Eighteen years ago today, my first born child came into this world.  I mean, I didn’t have him, his mother did, but he’s still mine, too.  I met him when he was three.  I married his father when he was four.  I’ve shared his life with his parents.  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for his mother! She’s been a wonderful mother to him and kind enough to share him with me without feeling threatened as his mother.

I’ve never met a child more accepting of an evil stepmother.  He’s always adored his father, and there are times children don’t like it when someone steals some of their attention away.  This has never been the case.  Since the day we met, we’ve been friends.  I’ve done my best to strengthen his relationship with his father instead of take away from it.  You have to truly love and accept a child that is not yours if you love their parent.  The funny thing about children that aren’t yours, you have to love them like your own and remember they are not.

I like to think he’s very lucky, he has not one, but two sets of parents who love him.  We’ve all worked really hard over the years to work together to make sure he has a wonderful life.  When I look back on days like today, I think “we did it!”  We all did it!

I’ve watched him succeed and I’ve watched him fail.  I’ve watched him grow and wiped his tears.  I’ve done his laundry and cooked his meals…sounds motherly, huh?!  I’ve seen this boy become a man. A good one!  Though he isn’t perfect by any means, he has a good heart, a sense of humor, and he isn’t afraid of a little hard work.  Those are some pretty good tools to start out with as an adult. So today I celebrate for my oldest child…for my husband..for the woman who gave life to my oldest child…and the man she married who, like myself, loves this manchild like his own 🙂

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