Okay, okay. I was *just kidding* about Coach Taylor call me. I love the hubs. Muah!

Here is last year’s post if you missed it last year or care to read it again:

After my Jillian Michael’s post and the passionate responses it provoked, and with Mother’s Day here, I can’t seem to get this whole motherhood thing off my mind. (Of course, it could be the three boys five and under hanging from my leg, refusing to let me TINKLE alone.)

There was a time I never thought I’d be a mom. And Mother’s Day, though I have a mother I love dearly, was an excruciating reminder I might never be one.  And yet, it was all around me. A painful larger than life indication that something wasn’t quite right with me and no one (no experts, no talk shows, no magazines, no books, and no well meaning friends and relatives…) seemed to know how to fix it. Not a Harvard degreed doctor. Not my ever loving husband. Least of all me. And for that? I felt like a bit of a failure, even though I realize it was undeserved.

I’m not a numbers girl so I don’t know what the statistics are. I have no clue how many women can’t get pregnant who want to get pregnant. Not sure they even track it. It’s pretty personal for a lot of women. After my first miscarriage my ob-gyn told me she had had one too, and that having one was sort of like being in a secret sorority you never wanted to join.  If you can’t get pregnant, or you can but you keep miscarrying, you feel like you’re the only one. And when it seems like every friend, co-worker, and neighbor is having babies, though you’re genuinely happy for them, it stings that you can’t share in the happiness and good fortune.

So when I drove home (in the midst of my years long bout of infertility) with my husband after attending a wedding out of state and the toll collecter innocently beamed, “Happy Mother’s Day!”, I knew he meant well, but I just slunk deeper into my seat after wanly offering a “thanks”. (Can you imagine the line that would have formed behind me had I attempted to set him straight?) It’s the Northeast. We might have been able to hug it out in the midwest, but not the Northeast!

Sometimes, I think it’s the people who mean well who make it worse. It would always seem like it was some woman who had like 37 kids and got pregnant every time her husband glanced her way who would say stuff like, “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out!”  (Well, how do you know? You are fertile fricking Mrytle running your own personal Von Trapp family!) After a while, it starts to sound glib. You’re like, “Platitude Patty. Shut it! You don’t know from standing on your head, facing east, during a full moon, every odd numbered day, while experimenting with shots of Robitussin trying to get prego!”

Then there’s the person who assumes you have no kids by choice, like the random new dentist you go to take care of your TEETH lest the rest of you fall apart too, and he asks if you have kids and replies…”Yeah, we didn’t want to have kids either. Good for you!” (Um, no? Assume much? Just….no. Good for YOU, not me. P.S. Your getting to know you new patient spiel needs work.)

The armchair doctors who offer you unsolicited “advice” at cookouts are fun. It’s always a good time when someone you barely know brazenly blurts after a few adult beverages, “Wow. You’ve been married for a while. What are you waiting for, a fire? Why don’t you have some kids already!” (Really? Why don’t I duct tape your mouth shut, moron. Never mind that some people don’t want kids, which is perfectly fine, but either way, if you don’t want them or are having a hard time getting pregnant, not your biz, blowhard!)

I had a long, strange trip to motherhood, but I learned what my marriage and I are made of. The challenge didn’t drive us apart, it brought us closer together. We never gave up on each other, or on our goal of becoming parents. Regardless of how I got here and who I had to encounter along the way, I am so honored to be a mom. My kids don’t define who I am as a person, but I do believe they make me a better one. Through them, I see things for the first time all over again. It’s shocking and fantastic how they each have their own distinct, awesome little personalities. Their energy is boundless. Their love is limitless, generous, and unconditional. It was a crazy road to get here, and I’m so thankful I made it. I feel lucky and blessed.

But I’m honored to be their mom every day, not just on Mother’s Day. And so while I love the day and enjoy the special attention, every Mother’s Day my heart tugs for those who can’t celebrate, but want to so badly. To those women I want to say, there are people who get it, and don’t ever give up. The secret sorority is larger than we’ll ever know. No one person knows what the future brings (and if they say they do they’re full of S*&^!). If you’re like me, the path to get where you’re going might take more twists and turns than you ever imagined. No one has that crystal ball. (Ok, actually, some do but that one in Ogunquit, Maine told me I was having two boys and a girl. WRONG! So don’t be trolling for info there. That crystal ball is straight up busted.) I think you gotta keep on putting one foot in front of the other….trying, hoping, wishing, planning, shoe shopping. (Ok, shoe shopping is very therapeutic. I stand by shoe shopping. Always.) I sincerely hope you find the peace and happiness you deserve, and that some day someone will be wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day.

(And if you see that guy from the cookout…..I think it’s about time someone spit in his drink. Just a thought. If you feel inclined….)