Oh, calm down. Not everyone can like donuts.
The meal I'm talking about is harder to swallow than all of my least favorite dishes combined into a giant, gross, festering stew.
It's Humble Pie. It's so painful to eat and today I had to do it.
Let me back up.
Nearly 13 years ago, I became a stepmom to two amazing little girls, ages 3 and 6. I had a picture in my mind of how it would feel to settle into my new role. I pictured transitioning into the family easily, where everything just fell into place and everyone loved each other.
Unfortunately, as many people discover, the relationship between myself and the girls' mother was...well, difficult right from the start. There were reasons for that difficulty beyond my control, but I still desperately wanted to make an effort to be the perfect stepmom and please everyone: my husband, the girls, and their mom.
(Spoiler alert: This is impossible and altogether hilarious.)
As much as I tried, I struggled to find a balance between being treated as a glorified babysitter (a label that still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up) and a worthy, loved, parent-figure in the girls' lives.
Unfortunately, despite my best and occasionally misguided efforts to be the best stepmom I could, I often felt under-appreciated, devalued, and most disappointingly, attacked. It made me angry. It made me judgmental toward her. Because all I wanted was to be treated like a quasi-equal. A teammate in raising these children. I was loving these kids the best I knew how. Obviously I wasn't perfect, but I certainly wasn't locking them in a tower or forcing them to mop the floors while cartoon forest creatures fluffed the beds each morning.
Let's be real though, there were lots of crimes being continuously committed on both sides of the parenting/step-parenting fence. I was no angel and neither was she. It's how these things go. Angry words were said or texted. She did this thing because I did that thing. I did that thing because she did this thing. Anger stewed and festered. Side eyes were thrown around like pies in a pizza shop. Emails were sent. Emails were replied to. There were curse words. There were threats. Everyone acted immaturely.
But then one day it happened. I got vindication. My husband and I discovered that the girls had never been to the dentist. At the time they were nearly 6 and 8 years old. AHA! She wasn't mother of the year!! After all, what kind of horrible mother doesn't send her kids to the dentist?!?!!?
I got out my biggest blanket and snuggled on the couch, cozy in my pettiness, looking for a pediatric dentist for my stepdaughters. It was time for us (my husband and myself) to do the parenting on this. We would handle it.
And we did handle it. We got both girls an appointment and were sad to discover that the youngest daughter (age six) had several teeth that needed to be pulled. I remember that day so clearly. I remember her walking back to the chair with a smile, not sure what would happen. And then I remember when she came back out, so helpless, a mouth full of stuffing in her mouth and huge gaping holes where the rotted teeth had been. There were small blood splatters on her lace white shirt. She had been brave, but terrified.
I turned to look at at my stepdaughter's mother and the expression of absolute horror on her face. Today, now a mother to my own child, I can actually feel her emotions. The guilt. The pain. The regret. I imagine it consumed her for weeks and years to come. She must have felt two inches tall.
Back then, though, I was busy being a petty bitch.
"Good!" I thought, swimming in self-importance. "She thinks she's such a perfect mom and I'm soooo terrible. Well look how the tables have turned now! She didn't even take her own children to the dentist and now look where we are. I would never let that happen."
Time went on. 10 years, in fact. In those 10 years, I admit I've looked back on that dentist episode with some pleasure, especially when I feel particularly demeaned by their mother.
"No matter how bad she makes me feel," I've thought many times. "I'll always have the dentist."
Until now.
Now I realize what an absolute asshole I was. Because something happened.
Earlier this week, I was filling out selections for our 2020 medical coverage and stopped dead when I came across the dental section. My stomach dropped into my toes. My heart raced. I racked my brain forward and backward trying to think of when I'd made an appointment. But no, it was true.
We'd never taken our son to the dentist.
He is 4.
HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN? When I was pregnant, I read every book about when to take my kid to which doctor and how often, and the dentist was always at the top of the list. I wasn't about to let my son be the kid who never went to the dentist.
Oh, how the mighty fall.
I barked at Siri to call the exact same pediatric dentist that my stepdaughters went and made the appointment. And today, there we sat. In the same waiting room. The same chairs. The same wallpaper. The same kids movies playing on the TV. 10 years later with our son. Our son who is only a mere two years from being the same age as my youngest stepdaughter when she had those teeth removed.
In his case, we were lucky. We brush our son's teeth often and carefully and he only had one cavity. Nothing traumatic befell him. He would be fine.
But me? I could smell the Humble Pie cooking.
While we hadn't waited quite as long as the girls' mom, we still waited too long. The American Academy of Pediatric Dentistry recommends a dental visit by age ONE. I missed that by three years.
In the end, here's my takeaway. I don't know what's going on in the lives of my stepdaughters' mother. I didn't know back then, and I don't know now. I don't know what she's dealing with, even when I hear bits of (likely incorrect) information from one of our teenagers. Regardless, it's none of my business. Maybe back then she didn't have insurance for dental visits. Maybe she didn't know when it was recommended to take her kids for an appointment. Maybe she couldn't take the cut in pay that would be required to take an hour or two off work.
It. Doesn't. Matter.
In my intense desire to be on the parenting team, I should have given my teammate some grace. I shouldn't have reveled in her pain when she saw her daughter come out of that dentist appointment. I shouldn't have been gleeful at someone's misery. That wasn't kind of me. How could I expect kindness from her if I wasn't willing to give it out myself?
Today's lesson wasn't one I wanted to learn, but I can tell you what it was. Absolutely necessary. I needed to climb down out of my ivory tower.
Never judge, never assume, and never wish pain or suffering on another person, no matter what they might have done to you first. We're all doing our best, especially as parents. There's enough judgment from friends, family, co-workers, social media, and every random person we meet in our daily lives. The last thing our children should have to worry about is their parents and step parents trying to make each others lives miserable.
The ones who suffer from that are the kids. And that's never okay.
I'm off to heat up another helping of that Humble Pie. I won't lie; I'm having it with wine.
