Why is the stepmother always evil in Disney movies?

When Adam and I started dating 8 years ago, we reveled in the fact that Dante would never know a time when I wasn't in his life. We were thrilled at the idea that we wouldn't have to go through that awkward time where he had to get used to me and learn that I too would raise him, set rules, and even discipline him when necessary. We were happy that this would make our time through his childhood easier. And we were right, to a degree. He's never known anything else so has yet to question any amount of authority I may have. I haven't heard the dreaded "You're not my mom!" and yet I know that it is inevitable; that someday I will. We have worked hard to make our little grouping of three a real family with traditions and quality time whenever possible.

What we didn't foresee 8 years ago was that for all of the perks to having known Dante for so long, there would be things that I would miss. Things that would not happen or present themselves in quite the way that I was hoping for. For 8 years I have gone to Christmas concerts, school plays, and parent-teacher conferences. I have dropped him off at daycare and picked him up. I have stayed home and cared for him when he was sick. I've hosted birthday parties and even a sleepover. I've played Santa, the Easter Bunny, and doctor to numerous boo boos. I have been a mother.

But for 8 years, I have seen and been shown numerous pictures that have been drawn, worksheets that have been completed, and journals that have been written. And through the years, there has been one question consistently asked by every teacher in every grade. It is that question around who is in his family.

I'm never on that list.

This came up again this year on Thursday night. We picked Dante up from basketball practice at school and while he grabbed his coat and backpack, we perused the "about me" worksheets hanging in the hallway. For Dante's family, he had listed his Mom, his Dad, his sister, and "the rest of my extended family." I made a comment to Adam about it but not to Dante. Never to Dante. But apparently it was percolating because last night, it made a raucous appearance as Adam and I were cuddling in for sleep.

I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. (Hey, at least I'm not broken anymore, right?) It's not about expecting to replace his mother. It's about some recognition from Dante, no matter how small, that he sees me on par with his bio-parents. Just my name in that list would have been hugely important to me but to assume I'm wrapped in with "extended family" was a tough pill to swallow.

In my mind and in my heart I'm a mother. Plain and simple. And it's hard to not have the tangible signs that this is true.