As I write this I am unbelievably grateful for what I do have. I have a loving partner who is amazingly supportive and sensitive to my feelings. I have two bubbly, happy step-sons that give the best hugs and ask for nothing but love. I have the best friends that are open and honest about their experiences when it comes to the elations and hardships of their relationships with their children and families.

But Mother’s Day was incredibly hard for me yesterday. And for half a second several times throughout the day, I questioned my role as a mother.

Am I a mother? I have not experienced pregnancy. I have not birthed a human. I have not fed a crying baby at 2am. I have not had parent-teacher conferences. I have not decided whether I want to raise these tiny humans in a specific religion or signed them up for extracurriculars on my own.

I have no right to these kids.

I don’t mean “right” as in power or ability to do whatever I want. That’s called narcissism. These boys are not objects to be used as accessories. They are not extensions of myself. They are whole individuals with thoughts, feelings, and interests that are all their own.

But I don’t have a right to love them. In a perfect world, I would have never met them. I would have never met Ty. I would never have this sweet family that is full of love and support and emotional sensitivity. When you think about it, moms and dads are not supposed to fall out of love and get divorced. Kids are not supposed to go back and forth between houses that have different rules. Children should not be confused by their dad’s girlfriend who takes care of them and loves them and wonder where she fits as a parent.

I have no right to these kids.

But we don’t live in a perfect world. And while, as adults, we can navigate these upsets in the master plan, kids are lost and confused. So we try to make it as smooth as possible. We comfort them, validate their feelings, and carry on as if everything is normal.

And that’s when we as parents or step-parents bottle up our feelings and cry into our pillows at night after the kids get their good night hugs and are tucked in to bed.

My nightly struggle comes with a comparison list where I keep track of everything I do on a daily basis. I wake the boys up in the morning so they have time to get to school. I feed them breakfast and make them lunch. I drive them an hour across town to school. I pick them up during rush hour. I make sure they have snacks and activities and enrichment. I take them to the doctor. I hold them when they are upset. I, I, I…. see where I’m going with this? Didn’t I just say that none of this is about me?

Even though I love them, would live for them, would die for them… My collum of deeds/responsibilities/efforts will never include “mom.” That is the biggest struggle of my step-parenthood. I have no right to be their mom. And that kills me.

So when Mother’s Day rolled around I found myself in a funk.

While Ty, my family, and friends all rallied around me and made me feel special and seen. Mother’s Day, even though we did not have the boys, was set at my pace and my comfort level. Ty assured me over and over that I am a mother. I may not be a traditional birthing mother, but I am a mother.

So while my path to motherhood is not following my own master plan…

While I have not been through the pains of labor and birth…

While I am not obligated in the same ways natural parents are…

I love my kids and I take the role of step-mother as seriously as if we did share DNA.

And that makes me a mother.