I was married early last year and became stepparent to an 8 year old boy. I, of course, had grand expectations of the happiness we would enjoy as a family. There was not the usual problems of joint custody and exes to deal with as his parent had died several years earlier, and I hoped that this would help provide a strong family base for which to ease our child through the delicate process of becoming a well-rounded, happy adult. It should have been no surprise then that this would quickly become harder than I would have ever imagined. That is the problem with expectations. They are rarely realized.

I jumped into my role as a stepparent with both feet, ready to adopt him as my own child, assure him that I would always be there for him, and let him know that no matter what I always love him. Even if I seem angry or frustrated (which can happen quite often with an eight year old boy). It seems to me this would be an easy thing to accept. I imagined arms being thrown around me in great relief and in time that I would no longer be addressed by my nickname, and would earn the rank of Official Parent.

Of course, I expected this to happen by the time my first anniversary rolled around. A year seemed to me sufficient time to convince a child he is unconditionally loved.

As the mark of First Year Marriage Survivor draws near, I am painfully aware that I am nowhere near my idealized goal. It amazes me how hurt I can be by a child. My child.

Every day is a struggle. I strive to do the right thing. I believe I am doing the right thing. And I hope one day, my son believes this as well.

Learn more about this author, A. Wilder.
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