My son calls another woman ‘Mum’
And I’m working on being OK with that.
Just before my son turned one, my (ex)husband and I separated — under less than ideal circumstances. (I’m not sure the circumstances are ever ideal). It wasn’t something I wanted, but it’s something I’ve had to learn to deal with, live with, and ultimately make peace with (still a work in progress some days). But in the last few months a new challenge has reared its head. After being separated for four years, he and his partner have recently welcomed a new baby into the world.
I am wholeheartedly thrilled that my son finally has a sibling. But it is incredibly difficult living with the knowledge I wasn’t the one to do it.
Being on the periphery of something I was once at the centre of creates an odd, almost out of body experience.
It’s been a tough nine months. (And I wasn’t even the one growing and birthing a baby!) Witnessing the pregnancy; hearing weekly updates from my son when he returned from Dad’s house; seeing my ex husband dote over his partner and anticipate the arrival of their child together, was tough to watch. Being on the periphery of something I was once at the centre of creates an odd, almost out of body experience. There have been times I’ve pictured myself inside one of those toy claw machines being plucked out of my life and replaced by another (minus the cheesy grin).
This ‘fire of feels’ was flamed recently when my son referred to his ‘other mum’. I’m comfortable enough in my vulnerability to acknowledge that hearing those words stings like a honey bee on a pollen spree. It’s confronting on every level to have that little three letter word — a moniker that carries so much meaning, so much joy and absolute primal energy — used to reference someone in his life who isn’t, well, me.
But when his little face lights up as he proudly tells people he has two mums, I can’t help but feel the tiniest spark of gratitude that he has yet another person in his life who loves and cares for him. So I smile, and I nod, and I tell him, “That’s right buddy, you’re very lucky” — even though in that moment I feel anything but.
In the end, regardless of all my emotional labour leading up to and following the actual labour, my son is over the moon and besotted with his little sister and future playmate. Who am I to take any shine off of that? That’s why, despite knowing it would be a difficult experience, we were at the hospital shortly after she arrived. Ushered into the delivery suite by my ex husband, we were the first to meet and cuddle the squishy (not so) little bundle of joy who unsurprisingly looked just like her big brother — even down to a matching freckle on their left wrists. And as a woman and mother who has been the person in the hospital bed – half naked, half conscious and entirely vulnerable – I was blown away that my ex husband’s partner was happy to have me there in that moment to see the elation on my son’s face. It wasn’t an easy day for anyone in that room. But it was a true modern family moment, and one that I will recall with hard and mixed emotions, but mainly pride (in myself) and joy (for my son).
Because let’s get real for a moment. All baggage aside, as parents and adults, sometimes real sacrifice is required to ensure our children are given the opportunity and positive role modelling required to live their ‘best life’ and grow into good humans. And if that means eating a sh*t sandwich from time-to-time, well then take my order and pass me a wet wipe and some BBQ sauce because I’ll chow down on that poo panini all day long if I have to, for my child.
As parents and adults, sometimes real sacrifice is required to ensure our children are given the opportunity and positive role modelling required to live their ‘best life’ and grow into good humans.
All poo jokes aside, navigating the tricky ‘feels’’ that come with co-parenting, the introduction of new parents, new siblings and the ridiculous — yet very real — feeling of being threatened by another mother or father figure in your child’s life is a genuine emotional battle. What I’m working on to try and help combat this is to avoid labels; because language is powerful, and it can be used for good or ill. (And that counts doubly for that often unrelenting internal dialogue). No one is a “step”, “half” or “part-time” anything in our family. These and other labels might add clarity for some, but in my mind they ultimately undermine the concept of family, and that is something I am working hard to redefine for myself in the aftermath of divorce.
I wrote my son a book in the lead up to the arrival of his sister; it contained pictures of all the people who love him and talked about families coming in all different shapes and sizes. I wanted to normalise our situation for him, reassure him that nothing would change about how much he is loved, and build the excitement around gaining a sibling and adding another person to the family fold. (And on reflection, it was an attempt at catharsis for me as I continue to grapple with this new reality). So while I wrote the book and read it to him frequently — delivering the lines with more enthusiasm than Leonardo DiCaprio in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? — honestly, sometimes it’s still hard for me to believe the words and sentiment myself. Every family is different. Every family is special. But to me — the product of a nuclear family with two older brothers, growing up pretty damn wholesomely in a small town in Tasmania — I am challenged to my very core about my little family being different to the one I had pictured.
I try to think of my family as an atom. Soon after the birth of our son, that atom was split — and as nature dictates, when an atom splits it multiplies.
In an attempt to be grateful for all that I have — even in the shadow of all I have lost — I try to think of my family as an atom. Soon after the birth of our son, that atom was split. And as nature dictates, when an atom splits it multiplies. New parental figures were introduced, new friends, new siblings and I would even argue I developed a closer and deeper relationship with my own family and friends as a result.
My concept of family is a bit of a work in progress at this stage — each day bringing a new challenge, and urging me to be patient with myself and my ability to cope and recalibrate in the face of such enormous change. But if the worst thing in the world is my son having more people who love him, then I suppose I have quite a lot to be grateful for.
