Mother's Day, Schmuther's Day

It is Mother's Day, I feel compelled to post something. I'm not sure what I want or need to write, well, actually I do know what I'd like to write but there is no need for a potty mouth on a Sunday. I just took communion for goodness sakes, I'm going to try to keep it clean until dinner at least.

And so, Mother's Day. Talk about a Hallmark holiday, gosh the amount of money invested in the promotion of this day is mind-boggling. There are even commercials dedicated to mothers. I simply can't escape the sugary images of doe-eyed moms, lovingly cooking dinner, surrounded by hordes of adoring children. I feel sorry for all my diabetic peeps out there, the sugary sweetness in the air can't be good for them. It must be getting in through their pores. Beware, good friends, the air is fraught with deadly nectar, keep your insulin close at hand.

I know I sound bitter, I guess I am, a little. But not for the reason you think. I betcha all think I'm bitter because I'm not a mother, right? Nope, that isn't the reason. I've never liked Mother's Day, not even when I was little. I didn't grow up in a Hallmark household. My mom wasn't the kind of mom you see in TV commercials. At least not at home. To the outside world she was soft spoken, kind and doe-eyed. Apparently, the effort required to keep up the charade took a lot out of her because when she came home she was pretty much the meanest bully I knew. Yet, every Mother's Day teachers would make us create sweet cards and wrap silly little art projects for our moms. All the kids would be so proud and excited to take them home. Blech. All I could think of is, what a way to waste a perfectly good paper doily and star stickers.

70's TV was filled with images of the way moms were supposed to act. I'd have given anything for a Mrs.Brady, Mrs. Ingalls or heck, I'd even take Mr. Roper. Instead, I got a cross between Thelma from Scooby Doo and the Hulk. In a nutshell, an angry know-it-all. My mom didn't really raise us, she basically gave birth and then did her best to avoid or humiliate us. I'm the youngest of three girls, I'm 34, sisters are 35 and 36. Some people would say my mom had it rough with three girls so close in age. The stories are legendary about how difficult it was with 3 kids in diapers at once. Everyone laughed at the recollections, but not us. My sisters and I knew we had already paid for any inconvenience we had created by being born.

Growing up in that atmosphere gave me the survival skills I'm using to get through my infertility struggle. This is bittersweet because, while I'm grateful to say I'm a survivor, I'd rather be able to say, my mom is helping me through my infertility struggle. She is not. When I grew up and was no longer her legal responsibility, my mom walked away and didn't look back. She keeps up with my life through my sister and knows enough about me to be able to brag to others about my successes. Although she never contacts me to acknowledge my accomplishments. My mom also knows about my infertility struggle, but she has never offered advice, support, or even given her fertility background so I can unlock the mystery of my fertility.

I spent some time on "the couch" and worked out my demons with a good therapist and a few too many trips to Target. And here I am, a perfectly functioning adult, not needing her support but always secretly wishing my mom would WANT to support me. Alas, she is MIA, as they say. My mom is still living in the house I grew up in, but she changed her phone number and never gave me the new one. That's sad, isn't it? I got over it a long time ago. I hardly think of it anymore, except on days like today, Mother's Day. I really don't understand my mother, she threw away the opportunity to be a parent, and I'd sell my soul for it. No, I'm not bitter about Mother's Day because I'm not a mom, that is something I have the power to change. I'm bitter because I don't have a mom, and I'll never be able to change that.