Andy Lien

Lucienne, one of metformin hcl 500 mg weight loss the additions.

I wrote a post about Mother’s Day.  It’s right here.

I wrote it a year ago today.  Nothing has changed.  Well, I can’t say nothing…I can add to the post.  I haven’t heard from Mr. Fourth Date.  Cobra Joe’s first birthday is tomorrow.  Lucienne is four months old.  Eamon Bruce will be born by the end of the month…Carson and Ian, his parents, weren’t even married yet this time last year.  These are all wonderful, miraculous additions.  Well, except for the Mr. Fourth Date part…I’ll never know if that was good or bad.

Ramping up to Mother’s Day, I started feeling the self-pity like a prickly rash…first, just a hint…then, I had to scratch.  My usually optimistic thoughts were replaced by meanness.  I lashed.  I took broad swipes.  The claws were out.

As usual, it was only self-injurious behavior.  I never say such things aloud.  The “you’re lucky you haves” stayed locked inside.

The difference this year, though, is that I’ve learned so much in the 365 days between Mother’s Days.  I’ve learned coping skills.  How to observe Mother’s Day with as healthy an attitude as possible.  By reframing, I looked at Mother’s Day not as how I was not included, but how I was a participant.  It makes perfect sense that I would not be included as one of the mothers celebrating Mother’s Day.  Like a birthday, we don’t get mad when it’s not ours.  Instead, I looked to how I could participate.  What was my role on Mother’s Day?  My roles were to be a granddaughter, a daughter, a sister-in-law, an aunt, and a Godmother…all of which are really quite important.  Integral, even.  So, I jumped into my roles with enthusiasm.

I brought Bjorn and Kjersti with me to my parents’ house a day before we were all going to celebrate Mother’s Day, to give my sister-in-law a break.  As aunt and Godmother, I stayed up with Kjersti as she cried until late because she couldn’t breathe out of her left nostril…and I was awakened by Bjorn at 5:45 the next morning because that’s when he was “done sleeping.”  Then, I helped bring the kids to my parents’ church on Mother’s Day to give my mom the opportunity to show off her towhead grandchildren.  And, that afternoon, I somehow heard my 89-year old grandma’s soft rapping on the back door so I was able to let her in as her arthritic hand just can’t maneuver the door’s handle very well.

I’m really good at those roles.  I’ve got them down pat.

The thing is, when celebrating a birthday that isn’t mine, at least I’m sure my birthday will come around eventually.  I can’t say the same for my own Mother’s Day.  I’m sad about that.  I’m sad that I may never have that role.

So, while the “you’re lucky you haves” stayed locked inside, my emotions haven’t.  I’m letting myself cry this year.  I’m letting the tears roll.  I’m asking myself why I’m sad, and I’m taking care of myself.  I’m moving toward acceptance every time I do this…every time I acknowledge how sad I am.

Like when I read last year’s post, I hear the pain in my words and I can’t see through the tears.

Like right now.

I held it together on Mother’s Day.  I held it together except for one small episode.  Just after six-year old Bjorn mentioned completely out of the blue that it was okay that he didn’t have cousins, I slipped out to the garage and sobbed.

And, again now.  It breaks my heart.

So, I will think about this portion of the prayer we said in church on Sunday:

“We pray for girls and women who think about being moms; Grant them wisdom and discernment.
We pray metformin side effects for women who desperately want, or wanted, to be moms; Grant them grace to accept your timing and will.
We pray for all women who have assumed the mother’s role in a child’s life; Grant them joy and the appreciation of others.”

It shall be so.  Amen.