Anatomy of a Stepparent

I have nine kids—for reals. And the first question I hear when anyone learns this not-so-little tidbit of information is, “Are they all yours?”

I try not to wince when I hear this. Of course they’re all mine! my defensive heart screams. Do you think I’ve borrowed one for the day? I do realize, however, that people are simply curious as to the origin of our family when two of my daughters don’t look a whole lot like me (and I suppose the true giveaway is when they hear the older one speak with an accent).

But there is so much more binding this mother-daughter duo than the way we speak or common genes.
 
Her eyes are like her dad’s, a deep, dark chocolate—irresistible on all accounts, especially to the strings of my heart.
 
My eyes are true blue. You get what you see—an imperfect me. And these blue eyes see a child who needs me, imperfections and all. I’m fiercely loyal to those I love. On occasion, I might fight with them (that inevitable battle of the wills), but I will always fight for them. All of my children are a part of me—not a place they’re born into. The only entrance is through the heart.

Her skin is smooth and unblemished—easily bronzed by the sun’s rays yet sensitive to the world’s sometimes harsh realities.

My skin is freckled and fair and not so smooth anymore. Over the years, it’s been exposed to many of those harsh realities of life as well. It’s thicker now—the survivor of stings and scrapes. I don’t want her to experience these stings and scrapes—not yet. So my boundaries might feel overbearing to her. She might think I’m over-protective and it may be a long time before she understands. But remember—I’m fiercely loyal to those I love…and I love her. At the end of the day, this is one thing I know she knows.

Her hair is thick and dark and she complains that there’s nothing she can do with it. She has the most amazing curls that can wind around your finger like the grip of a newborn baby. Oh, how I wish she’d been a part of my life at that time. But that’s not our reality. Our memories are happening here and now…like when she gripped onto my hand during the scary part of that movie, or when she was nervous getting her blood work drawn.
 
My hair is blond, and thin, and getting thinner every day. If I could change anything about the physical me, this would be it—and she knows this. I always complain that there’s nothing I can do with my hair, and she always tells me that she loves my hair. I just think that she really loves me.

So many of our physical characteristics are different—our eye color, our skin tone, our hair… But these aren’t the ties that bind a family. I suppose you could boil it all down to the wise words of The Beatles—All You Need is Love. Our life might be far from perfect, but our hearts are one.


Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She is perfect at the imperfections of stepparenting. Feel free to share this post if you've enjoyed it.