More on Mother's Day

After reading several posts in the blogosphere about Mother's Day, I realized that I had added my thoughts in my typical harried fashion.

I'm afraid that I sounded ungrateful or bitter about where my journey has brought me. I promise I'm not. What I am is overwhelmed--sometimes in the negative sense, but sometimes with just staggering washes of love (Miss M trotting back and forth to the living room to bring half her library for Taxman to read to her in bed, while AM is contentedly nursing)--with how my life has completely flipped on its axis in the past three years.

After our third small dalliance with our pal ART, we decided to pursue IVF. It turned out to be unnecessary. But adjusting to the fact that it was out of the picture, at least for a first pregnancy, took time. Even after Miss M was born, I remember saying to Taxman that I felt like our lives had jumped a track somewhere and now we were in a parallel universe. Our old selves, in the old universe, were still childless and longing, putting energy into an infertility support group, taking trips to the Caribbean because we didn't have to buy diapers, thinking about orphanages in China filled with baby girls.

I haven't thought about that childless parallel universe in a long time. The people who were regular attendees at our support group have become parents, either through birth or adoption; some are even on their way to being parents again.

But three years isn't a long time. Taxman and I have been married for more than twice that. I suppose that my fundamental parenting tasks would have remained the same with one child versus two (protect, support, teach, listen, and love, among others), but two just fill up my life so much. I might be in mourning for the most recent universe I've left, where I have infinitely more patience for Miss M, where I am plotting to spend a glorious toddler summer with her, exploring New York City, borrowing a friend's pool pass, and beginning to teach her to "cook."

But just as I came to exult in my new life as an Ema in 2004, I have bold hopes for my life as Ema, squared. My arms will be full, but my heart will be even more full.

I agree that Mother's Day has grown into a monstrosity of guilt and flowers and Hallmark. Luckily, we restrict it (and Father's Day) to just cards, but Taxman always adds a special message. My eyes fill with tears as I read his words of faith in me and encouragement for our future. He bolsters me whenever I need it--usually late at night when we should be sleeping--but it's nice to have the bonus of being able to read it in the daytime, with my babies vying for my attention. Seems like new times. And later in the day he brought chocolate, too.