There are many days on the calendar that are a challenge for infertile women. Christmas for sure, when all you want is to see the new little stocking hanging with the others for the first time. Halloween is despised, as you throw up your hands at seeing one more infant in a cuddly, warm lion costume. (Last year I sat in the bedroom with earphones on while my husband passed out the candy.)

But there is no holiday out there that stings so badly as the one that singles out the fact that you are not a mother: Mother’s Day. A day just like any other for those who aren’t part of the exclusive mom club (although loving on our own mothers takes the sting out to a degree.)

And is it really necessary for every single email on this particular day to be about Mother’s Day? Happy Mother’s Day! Because you’re an awesome mother, buy something from New York and Company, REI, Athleta, DaySpring, UncommonGoods, Wayfair, Ancestry.com, Kohl’s, and freaking Pro Compression Socks!

But I digress.

Mothers work hard to keep their families on the go day after day and should be lauded for it. Among dozens of other tasks, whether it’s packing lunches, doing countless loads of laundry, cooking dinner, driving to and from school/soccer/music lessons/birthday parties/sleepovers/etc and making sure the bath is done with enough time for a story before bed, mothers get it done.

I want to work hard for my family, too.

I want to be the target of the flying mashed sweet potatoes coming from the high chair. (It’s ok, kid, I don’t like them either; they were Daddy’s idea.)

I want to wash the grass stains out of my little one’s jeans.

(I make no illusions about cooking; that’s my husband’s job.)

I want to suds them up and scrub their little feet clean of dirt and make them giggle as I tickle their toes. Getting drenched in the process wouldn’t bother me now and again.

I want to cuddle in bed as we read their favorite book for the 87th time.

I want to heal the boo-boos when they find out the hard way that the tail of a cat is not for pulling.

I want cries of “Mommyyyyyy!” to turn into content sniffles and hugs.

I want to hug them when they encounter their first bully and hold them after their inevitable first heartbreak.

I want to go into mother overload mode when they’re sick.

I want to beam with pride watching them do something they love.

This is now my fourth Mother’s Day when I’ve hoped to either already have a child or at least be expecting. And it’s really getting old. For some reason, in my heart of hearts, I don’t have a good feeling about next year, either.

But who knows…this song frequently pops into my head when I think about my body’s many failings, but…maybe this time…

“Everybody loves a winner
So nobody loves me
‘Lady Peaceful, ‘ ‘Lady Happy, ‘
That’s what I long to be
All the odds are in my favor
Something’s bound to begin,
It’s got to happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time,
Maybe this time, I’ll win…”

“Maybe This Time”, Cabaret

?ribbonrx