To the Moms Without Their Babies

I have had a terrific Mother's Day. I slept in-ish. My husband and sons gave me some incredible gifts, both impressive and meaningful. I got to sit in a friend's living room and enjoy a bloody mary (or two) while having conversation with four other women that have wild and crazy boys near my oldest son's age. Then all of our families went to a laughter filled lunch. We came home and I napped.  We picked up fresh flowers to take to a couple of the special ladies that my boys love.

I very truly had one of the best Mother's Days I can remember.

Yet, I feel sad.  I recently posted on my Facebook wall an article about how to explain miscarriage to a sibling.  One of the things that it talked of is how moms may have another child after a loss, they still may grieve significantly this child they lost.

It is like that for me.

A high school friend messaged me about three months ago to tell me she was very excitedly expecting for the first time. We talked a little about how nervous she was, and about my successful and unsuccessful pregnancies.  Sadly, a month ago that she too lost her pregnancy and was devastated.

Last night I messaged her, Happy Mother's Day.  We talked briefly, and I wanted her know, she deserved a Mother's Day well-wish.

Today, while buying the flowers for my own mother and the pseudo-grandmother for my boys I saw her.  I hugged her.  For the first time in probably ten years I saw her and was able to hug her a Happy Mother's day.

I wish I could hug all of the moms who have had a loss and tell them Happy Mother's Day.  They deserve to be recognized as well.

Please know, if you're part of the most undesired mom's club in the world and have lost a pregnancy or child, you are still a mother.  You are appreciated. You are thought of.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

There's the saying, "There's no good crying over spilt milk," which is to say that huffing and puffing over something that has already happened, that wasn't that big of a deal anyway, is silly.   Unless it's pumped breastmilk. That shit is liquid gold and I have totally bawled over accidentally knocking over a bag of freshly squeezed boob juice.

Really, I let little things go. Especially that lowly cow's milk (insert sancti-mommy "human milk for human babies" phrase and eyeroll).

But today.  Today is different.

It's 8am. I had a heck of a day yesterday and spent a good portion at the Mac Store repairing this trusty companion I write with to you today.  This morning I started finishing editing and copying images for a photography client that should have been completed yesterday.

I few moments ago I heard the familiar ting of a spoon in a cereal bowl. Ah, morning.

WHAT.

The kids already ate twenty minutes ago.  The breakfast table is clear. Why is that sound happening? Why is that sound happening in our living room?

I crept around the half wall to find E3 banging around in Daddy's cereal bowl he left on the end table.  There was just enough milk and Cheerios hanging out in it to pour down the side of the armchair and mash into the carpet.

UUUGGGHH. I had to gather the cleaning supplies and go forth to the battle field.  While battling the milk soaking into the carpet pad that will undoubtedly make that corner of the living room sour for a month, I hear it.

It's a splash followed by a plastic bump.  Instinctively I know.

You see, E2 has this habit of taking a few bites of breakfast then wandering around for twenty minutes. He will again sit to eat no less than three moments before we have to rush out the door to make whatever appointment we are already late for.

Which means one thing: E3 struck again.  I made it to kitchen to see the milk dripping off of the table and chair onto my freshly cleaned hardwood. E3 was trying to use Big Brother's spoon to eat the remaining CoCo Puffs out of the bowl.

I had to clean an even bigger mess and just tossed him into the high chair with the remaining floor soup.

I think I give up. If you come over, bring house shoes. My floors are sticky.