Second Sunday In May

Well, it is Mother's Day again.


Last year I survived the pink carnations in Sacrament and the "Would you like a flower, Sister Holbrook?" by reminding myself that it was my last year. My last year as a not-mom. We had just decided we were ready for fat babies. If nothing else, I was sure to be at least pregnant by the time Mother's Day rolled around again, no sweat! Also I used that giant pink carnation as a weapon in my Primary class, bopping unruly ten year olds on the head and shaking its pink petals in boys faces when they talked out of turn. I was basically beating my kids with Mother's Day. Because that is basically what Mother's Day does to me.

Mother's Day, my old nemesis.

As usual in times of turmoil, the day before Mother's Day found me contemplating in the sun perched upon my hammock. Good as a therapist, the sun is. My eyelids were red with sun when the husband stepped into the glare, casting shadows all over the hammock and interrupting my absorption of Vitamin D and the Earth's wisdom.

"I got you a Mother's Day present. Do you want it today, or tomorrow?"


"Okay, I'll wrap it now!" And then he ran back into the house.

The sun blasted back on my face and I glanced down at Barnaby, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay! Come inside!" The shadow was back.

On the table sat a bright green package with a little blue bow. Inside was Pinnochio and Sleeping Beauty, to add to my collection of Disney movies for my someday kids. Good job, cute husband.

Then The Holbs casually pointed out that oh, there was another gift by the hydrangea.

And there it was.
A baby just for me.

I had always told The Holbs that when we had our first baby we would buy us a big mama camera, just like I had always told The Holbs that when I got pregnant I would quit my job. Looking back I recognize the error of my ways. Too much pressure to put on a poor uterus. I kind of like this new philosophy.

Later that night as I listened to a message saved just for me on my cell phone from my mother, calling to tell me that I was in her heart this weekend (get that, my mother calling me for Mother's Day), that's when I realized it: I sure am loved.

Happy Not-A-Mother's Day to me.
Here's to next year.