Blissfully Blended Bullshit

by Rebecca Eckler

  But, no, they don’t. Because they get their daddy full-time, so he doesn’t feel the need to make up for lost time with material things.

  So I complain to my friends that Boyfriend seems to have money to spend on his daughters and also himself, while I have to remind him, feeling like a bounty hunter trying to chase him down, to pay for half of the gas bill each month. The thing is, material things will never make up for lost time. The only thing material things do is out-parent the other parent, and the side effect is that they tangibly show the disparity in their dad’s desire to go above and beyond for some kids and not others. It’s the oil in the vinegar — the formula that will never, ever blend, no matter how hard you try.

  Camp was just one of the many times that I felt like an outsider in the lives of my Bonus Children, and that I felt like it was Boyfriend’s ex’s intention and desire to ensure that was the case and, by extension, Boyfriend’s as well. Prom was the same. As if the whole dress-purchasing bullshit hadn’t already crushed me, when the day finally rolls around to see her off to her prom, I respectfully bow out. I did it not because I’m the Bigger Person or have learned to lower my expectations, but because I know, in this instance, it’s the right thing to do. Anyway, I don’t feel like I have much choice to begin with. Maybe I have learned to be the Bigger Person. Maybe, finally, I have lowered my expectations.

  Almost, or just, as important as prom is the pre-prom get together. All the graduates arrange to gather in a friend’s backyard, and all the parents join in to take photographs of their children, so very dressed up, with their dates. Boyfriend and I plan to go. Or at least I plan on going and am looking forward to seeing Boyfriend’s daughter all gussied up, with her makeup and hair professionally done. I have met her boyfriend a number of times. In fact, he has slept over at my house numerous times. The first time she asked if she could bring her boyfriend to sleep over, Boyfriend asked me what the sleeping arrangements should be.

  “I don’t know. She’s sixteen. Just let them sleep in the same room,” I said, because, well, let’s face it, she’s sixteen, they’ve been dating for a long time, and they’d sneak away to be with each other anyway. I know. I was once sixteen, too. The funny thing is, I don’t think I’d let my daughter, even at sixteen or seventeen, have a boy sleep over, and certainly not in the same room. I’m more lax when it comes to Bonus Children, because I really don’t care if his eldest shares a room, or bed, with her boyfriend. After all these years, while I have grown to love them, I’ve never really parented them, or felt like I had a say in raising them, and I wasn’t going to start then. Plus, I want her to enjoy coming here, and if that means bringing her boyfriend to sleep over, and in the same room, so be it. Boyfriend agrees.

  But, when it comes to me joining in with the other parents to take photographs on prom night, it stresses eldest Bonus Daughter out. It becomes obvious, although I’m not quite sure it’s true, that Boyfriend’s ex has told his eldest daughter that she prefers I’m not there. That’s what she told her dad anyway, and he in turn told me. Again, I wonder why he doesn’t fight harder on my behalf. Shouldn’t he?

  “I promise to just sit on the sidelines and say nothing!” I say to Boyfriend, with a heavy heart, begging to be a part of this.

  There is only so much he can do to fight for my right to be there, I suppose, just as there was only so much he could do to fight for all the girls to attend the same overnight camp. Sure, he stands up for me, I think, but he also knows that his ex and I don’t get along, and maybe his daughters think I’m the one who is the cause of this tension. And when Boyfriend realizes just how much this is stressing his daughter out, he finds himself caught in the middle of what his daughter wants and what I want. Or maybe he feels caught between his ex and me. Or both. He knows that I am extremely hurt by this. I was so excited for his daughter.

  When she was eagerly waiting for her boyfriend to make his grand promposal, I was on pins and needles for her, nervous as I would be at an interview for a job I really wanted. Promposals these days are like goddamn marriage proposals. The kids make a huge scene and plan creative ways to ask their anxiously waiting better half, or crush, to prom.

  “How did your BF ask you?” I sent her in a text, wondering if Bonus Child’s boyfriend had asked her to be his date yet. There were only a few weeks left before the prom and pre-prom parties, including the part for parents to gather for photographs.

