Lea S. always wanted children. She thought it would be easy for her to love her partner’s child too. She now knows that love cannot be forced. Not even if you want it so much yourself.
Protocol: Miriam Kühnel
He had just turned two when I met him. With his big brown eyes and the curls that I love about his father, Ben stood in front of me and smiled and held out a clump of grass. I leaned down and took this sweet welcome gift in my hands. How sweetly he looked at me! I was completely enchanted by this little guy, who looked so much like his father, and was sure we had a wonderful patchwork fairy tale ahead of us. One with a lot of love and understanding for each other. One with a fat one Happily Ever After underneath. I wish I had been right about that.
A fairy tale that remained one
Unfortunately, this fairy tale should remain a fairy tale. Today, nine years later, I honestly feel bitter, old and cold-hearted when I think or say it (which I almost never do – not even in front of my best friends), but unfortunately it’s true: I still have it to this day failed to truly love my partner’s child with all my heart. I find that disgraceful, sad and not the least bit laudable. But when I think about it, I come to the same conclusion over and over again: My life would be easier without him. And I know that it’s not him, it’s the situation and me. But that doesn’t make things any better at the end of the day.
The love and the money
When I first fell in love, I didn’t see it coming, but the fact that my partner already has a child made and still makes every step with him more difficult. As soon as we wanted to get married, things started. “I would love to, but I don’t think we can afford it,” he said contritely and showed me his bank statements. When I saw the amount he pays for his son every month, I felt a little sick. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad that he’s not one of those people who shirks responsibility. But let’s look at it out of context: To this day, the amount that ends up in his wife’s account every month (although rightly so) still hurts. And when his son is dressed head to toe in Levis, Adidas etc. and has the latest iPhone at the age of 11, I honestly sometimes have to swallow. We don’t buy things like that. We simply cannot afford them.
The love and the planning
Even when we had our first child, it was there again: the feeling that it would be nicer if it were his first child too. As my husband massaged me during labor, a storm of pain and jealousy raged inside me. Had he massaged her the same way when she gave him his first son? Does he find me sniveling in comparison? Was she braver than me? I know how stupid every single one of those thoughts was. And yet they just came. Unasked. Undesirable. Luckily I kept them to myself. We now have two healthy daughters and I would like to have a third child. “That’s not possible, otherwise we won’t have any room for Ben in the apartment,” was my husband’s answer when I told him about my wish. And I know he’s right once again.
Love and time
In a family there is a lot of laundry, a lot of crumbs on the floor and even more toys that are out of place. Also with us. But one thing is always in short supply: time. Especially when there is suddenly a court case about custody, when every other weekend a child has to be picked up from 100 km away and brought back home again, and when coordinating a single vacation with Ben feels like the organizational effort of a G20 summit. I know it’s unfair to pin this on Ben, but I miss my husband a lot. It would certainly be different if my husband and his ex-wife got along better. But as it is right now, it’s hardly wearable. Because too often my husband is not there. And when he is there, he is often lost in thought and sad. He misses his son. And I miss my husband.
Love and genes
And then there’s Ben himself. He doesn’t take after his temperamental dad. He takes after his introverted mom. Our house is loud, funny and sometimes a bit harsh. Ben is completely overwhelmed by this. So every weekend that he is with us, I put on my kid gloves, urge my daughters to be more calm and try to make it as nice for him as possible. I think Ben is doing well with us. It’s just me, I don’t feel so good when he’s around. Because I’m no longer me with him, because we’re no longer us. On Sunday evenings I collapse exhausted on the sofa and watch total nonsense on TV so I don’t have to think. Not about what it would be like without him. And not about how cruel that thought alone is.
Why it’s probably good to know Ben
One day Ben will be a man and I think I will appreciate him very much. Maybe even for his quiet and introverted nature, with which he will enrich our family. Maybe for showing me a painfully real side of myself that I don’t like, but that is still part of me. I don’t know why I can’t love him right now for being who he is. But I know that I no longer want to be ashamed of the way Ben makes me feel. Unfortunately it’s not love, even if I would like to say that. Rather, it is the feeling of standing before my own abysses. I hope that one day I can separate her from him. Only then is the way clear for something new between Ben and me. Until then, I’ll just try to be good to him. I can’t offer anything more at the moment. Even though I’m sorry, for Ben, for my husband and for myself.