The kid’s mum. sigh. How can you speak badly about someone who loves and cares about her kids so deeply. How can you speak badly about someone you don’t really know except through infrequent interactions and stories from their ex. All I can say is that the relationship between stepmum and bio mum is destined to be a rocky one. Yes, I have heard stories of it working, of people becoming best friends but that’s not my reality.

I tried, goodness knows I tried. The first time I met “mum” I covered up my tattoos, brought fresh bread and homemade jam from my cafe which was refused. “I’m on my way out” she said, leaving me standing there embarrassed, with my olive branch. The first year was the hardest, phone calls and accusations of things I was doing wrong. “Mel bought P a gift but didn’t buy K one” (not true) “P told me that Mel hit her today” (not true) “If you insist on taking the kids away for the weekend I would prefer you & Adam got bunk beds, not share a bed” (no).

I try my hardest to think what it would be like to be the bio mum and have a complete stranger help raise my child. Because that is what I do, when they are at our house I am the “mum”. When they are with us, I (along with dad of course) make school lunches, I do P’s hair, wash their clothes, clean their rooms, I answer their questions about the world, I provide the things they need and I care for them. I struggle to understand why she wouldn’t want to have a positive relationship with me for the sake of the kids but she makes it utterly impossible.

We spent the first few years on our best behaviour, not a bad word was ever spoken about mum and stories of their life at mums house were encouraged, however in the past year, now that they are older we have had a frank conversation with them about our relationship with her and the kids rarely mention her to us now. Which is sad, but important for our sanity and the day to day running of our household.

Yes I’m dreaming of a world where stepmum and biomum walk hand in hand and care for the same kids with respect. But for now I will continue to do my best. It’s hard. Its hard to clean out their lunch boxes when I could easily send them back smelly and yoghurt filled. Its hard to search the house for all the things that need to go back to mums house when I could keep them here and know it would drive her crazy. Its hard to see the kids excited about yet another new toy or pair of Nikes mum bought them at a time we were struggling financially but always made the child support payments. Its hard to make friends with a parent at school only for them to mysteriously stop talking to us…

Its just hard.