  “He hasn’t asked me yet (boohoo). I’m still waiting. Someone else gave a girl a box of pizza and on the inside of the box he had written, ‘I know this is cheesy, but will you go to prom with me?’” she texts back with an emoji of a face laughing its ass/face off.

  “Ha! WTF? He hasn’t asked you! I guess he just expects you’re going? When is your prom?”

  “No, no,” she texts back. “I know he is going to ask but prom isn’t for another few weeks. Our school has only had two promposals so far. They are all gonna come soon.”

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve shown interest in her prom and her promposal, or that I’m almost as excited as she is for this big night, a night that she will always remember, because don’t we all remember our prom nights, whether they were fun or not? Everyone remembers their prom, and I wanted to be a part of the night, to celebrate alongside Boyfriend by joining in the picture-taking portion. The thought of being left out of this occasion hadn’t even entered my mind. I simply assumed that of course I would be going along with Boyfriend.

  Prom has become such a big deal these days, it almost feels as if your kid is getting married, and that’s how important it has become for parents too. If my ex brought a girlfriend or wife along to my daughter’s pre-prom, I, too, think I would be annoyed to share the night with another woman, although I would never say, “No, she can’t come!”

  But because Boyfriend has let me know that the pre-prom photo session is stressing his daughter out, I bow out, gracefully sending his daughter a text the night before prom, pretty much at the last hour, because until then I did think I was still going with Boyfriend to join in the celebration. After all, I am his better half. After all, she is my Bonus Child. The truth is, while on the outside it seems to be that I’m bowing out gracefully, on the inside I feel literally sick to my stomach. I’m only taking myself out of the equation because I know Boyfriend can’t handle the stress of trying to please everyone, and, most importantly, because his daughter feels uncomfortable with me coming, and it is her night, after all. I hate it — yet again being left out — but I get why it’s important that today, of all days, I be the Bigger Person. In reality, I’m forced to feel that I have no other choice but to bow out, and I can’t help but wonder, What happens when she gets married? Will I be left out of that? In any case, I send her a text that reads, “Hey! Your dad mentioned it may be a tad awkward if I come tomorrow evening. I totally understand. I’m sad to be missing seeing you in your gorgeous gown and with your date. But I’ve told your dad to take a million photos so I’ll get to see you. xo.”

  Two seconds after I send the text, Boyfriend’s daughter texts back, “Thanks so much Rebecca! That was such a thoughtful message and it means a lot to me. Love ya! And I’ll send you tons of pictures.”

  I’m sad and seething. It sucks to feel left out. It sucks to be left out. It sucks to feel like I’ve been disinvited at the eleventh hour. It definitely sucks to feel unwanted, like an outsider in my own family. It sucks to know that I’ve made a child happy and relieved by not showing up on a day that is so important to her, which makes me feel like I’m always doing wrong and can do no right. Again, I am hurt. Again, Boyfriend doesn’t quite understand why, or he does understand, but feels like he can’t do anything about it. I think, too, Boyfriend wants to have a nice evening celebrating, and if I’m not there, he won’t have to worry about how I’m feeling and can put all his focus on his daughter. Still, I inwardly wish he would have had my back. To me, it’s bullshit that he doesn’t.

  So, while Boyfriend’s out taking pre-prom pict
ures of his daughter, surrounded by other parents also taking pictures of their children, I cry at home. Boyfriend knows I’m not happy. He doesn’t know, however, that I spend the night sobbing into my pillow. I convince him that I’m okay with him leaving me back at home, because at this point in our relationship, I’m finding plenty to complain about and I don’t want to complain about this. And so I bawl like I’m a seventh-grader and the only girl not invited to a sleepover. This is just another issue that is wearing me down. Why, after so many years of blending, does it seem like I’m more of an irritation to everyone, like a rash? Why do I feel that everyone seems to find it easier when I’m not around? Maybe I should have tried harder to be nice to his ex, to at least be civil. The second she refused my offer to see my house, where her children would stay part-time, I felt the spit in the face. It feels like it’s on me that we don’t get along. Maybe I’m more exhausted from the expectation I had that people would just know and see how much I wanted us to be all blissfully blended. I’ve been the one who’s wanted it so badly all along. So why am I the one home on this big night, sobbing, left out, forgotten — discarded?

