I have been waiting for a month to feel inspired to write about Mother’s Day. 
It’s now 10 pm tonight on Mother’s Day, and honestly … I still don’t feel inspired. 

I joined Sarah Philpott’s #HonorAllMoks campaign. (Click here for Sarah’s blog.) It’s a brilliant campaign, and I wanted to help. But I still didn’t know what to write.

This Mother’s Day is just sort of weird. 

I’m missing being Z’s mom. I am missing him, all day long, every day.

I’m pregnant now with a miracle baby. I have hope, but hesitations too. In spite of the fact that I am very much grateful for the opportunity to have a biological child … I have seriously struggled with morning sickness. I get maybe 2-3 hours of functional time in every day. Today was no exception.

Pregnancy loss and infertility made me dislike this holiday for a season. Maybe I’m over it. Then again, maybe not.

I love my darling girls. But we’re in a very demanding season of parenting. I don’t feel like an angel (which all advertisers paint moms to be, just to make some moolah.) I feel like an unprepared parent, a lacking one, a floundering mom. Right now, mothering is hard, and the last thing I feel like I can sport is a halo.

The thing that is easy about Mother’s Day are my own moms. Both my mother and mother-in-law are amazing women I’m so glad to have as role-models and friends in my life. Every day our family benefits from their hard work, love and character they continue to show.

For me, that is the easiest part of this day. Honoring them. This is grace.

But if you were to ask me how I really felt about Mother’s Day? I’d say, “Meh.”

So mostly, I’ve been pretty tight-lipped.

But I didn’t want to let down any of my readers who wanted, needed, someone to validate their experiences on what can be a really difficult holiday. 

So I created a small meme. Just a little something to let others know their circumstances might not ever be a part of a Hallmark special, but they are indeed thought of today.

I do miss the how naive I once was about holidays like this. I miss listening to sermons without critiquing how sensitive the preachers were to hurting women in their congregation. I miss posting to social media without being hyper aware of who I was hurting. I miss sharing traditions without remembering that they often hurt a good population of women….

Women whose moms just sucked at motherhood. Moms who left them, abandoned them, or were just so plain unhealthy there had to be a permanent break in relationship. Giving birth doesn’t always improve one’s character, and it certainly doesn’t elevate one to sainthood. Let’s be real. Some moms suck.

I think of Leyla’s birth mom. How it must hurt today. How Z’s mom might feel today.

I think of single moms who have no partner to show them extra appreciation today.

My friends struggling with infertility. The constant, weary battle they face just to have a title so many of us take for granted.

I think of Bethany, whose daughter Mya was still born at 38 weeks. She mothers her baby from the grave, and has no living children now.

I think of all my friends who have babies in heaven. Some who are going through losses right now.

I think of women who have aborted, wondering if they still count as moms.
Women who have fostered or mothered a child who is not theirs to keep.

Women who have given children for adoption. Women who are waiting on a placement. Women who just had a placement disrupt.

I think of women who are pregnant. Some who don’t have any living children yet. Some who are pregnant after loss.
I think of moms whose babies have all left the nest. Those whose children have left them. Relationships severed.
I think of moms whose babies are sick and fighting for their lives. Moms with cancer fighting for their lives.

Stepmoms who are made to feel “less than” by the other mom … Or by her step children.

Moms who are missing their own moms who have already passed on.

And generally, I just am sort of aware of all this pain swirling around a day that is supposed to be all “flowers, chocolates and breakfast in bed.”

Meanwhile, Radio ads and TV commercials wax on about these heavenly creatures who lay down life and limb for their family, never in want of anything (except, naturally, the one thing that advertiser happens to be selling.)
And I so desperately want to just call malarkey. On all of it.

Maybe our world saturated by marketing and social media have this day all wrong.
Maybe it shouldn’t be a day for celebrating all moms.

Maybe it should be a private day to reflect on how mothering, in all its nuances, has shaped your life. Your character. Your person.

A day where women can celebrate if they have reason to, and mourn if they have reason to. Without all this silly cultural expectation to be only giddy and grateful.
At the end of the day, I’m honestly glad it’s over. I wasn’t dreading today, but neither was I particularly looking forward to it — other than the fact that I would see my family.

I’m glad all the pent up emotions and expectations are finally set aside. 
I’m glad that tomorrow my friends who are seriously hurting will get a break from the constant reminders they have been facing for the last several weeks.

I’m glad I had a chance to celebrate my own moms in a very small way. 

I am thankful for the sweet cards from my girls.

But I would mostly say … I’m glad the pressure is off, and that it will be over for one more year.

(FYI — my blog has some sort of glitch where my paragraph spacing often gets lost when I publish. I’ve tried all I know to do to fix it, but it just keeps happening. So if my posts all turn out to be one huge paragraph, please forgive me and rest-assured that I did actually attempt to space my paragraphs appropriately. Thanks for your patience on this.) 🙂

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