Katrina Anderson is the author of today’s UP CLOSE post. She lives in Salt Lake City with her husband, three step-kids, and darling toddler son. Another baby will be joining the family this summer. Katrina grew up in Ohio, attended college at BYU, and had a brief career in television news before marrying the love of her life and moving to North Carolina. Now back in Utah, she is enjoying being closer to family and friends. When not battling pregnancy nausea or chasing kids, Katrina blogs at Musings of a Redhead (http://redheadmusings.blogspot.com) and has a small photography business, Red Bean Photography (www.redbeanphotography.com), to keep her creative juices flowing. She is honored to be sharing her story here on Segullah.
I met my husband when I was 23 years old. I was 6 months out of college, living the busy life of a single girl working at her first real job. He was 28, a divorced father of three and a PhD student. Not at all what I was looking for. We started out as friends and nothing more, but he turned out to be the smartest and most interesting guy I’d ever met. Not to mention being pretty easy on the eyes. He quickly won me over. Over the next several months, I spent time with his children getting to know them. And I spent even more time pondering whether I could handle the complexities of joining his life. I knew that I had to go into the situation with open eyes and a very open heart.
So it was at the age of 24 I became a step-mother. At the time the kids were 7, 5, and 3. They were young and sweet and liked me, but the first summer we had them full time was a hard adjustment. I was suddenly a stay-at-home mom while my husband taught a university class. I went from being the fun friend to a parent out of pure necessity. I did everything every other mother does–cooked, cleaned, wiped bottoms, drew baths, snuggled, prayed, dealt with whining and tantrums, comforted, and loved. But I was not their mother. They have a mother. I didn’t birth them. I didn’t change their diapers. I wasn’t there for all the birthdays. I didn’t know all the songs and stories and favorite foods and memories of their short lives. No matter how many meals I make or messes I clean up or tantrums I weather or hugs I give or get, these children will never truly be mine.
I had moments that summer where I had a hard time believing my own life. I had times during the crying and the whining and the tantrums when I wished my husband didn’t have three kids. Why couldn’t he have had just two? Wouldn’t that be so much easier? Or one? Or none? This is when I got selfish. This is when I cried because I wondered how I’d be able to handle having my own children when I already had three to take care of who aren’t even really mine. This is where I’d get angry at my husband’s ex-wife for being the mother of his kids. For having those three children in just 3 1/2 years even when their marriage was far from good. I’m not proud of these thoughts, but I do think they are a natural reaction to the situation.
Not that I didn’t also have a lot of fun that summer. I got to dance in the grass and play on playgrounds and be silly without looking dumb. I got to make a sea creature birthday cake for a 4-year-old and answer a 7-year-old’s important questions and help a 6-year-old learn to read.
Now more than two and half years later, my life is actually quite normal and boring, if somewhat more complicated than my friends. The kids spend half their time at our house and half their time with their mother who lives just a few blocks away. We have all settled into the routine and make it work. 16 months ago, we welcomed a baby boy into the family. He is loved by all and adores his big sisters and brother. He is the only person in our house that shares everyone’s blood. Not only has he truly made me a mother, but he’s helped make us even more of a family.
Life is not always easy. Is anyone’s? There is still whining and occasional tantrums and snotty remarks typical of school aged children. I still get frustrated sometimes and will admit that I enjoy the quieter days when the older kids are gone. But I love it when they come back home too. I love the fun things we get to do with them. I love the talks we have. I love all the things I’ve learned by being their parent. I am a better person because of these three children. I love my step-children very much, and I feel blessed to be a part of their lives. I know they love me too because they tell me. Even when they drive me crazy, that love doesn’t change. They are my family. When I chose their father, I chose them too.
Have you had to become a mother to someone else’s children? How do you overcome parenting frustrations? What have you learning from being a parent or adjusting to a new life?
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