  But Bonus Child, as promised, sends me a ton of photos of her with her date. So, no, I’m not exactly forgotten. I’m just not wanted around. I do feel slightly better that she kept her promise to send me photographs.

  Still, not feeling welcome, and knowing I’m not welcome, just adds to the growing pile of blended-family bullshit that leads to more fights between Boyfriend and me. I let him know, yet again, that I feel excluded, because I am excluded. I don’t even get an “I understand how you’re feeling,” from Boyfriend. Sure, this night was not about me, but it stings nonetheless. I will always remember Bonus Daughter’s prom night, but for all the wrong reasons.

  · FIFTEEN ·

  Not everything is negative. Remember how I cried after telling Rowan’s biological father that Boyfriend was moving in and that we were pregnant? Remember how that catch in his throat nearly broke my heart, because I thought he was worried that another man would be taking on the role of father figure, a man that would see his daughter every day, unlike him? Remember how I called Boyfriend’s ex-wife too, stunned at what seemed to be her indifference to my offer to come over and see where her kids would be staying when they were with their father? Although both conversations were completely uncomfortable for me to make, I can’t help but notice a positive change after those two phone calls. Namely, both Rowan’s father and Boyfriend’s ex-wife seem to have upped their parenting game. Both, in my opinion, have stepped up — whether unconsciously, subconsciously, or consciously — their parenting to vie for favourite parent of their biological children, or at least to make sure that other people weren’t taking over their roles.

  Rowan’s father starts coming to town more often. He books trips to take her to Aspen, Italy, and Arizona, as well as to Calgary, where he lives, as do her grandparents. He texts her nightly, and they have long conversations on the phone. Where once he came into town maybe once every three or four weeks to spend a weekend with her, Rowan’s father now asks to take her away for weeks to travel with him and his parents during summer and winter breaks. In fact, even though he lives in a different city, my ex now spends more quality time with our daughter than most fathers who live in the same house with their children and who maybe see them for only a couple of hours at night and on weekends.

  Meanwhile, Boyfriend’s ex, who is pretty strict when it comes to parenting — regulating how her daughters dress, demanding high grades — has become more laid-back and, from my point of view, has started to treat her daughters more like friends, talking to them openly about everything. I remember how Boyfriend got mad at her when their divorce papers were finally signed and she took them out for a “celebratory dinner.” He thought that she was trying to outdo him or make him look bad. But I, too, often treat my daughter like a friend, so I understand, in this instance, where Boyfriend’s ex is coming from.

  When Rowan’s father comes to pick her up, he always comes in the house. When Boyfriend is home on these days, Rowan’s father and Boyfriend will shake hands, each time, as if it were the first time they were meeting, acting civil but standoffish.

  “How’s it going?” Boyfriend will ask Rowan’s father.

  “Good, thanks,” Rowan’s father will respond. That’s pretty much the extent of their conversations when my ex comes to pick up our daughter.

  Sometimes, when he picks her up and Baby Holt is around, Rowan’s father will look at him as if he’s never seen a toddler before. Although these meetings are brief, they are uncomfortable for me. Boyfriend doesn’t seem bothered at all. Rowan doesn’t seem bothered at all. Holt doesn’t seem bothered at all. But for me, even these brief moments make me highly uncomfortable, and I much prefer dropping Rowan off at the hotel her father stays at when he’s in town visiting her.

  By now, years into our blended family, I should be used to these moments, but I’m not. I think, too, that Rowan’s father doesn’t feel entirely comfortable in the few minutes he waits inside the house — half his house — while our daughter runs upstairs to her room to pack something she forgot. When she is finally ready to go, he whisks her out the door. I’m thrilled that my daughter and her biological father have become so close. Maybe it was the result of Boyfriend and I blending families — the fact that there was a new man in Rowan’s daily life — that made him up his game, or maybe it’s just because Rowan is older now and her biological father can relate to her better than when she was three or four or five. But now, he’s a way larger part of Rowan’s life than he was before, and it’s all because he’s making an added effort. Would he have made such a concerted effort if Boyfriend hadn’t moved in? Whatever. The fact that Rowan and her father have become super close since Boyfriend and I blended makes me very, very happy.

