I spent a lot of time trying decide what to write in a Mother’s Day post, but like everything else, so much of this experience is conflicted. I wasn’t sure if I was more concerned people would forget me on Mother’s Day, or that they would remember. Everyone who matters remembered me, but it’s obviously bittersweet for all of us. In the end, all I knew for sure that I wanted was for things to have ended differently, and I can’t have that.
I’d thought that on Mother’s Day this year, I’d be closing in on 30 weeks pregnant, preparing to bring a baby home and celebrating a lot of our last “just the two of us” moments. Instead, I sit back and watch those who got pregnant after me, who started trying after me, become more pregnant than I ever got to be. I feel left behind. And I miss my daughter. There’s no greeting card for that.
I did, however, wake up to find Amy’s tree had bloomed.