But then I fell in love with a man who already had a family – and I fell in love with how much and how well he loved them, and then I fell in love with my own imaginings about how much he’d love our child, too.  And it’s six or so years later and I’m still in love with him, and in love with the love he has for his daughters, and I can’t wait to parent our child with him.

But still, every so often it occurs to me “I’m a stepmother”  And then the shivers go down my spine and I start looking around for chores to force them to do, or balls to forbid them from attending.

No, seriously, it hasn’t come up too much, mostly because two of my stepdaughters were grown and (almost) out of the house before I came on the scene.  But the youngest only went away to college last year.  There’s no doubt that her parents’ divorce took the biggest toll on her – she was still in high school when they split up and even when I moved in with him.  She’s had it rough, and things have been rocky between her & her dad (& her mom, for that matter) for a while now – she & her dad are too much alike to get along easily.  However, she & I have enjoyed a cautious appreciation of each other for quite a while now – mostly because I refuse to be stepmothery in any way – she’s not my child, she’s a woman whose father is the man I love, and she already has a very involved mother.  The set-up works for us, and keeps things from getting tense, but also keeps things from ever getting intimate.  We are not close, but we are friendly.  Given how fraught some of the last few years have been with her older sisters, friendly beats out fraught any day of the week as far as I’m concerned.

But for all that, I’ve always considered her very young for her age.  She’s a girl whose sisters are 5 & 7 years older, and as far as I can tell, she’s spent her life alternating between trying to catch up to them, and reveling in being the baby.  Although it’s pissed me off that the older girls have been so outspokenly horrible about Thor’s impending arrival, I’ve rather been expecting her to throw a tantrum, to express her terror at having to share even more of the available attention – and I figured it’d be easier to take when SHE did it, because at least she’d have the excuse of being the youngest, and of being young for her age besides.  So I’ve been waiting for her to pitch a fit about not being the baby any longer, about giving up her place-of-honor as the youngest child.  I’ve been waiting for her to become unbearable about it.  I’ve been waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Instead, she’s weighing in on a name at this epic family vacation – unasked, even.  She’s telling her cousins how excited she is about Thor’s upcoming arrival, how much she’s looking forward to having a baby in the house.  She’s asking questions about his due date, and about what it’ll be like raising a child in NH.  She is, in fact, behaving rather like an adult – a normal, happy, well-adjusted adult who understands that whatever problems or issues you have with the fact that you have a stepmother, having a new brother is all-good.

And I couldn’t be more delighted.

I’m sure once the baby is here, that his older half-sisters will fall in love with him, too.  They’re baby-mad already, and having a little critter they can play with and cuddle and hand back when he starts to fuss will likely be nearly irresistible to them, no matter how sullenly they refuse to acknowledge him right now.  But the youngest is setting the standard for good behavior, and I’m happier than I can say that at least one of Thor’s big sisters is looking forward to meeting him, and isn’t afraid of how that anticipation will make her look to her mother or her sisters or to her own sense of self-importance.

I’m glad that she’s accepted me and the baby I’m having with her father as a part of her life, a part of her family; people to be welcomed, not feared.

I’m feeling awfully lucky this evening to be her stepmother, and only wish I could claim a bit of the credit for the lovely young woman she’s turning out to be.  And I can’t wait for Thor to meet her, because I have a feeling he’s going to adore his big sister – the first time she’ll ever BE a big sister.  And I have a feeling she’s going to adore him right back.  And how wonderful is that?

And yeah, FUCK YOU, Fates – I said it out loud and I AM assuming there’s a live one in there, still.  I think we made it past the hump, despite the bleeding that came back yesterday after almost a 12 hour hiatus, despite the waning nausea.  My boobs and I think we’re still ok.

And it’s a good feeling.

In not-so-good news, the youngest and middle stepdaughters have, apparently, guessed at my delicate condition.  I refused wine/sake/beer once too often in Montreal, and what with the refusing to help her move, staying behind in the hotel room to sleep (vomit) etc., youngest SD voiced her suspicions to middle SD, who confronted her father yesterday when he took her & her boyfriend out to lunch in Boston.

Not the way I would have chosen to tell them – nor the time.

She was, apparently, “petulant”, which sums up her personality in a lot of ways.  The boy reminded me that there’s no way she would have taken the news well.  It’s not something she would have chosen, and in her world, things she would not have chosen are never acceptable.  In his words, “If I told her that her mother and I were going to get back together for her sake, even though we knew we’d be miserable for the rest of our lives, she would say ‘thank you’ & be just fine with that.  Actually, she probably wouldn’t even say ‘thank you’.  That’s just how she is.”

Um, yeah.  Only saving grace is that the young woman is completely baby-crazy.  Once Sprog is born, I don’t anticipate many problems, but until then?  Yikes.

Symptom-wise, I’m completely over the whole drink-all-day, pee-all-night thing.  Why can’t I pee it out within, say, six hours of drinking it?  How is it even possible that my body can somehow store liquids up all day, so I’m only peeing a tiny amount during the daylight hours, and then force me to excrete it all at 2am, and 4am, and 6am?  I mean, really, this is obviously a faulty system.

PIO went off without a hitch – or a spurt – last night.  I laid down, and manhandled my giant boobs out of the way so I could twist around to get the proper angle.  Probably looked really kinky, if anyone’d been able to see it.  Take my word for it – not my most graceful or dignified hour.  Oh, and yeah, stretch marks on the boobs?  They’re totally happening.  Already.  Oi.

Nausea seems to be easing, but it’s been replaced by something that I’m not sure if it’s me or if it’s the pregnancy.  I find myself overeating.  Now, don’t get me wrong – I love to eat.  Make that – I LOVE to eat.  Always have.  But I don’t tend to eat too much at any given time.  Lately though?  I’m eating too much, especially at noon.  Then I feel stuffed all afternoon, though usually not nauseous, so maybe my body’s just choosing to go for that overfed feeling rather than that vomitous feeling?

Or maybe I’m just using pregnancy as an excuse to be a big old pig.  Emotional eating, anyone?  How scary can life be if you have a mouthful of carbs & sugar to ruminate on?  Could be that too, I suppose.

The Boy’s home tonight with two friends in tow, so that should be fun.  I have to decide if I’m making Welsh Rarebit for lunch or if I’m going to try to go for something light to break this noontime cycle.

But rarebit sounds so good, and the Boy hates it, so I try not to make it when he’s around…

Mmmmm.  Rarebit. 17 slices of bread made into rarebit! How long til lunchtime?

See what I mean?