and stable environment for our kids.
I hope MB realizes how much he is loved. It sucks to be the responsible one. It’s a thankless role, but, rest assured, it’s good karma.
Hang in there!
This is an interesting perspective for me to read, as I was once in Monkey Boy’s position. Except for one thing – no loving stepmom and dad somewhere asking to shelter me. So I haven’t much to offer you except this – even having the knowledge that someone was out there who loved me, and that there was a safe place to go if I needed it, would have made a huge difference to me. It’s sort of something to hold onto, you know?
Let me speak to you as someone who was rescued by a mother not of my genetics – that you didn’t deliver Monkey Boy makes not a whit of difference. The fact that you love him, and that you’re standing under his tightrope with a sturdy net, is what’s most important.
My biological parents were (are) abusive (though I don’t see them any more, and haven’t for almost ten blissful years, I know they’re still the same). My mother – the woman who is rightfully my mother – rescued me from them when I was 14. She took me into her life and her heart; she showed me that NOT all families behave the way mine did, and she convinced me (no easy task, I might add) that I didn’t DESERVE to be treated the way I had been all my life. She literally saved my life – at one point, the only thing that kept me from swallowing a bottle full of Valium was that I knew Mom would be disappointed and hurt.
Don’t discount the important part you have in Monkey Boy’s life. You are his mother – perhaps more than the woman who gave birth to him – because you think of him before you think of yourself. You may not have a whole lot of control over how this all plays out, but you can be the rock, the beacon, the one safe place in all the world for Monkey Boy to land. As someone who’s been there, let me tell you that there may be no more important thing in the world.
Love.
Chili
“Is it selfish of me to resent Shoeless Sue’s free-spirited ways?” Absolutely not. It’s 100 percent human to wonder why people who don’t seem to appreciate or even care for their children are easily able to have them, when those who would be wonderful parents cannot have children. It feels absolutely unfair, and you have every right to resent it.
Ugh.
Damn, madame, that’s a lot on everybody’s backs. I’m so, so sorry, and I’m at least glad you and Boog have given the kid that open door to your home. I know that feeling of wanting to do more even though your hands are tied to a certain extent.
((((((hugs)))))) to all of y’all, and hang in there.
I have thought about this post a lot since you made it. I’ve been close to commenting several times, but am only just now doing so.
I am a stepson. My parents divorced when I was 10 years old, and I don’t remember what it was like for them to be married. (Of course I have memories of all of us being together, etc., but I’m talking about what it felt like walking around day to day.)
I think that in terms of difficulty, step-x relationships are at the outer limit of societally acceptable scenarios. You have to cross over into incest, or molestation, or something similarly fucked up to get more complicated. Step-x relationships suck, even when they’re going well. They’re all an emotionally healthy person wants, and unambiguously too much for anyone the least bit wobbly, gnome sane?
I didn’t particularly like my stepmother growing up. I still don’t, really. I think of her far more as my dad’s wife than anything. But I’ll tell you this, just based on my limited exposure to you: you’ve got ten times the self-awareness she’ll ever have. You have the ability to get above this and see its practicalities, even if you can’t feel them right away.
And I’m telling you that you’re doing all you can do when you love him, and it would behoove you to find the serenity in that. You move with copious swagger. You’ve evaluated a great many of life’s dilemmas and decided you have the correct answer. Congratulations; that’s impossible for millions.
You need to carry that swagger into the relationship with your stepson. Either it will work out or it won’t, but if the latter, you can’t do a fucking thing about it. All you can do is put yourself out there the best way you know how, and release yourself from the stocks if it turns out that isn’t good enough.
I wish you peace.