I have two children, but there were times in my life when I wasn’t certain that I would make the choice to become a mother. I didn’t know that Mother’s Day would be a special day for me. Kids were a 50/50 thing.
I opened my Twitter feed this morning, and it was filled with delightful Mother’s Day wishes. I’m glad folks are celebrating Mother’s Day there, and everywhere.
But right here, I want to celebrate the others.
I want to celebrate my friend who was a mother for 18 years until the day, just a few years ago, when her only son died. And now, when people ask her if she has children, she wants to run away rather than have that uncomfortable conversation one more time. (She will always be a mother. You raise a toddler, and then a teenager, in my book you will always be a mother.) Today is a tough day for her.
I want to celebrate my friend who suffered infertility. She spent ten years trying to get pregnant, from age 33 until age 43, and never could, via every scientific advancement possible. Her body took a beating for her dream of becoming a mother, and it was worth the effort to try. But in the end, today is just another day for her.
I want to celebrate my friend who has chosen to not have children for many different reasons—for yes there are many—and yes of course she lives a fulfilling full life and is delighted with her choice. And yet she has to defend it every now and then, and sometimes every day, and that defending gets really old. Today is an annoying day for her because, for all of those people who say she will “regret” her choice, this is their smuggest day. Happy Other’s Day, you.
I love you.