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by Lisa Cohn I always thought Bill needed a nanny,” Bill’s mom told me when she first met me. “Bill’s so tired when he brings the kids home at night, he can barely stand up.”
She looked me up and down, as if trying to decide if I would fit the job description.
She paused. She sized up my black jeans, sneakers, and cotton boat-necked top. She examined my dark hair, then my cheeks, which were surely crimson by now, given that their temperature had zoomed in response to her stare.
I fretted: She’s sure I complicate his life, given that I have a son.
I wondered: Does she believe I’d actually take over the job of caring for Bill’s kids on a day-to-day basis?
She turned away from me for a moment and checked on Bill. With his right hand he frantically dabbed mustard on half his kids’ sandwiches; with his left hand he spooned mayonnaise onto the others. A dab of mustard appeared on the side of his ear.
She looked away from him - wistfully, I thought.
BE ALL I CAN BE - AND MORE!
I was tempted to rush to Bill’s side and demonstrate my prowess in the kitchen. First, I’d don an apron. Then I’d jog from counter to refrigerator, singing a happy 1950s tune. With grace and super-speed I’d unveil the sandwich bread, prepare the turkey breast, and apply the condiments.
Then I realized: Because I was a woman, I felt incredible pressure - from inside and outside - to care for his kids during his time with them.
Here was the message I got from Bill’s mom and others: As a single dad who worked full-time, Bill was over-burdened by responsibility. He was exhausted; at the end of his rope; bushed by the end of the day. Enter me, a younger woman who works for herself. She has the time and flexibility to pick her own son up from school, drive him to his after-school activities and cook him dinner most nights. Surely she has the time, energy and natural instincts to take the load off Bill’s shoulders and care for his kids, too. After all, as a woman, as Bill’s new partner, she comes hard-wired with what it takes to feed, clothe and whisper soothing good-nights to all children, anyone’s children!
But wait a minute! I wanted to shout. Bill’s mom hadn’t yet seen my homemade stuffed squash explode in the microwave oven and cannonball onto my kitchen wall. She hadn’t yet noticed that my child usually wore two different colored socks to school. And she didn’t know that I’d rather roller-blade with my 6-year-old under the full moon than put him to bed at a decent hour!
As a woman and Bill’s new mate, was I really the best candidate for caring for his kids after school on the days they were with him?
WHAT'S SO BAD ABOUT THAT?
I have to admit: For a moment, the idea appealed to me for three reasons. First, I was flattered that Bill’s mom thought I might be up to this all-so-important job. Second, if I shifted a little responsibility from his shoulders to my own - assumed the role of “caring for” Bill - maybe his mom would like me a little. And third, perhaps Bill and I and our kids would feel like an instant family: I would be the mom who picked the children up after school and took them to their activities; Bill would assume the role of the hard-working breadwinner who spent his day at an office.
But in my heart, I knew I wasn’t right for the job. First of all, there was no talk of my getting paid to give up some of my writing time to care for kids.
As Margorie Engel, president of the Stepfamily Association of America says, “After all, a stepmom is not an unpaid nanny. But that is how some second wives are treated.”
Just as important, I didn’t think I was emotionally equipped for the job. As a mother, yes, I felt a primitive need to care for children - my children. But Bill’s kids already had a mom. While I could be a friend to Bill’s kids, their mom would always fill many of the roles I coveted as a mother: She would always be the first woman they turned to for solace. She would help choose their schools, decide how they spent their summer vacations, pick their doctors, and serve as the first contact for their friends’ parents. She was the one who breast-fed them when they were babies. She was the one who rocked them to sleep. Most importantly, she would always be the one they called Mom.
IT'S BEST TO BE THE BEST ME
I didn’t really want to compete with her on a part-time basis. And I suspected that caring for Bill’s kids after school or activities wouldn’t create the instant family I imagined. As a mother, I felt a primitive pull toward my own son; I was hard-wired to protect him first and foremost. I didn’t think I was capable of instantly treating all our kids equally, if ever.
Was I selfish? Self-centered? Stingy? It was easy to label myself with these names.
I really admire women who are willing to step in and assume a lot of responsibility of caring for stepchildren. But me, I’m not up for the job.
If people only knew that I stash my dirty dishes in the refrigerator when guests come to visit! If they knew that I nearly set my kitchen on fire in an attempt to warm some Spaghettios! If they had only witnessed my driving the day I ram-rodded my son’s science teacher’s car!
They’d think twice about casting me in the role of caregiver…simply because I’m a woman.
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