  Still, because I’m hyperaware of everyone’s level of comfort, a part of me wants and does keep my ex and Boyfriend away from each other, as if I’m worried they are going to get into some physical altercation, which of course is ridiculous. When it comes to special nights at Rowan’s school — there are so many of them! — I don’t always invite Boyfriend to come along, because it makes me uncomfortable. I think it would make Rowan’s dad feel uncomfortable too, and I’m still very loyal to him and care what he thinks. Not only does her father usually come to these special nights at my daughter’s school, so also do his parents and mine. I constantly worry that someone from my past life will encounter the people in my blended family and that they are going to feel awkward around each other, making what should be a fun night into one with a shitload of pressure. The candid truth is, it is fucking awkward. I’m glad when, for example, my daughter is in a play or has a dance recital and there are two nights of performances. This means that Boyfriend and my ex (and his parents) can go on different nights, thus never having to see each other, let alone sit next to each other and breathe the same air. I know, from reading articles on blended families and co-parenting after divorce, that some couples even live next door to each other, even if one partner has remarried. I wonder how they do it. I wonder how they can feel so comfortable living so close to an ex who has remarried when I don’t even feel comfortable with my ex and Boyfriend being in the same room for a mere two hours. Who are these people who say they get on so wonderfully with their exes? I just want to ask them, “If you get along so well, why the fuck did you break up in the first place?” I don’t believe for one goddamn second that jealousy doesn’t rear its ugly head when a former spouse sees daily how their ex has moved on before them. I just don’t buy it.

  Just a couple of weeks after Baby Holt is born, Rowan’s grandparents come in for the weekend to visit Rowan, who is now almost ten years old. They pick her up at the house on the way from the airport to the hotel they are staying at. I don’t doubt that Rowan’s grandparents aren’t exactly enamoured with the fact that a new man has moved into the house their son half owns and pays the mortgage for. I don’t doubt that
they worry, whether that worry is warranted or not, how blending is affecting their only grandchild.

  When Rowan comes back from that weekend visit, she hands me a big box, wrapped in a blue ribbon, from Pottery Barn. Inside is a beautiful baby blanket, which Rowan tells me she picked out by herself after she asked her grandparents to take her shopping for a present for her new baby brother. I almost cry because it is beyond thoughtful of Rowan’s grandparents to buy a gift for me — their son’s ex — and the baby, who isn’t related to them at all.

  This, though, marks the first, and last, time that Rowan’s grandparents acknowledge, at least to me, that Rowan has a brother.

  I talk to Rowan’s grandmother, Grandma, on the phone about every two or three weeks. I call her or she calls me, and our conversations usually last at least half an hour. After all, we have one thing in common that we can talk about forever, which is my daughter, and so we talk about her endlessly. Besides me, I don’t think there is anyone more in love with my daughter than her grandmother, who loves buying her clothes and taking her for manicures and haircuts, and who can gush about how cute she is for hours on end. Even years after blending with Boyfriend and his children, we still talk on the phone, not only to gush over how much we love Rowan or discuss how she’s progressing at school, but also to go over packing lists before they head off on one of their many trips.

  Not once, except for that one time she bought Rowan’s new baby brother a gift — a totally thoughtful gesture — does she bring Baby Holt up or even mention his name in our conversations. In our long chats she never asks how Holt is, how Boyfriend is, or how his children are, nor do I bring up Baby Holt, Boyfriend, or his children either. When we speak on the phone, they don’t exist. It’s like these conversations happen in some suspension of reality between my old life and the new one, I am speaking to her as if my life never progressed after Rowan’s dad and I split. It is both uncomfortable and comforting, weird but natural. I can go on endlessly about a life that doesn’t include my blended family.