Mother’s Day is just around the corner. I have a mom who I love and adore. I have a sister who is a mom. I am very lucky to be able to celebrate them on their day. I have friends who are moms. I understand it is a tough job. I am happy they have a day to celebrate their role as a mother.
But for me? It’s hard. Every year it’s hard. This is not one of those things that time has helped to heal for me. And every year I struggle with expressing how hard it is because I don’t want to seem bitter. Because I’m not bitter. I’m just sad.
No matter where we go on Sunday moms will be handed flowers or asked to stand or they’ll be applauded. And rightfully so. And there I’ll be. Seated. And without a flower or applause. When that happens I feel like a barren, broken, empty shell. A failure as a woman. 364 days of the year I cope with it pretty well. I keep a great attitude about it (I think). I don’t allow many pity parties for myself. I don’t moan “Woe is me” very often. But this is just the one day I can’t escape it. Christmas, Easter, Halloween, etc. I’m fine. I think to myself “maybe next year”.
After 10 plus, yes TEN plus, years of trying to become a mom I’m still not a mom. I’m just a woman. I’m the girl whose parts didn’t work and whose adoptions fell through. What makes it worse is that CSP works retail so he’s at work every year and I’m left to face it alone. And please understand that my mom and my sister and my friends do all they can to make me feel appreciated on that day. But it’s still going to be hard to face the world on Sunday.
I’ve still got hope in me. I’m not finished fighting the good fight yet. Our social worker was here today with no news. Just a routine quarterly visit. Just a reminder that it could still be another year before we’re matched. Another Mother’s Day on the horizon. I’ll make it through. Maybe next year.