Mother's Day

Today was Mother's Day.
I should post pictures of my coffee filter flowers, handprints on mason jars, and love poems with my kid's feet placed onto typed stationary.

But I won't.

Instead, I spent today soldiering through, white knuckling through the sadness.

On Mother's Day 2007, Dan and I spent the morning celebrating my first of these holidays. I took time at Tropical Smoothie asking about ingredients and rubbing my tiny belly. Ten minutes later I started brown spotting while shopping for maternity clothing at Old Navy. I was 12 weeks pregnant. Three days later I had a d&c because my "missed miscarriage" at 10 weeks was taking too long, the doctors said.

A year later, I sat holding a three week old perfect, baby girl. That was my second Mother's Day.
I remember the overwhelming sadness and guilt I felt. I should be elated, I should feel lucky, I thought to myself, as I gazed down at my newborn as she breastfed and held my finger in her tiny grip.

I should be happy. I should look at two of my perfect little ladies and think of all the joy they bring to our lives. And they do. But on this day, I feel an emptiness. On this day, I think of all the other moms out there who are missing their babies, born and unborn. And these feelings make me feel like a bad mom.  Good moms don't fear Mother's Day, I tell myself. Good moms look for the good, focus on who they have in front of them, and are elated to be able to even have kids, I reason in my head.

But instead, I lay in bed, make excuses for my lethargy, and watch the clock until the day is done.