It all started with a dull throb. Over time, it escalated into a sharp pain radiating through my head. No remedy worked—neither medication nor sleep seemed to help.
There I sat in Dr. Morgan’s office in Beverly Hills, feeling a mix of dread and resignation. He gave me the same sympathetic look my mother wore when she broke the news about my childhood pet’s demise. “I’m afraid both of those teeth will require root canals. We can start phase one today,” he informed me.
“Let’s do it,” I replied, steeling myself.
As Dr. Morgan administered a generous dose of Novocain, I felt tears prick at my eyes. Sure, the financial hit was daunting, but what truly saddened me was the thought of losing two more vital pieces of myself. Having already experienced a few root canals—including one in Italy sans anesthesia—I knew the drill. Infection lurked in the roots, and he would have to extract the living tissue—the nerves and blood supply—leaving behind only the shell, reinforced with dental material. My teeth would continue to function, but they would be mere shadows of their former selves. It felt like the end of an era, especially since I had recently uprooted my life.
Just five months prior, I had left my home in Philadelphia to join my boyfriend, Josh, a talented cinematographer, in Los Angeles. We met while working on a television project and fell for each other. I left behind 33 years of friendships and family ties—roots as deep as my teeth. I worried that my relationships would wither away, becoming hollow remnants of what they once were.
Although Josh didn’t share my dental misfortunes, he understood the significance of being rooted, in ways I was still learning.
During one of Josh’s visits back to Philadelphia, his phone chimed. It was a message from his ex, accompanied by pictures of their kids. “Feeling nostalgic,” she wrote. Jealousy bubbled up inside me, but I pushed it down, focusing instead on the images. In one, Josh’s three kids, dressed in pajamas, sat in front of a pile of unopened gifts beneath a Christmas tree. They were younger then, but even in that moment, their joy was evident. The girls had shiny hair and bright smiles, while their younger brother beamed with delight.
For the first three years of our long-distance relationship, it had been Josh and me against his family—his ex and their kids. Even after I moved to L.A., the divide lingered. His ex hadn’t welcomed me yet, which meant that the girls, aged 13 and 14, were reluctant to meet me.
Despite this, Josh was an exceptional father, managing his roles with grace—coaching soccer games, juggling carpools, and cooking for the kids when his ex worked late. I didn’t mind having my own space, but I often wondered how long it would take for me to feel like a part of their lives.
Then came the unexpected call. It was Lily, Josh’s eldest daughter. We were driving home from a festival when I heard her voice tremble on the line. “Dad, can you come get me now?” She had spent the day at a haunted amusement park, and the fright had overwhelmed her. I worried she wouldn’t want to get in the car with me, but she did. And she was surprisingly kind.
The next day, when Josh mentioned he wouldn’t push for me to meet Lily, she replied, “It’s okay. It’s hard to keep hating someone who’s so nice.” Before long, all three kids wanted to join us for dinner—and stay over. Our family roots were beginning to intertwine.
Who were these three young ones who were suddenly becoming a permanent part of my life? What were their quirks and dreams? I was about to find out.
When I learned their mother had taken a month-long job out of town, I felt a wave of anxiety. This was the longest they’d ever stayed with us—Josh would be working long hours on a set, often returning after bedtime. I worked from home, but would I be able to manage everything? Josh was a culinary whiz, while I was—let’s say—less than skilled in the kitchen. What if I couldn’t whip up a meal they’d enjoy? Would I be able to help Lily with her math homework? What if they decided I wasn’t worth their time after all?
To add to my worries, I was recovering from the second phase of my root canal. After the first, even the lightest pressure felt agonizing. Josh reassured me, saying the kids were self-sufficient and had been raised that way. But what kind of future stepmom would I be if I just lay in bed?
The day of my procedure, I stepped out of the dentist’s office into the glaring sunlight, my face completely numb from the anesthesia. I struggled to read my phone; it was 5 p.m. Josh had texted me, “Call me when you’re done. The kids are waiting for you.”
I dialed him, and he answered right away. “How did it go?” he asked.
“Okay, but my roots are wickedly curved,” I replied.
“I love you and your wickedly curved roots. I’ll be home soon. Let the kids take care of you.”
Upon walking in, Josh’s daughters, Lily and Mia, stared at my swollen face. They asked if I was alright. Lily had made cheeseburgers using her dad’s recipe and offered me one with ketchup.
Little Ben, Josh’s youngest, gestured for me to lower myself so he could kiss the sore side of my face. As I tried to eat, I felt a pang of guilt for letting a 14-year-old prepare dinner, but I also sensed a hint of pride in Lily. It was okay to let the kids step up sometimes.
“Want to watch a movie?” Mia asked.
We settled in on the couch, and Lily chose My Neighbor Totoro, a whimsical film about a girl who encounters the spirit of the forest among ancient trees. By the time the credits rolled, Ben was fast asleep on me, just as Mei rested peacefully on Totoro.
“I can put him to bed,” Lily offered.
“I’ve got him. Thanks again for dinner,” I replied, struggling to lift my little buddy.
As we headed to his room, Ben nestled his head on my chest. “I love you,” he whispered, holding my hand.
“Love you too,” I replied, my heart swelling. I had hesitated to say “I love you” to Josh’s kids, fearing it might be overwhelming.
As Ben’s breathing slowed, I reflected on how our new family was growing. I discovered that Mia shared my passion for singing, sending me videos of songs to learn on the piano so we could have mini-concerts together. Lily asked me to help her with her essays, and Ben and I bonded over Super Mario World, reminiscing about the words we’d learned together. There were family dinners with Josh’s homemade chicken pot pie, weekends at Disneyland, and my sister visiting with her kids—our family was truly forming.
Some roots will never return, much like those that sustain my teeth. Others extend far beyond, connecting me to my family and friends back in Philadelphia. But new roots can grow deep and strong, intertwining with the old.
When Josh came home, I heard laughter from the girls. As the bedroom door creaked open, Ben tightened his grip on my hand, and I felt a warmth envelop me.
As my affection for Josh’s kids deepens, I realize it’s just a glimpse of what he and his ex must feel for them. Their roots run deep, and mine, while new, are just as brave and true. They’re starting to wrap around one another beautifully.
In the world of family, as I learned from my own experiences and from valuable insights at Kindbody, and from Make a Mom, building these connections is vital. For more on home insemination, check out this article.
Summary
This heartfelt story of Jamie, who navigates the challenges and joys of nurturing a blended family, illustrates how new roots can grow strong even in the face of personal upheaval. From overcoming dental woes to bonding with her boyfriend’s kids, Jamie learns to embrace her role as a future stepmother.