I’ve been contemplating the different roles we take on through life as women, compared to men. I’d call myself a feminist; I’m all about empowering women and smashing the patriarchy. The pronatal patriarchy, if you want to get technical. But this post isn’t about that.
The different expectations of parents isn’t confined to stepfamilies, of course it isn't (we’re just second-class citizens after all). It’s well documented how differently new mums are treated compared to new dads. I haven’t experienced that first hand, so I can’t comment on it. I can only talk about my own experience of gender expectation in the context of being a stepmum, and more recently a stepgrandma.
I’m close with my stepson. I’ve been his stepparent since he was 10 years old, over half his life. As he gets older, the memories of the years before he knew me will fade more and more, until he can barely remember a time when I wasn’t in his life.
But I’ll never be ‘Mum’.
In contrast, there are many people I know who’ve had a stepfather for the same amount of time, and he’s just ‘Dad’. The status of the bio-parent obviously factors pretty heavily here, but I can’t help but marvel at how easily people can accept an absent father, but not an absent mother.
I’ve overheard conversations that go like this:
Stepchild: “I don’t want my mum to come to [insert life event here]”
Friend: “But she’s your mum, you’ve got to invite her!”
Compared to this:
Stepchild: “I don’t want my dad to come to [insert life event here].”
Friend: “Hell yeh, you don’t need that guy!”
A mother can never be replaced. But a dad, yeh they’re ten-a-penny (🙄)
There’s this idea that you can choose your dad, but you can’t choose your mum. Even if she’s a complete and utter twat.
So, as a stepmother, I always knew my place. I’d step aside whenever bio-mum was around; keep my mouth shut; stay in my lane. I fucking hated it, and cried myself to sleep often.
Even though I’d never had a baby, I knew about kids. I’d devoted my life to helping them first as a social worker, then as a teacher. But as a stepmother, I had no power. None.
I’m grateful my husband has always been open to conversations, even the difficult ones. So we talked a lot, until I was so sick of my house being filled with this vile, negative energy from all the discussions about how to protect the kids from their own mother.
We started a tradition, that when we needed to talk about the ex, or anything tricky about the kids, we’d take it out of our home. We’d go to McDonalds, get a hot drink, and go sit in the park to chat through whatever this week’s drama was. This helped a lot, and very slowly I started to feel like I had control at least over my own sanctuary.
I often went along to parents’ evenings, mostly because the kids’ mum didn’t value education and therefore couldn’t be bothered, but also because I was working in education and had a fair idea of the expectations. I could actually be helpful; I understood the teacher-speak and was aware of the extra things we could ask for to make sure they thrived. But the awkwardness of explaining who I was to every new teacher was exhausting.
As my husband and I find our way in grandparenting, I feel the threads of gender expectation unravelling once again. We wear the robes of grandma and grandpa easily, slipping into tasks according to what our own grandparents did, probably. I make sure there’s suitable food for the baby, that he has fresh bed sheets and plenty of nappies. Grandad plays peek-a-boo and lets the baby climb up his chest as he learns to use his feet.
How did we fall so naturally into these roles, when the parenting foundations before were so unstable?