Morose Mother's Day

Warning: abundant self-pity ahead . . .

Mother's Day was a bust this year.

Maybe P's family didn't make a big deal about Mother's Day when he was a kid. Or maybe he just didn't know that I was hoping for something, anything. He was sick on Saturday so I suppose I have to cut him some slack for that, but if he didn't persist in leaving everything until the last minute, it wouldn't be such a problem. I had mentioned to him a few weeks ago that I could use some summer pajamas. I thought maybe he would take the kid shopping and pick some out. Then on Friday he announced that he hadn't bought anything and that we could all go to the mall together on Saturday. Oh.

I took the kid to a birthday party on Saturday afternoon and then brought her home. I decided to go back out and do a little shopping by myself. I had a Gymboree coupon that was burning a hole in my pocket. I ended up buying some summer things for the kid. I did buy some unremarkable pajamas for myself from T.J. Maxx, which I could have done without needing a special occasion.

P was feeling better today so I was hoping maybe he would surprise me or something. He milled about aimlessly this morning while I busied myself with feeding and dressing our child. Then I went outside to pick up dog poop. I kept waiting for him to say, "I'll take care of that! You sit down - it's Mother's Day, after all!" Okay, he would never say any thing vaguely like that but a girl can dream, you know.

By mid-morning I was in tears. I started wondering if I would be treated differently if I had birthed this child of ours. Then I started wondering if my other four babies had died in utero because God knew I would not be a good mother. And then my thoughts drifted into the realm of what a horrible mother I clearly am, because I was unable to get A to eat anything except Sun Chips and applesauce for dinner last night.

A and I went to church, which usually succeeds in uplifting me. But soon all the talk about brunches and gifts and flowers left me looking upward at the ceiling, trying not to cry in public.

Later, P said that we should all go out to lunch but by then it all just felt sort of "too little too late-ish." I thought maybe he would run out while we were at church and buy A a card to sign, but there was nothing on the counter when we got home. At one point I saw something in his hand and felt my heart jump because I thought it was a card after all! But it was a lottery ticket.

By late afternoon I decided to stop wallowing and to take the kid to the wildlife sanctuary. We purchased a bag of corn and attempted to unload it on ducks and geese that were, apparently, all corned out. A didn't really notice, though, and just kept tossing the hardened kernels into the shallow lagoon. We also walked through the nature center and stopped in the gift shop. I bought her a windmill-on-a-stick toy (which was taken away two hours later when she smacked one of the dogs with it). We studied each animal exhibit until we found its advertised inhabitant. She picked a bajillion dandelions and then made me carry them.

She's too young to know that today was supposed to be different from other days. But she loves me every day, despite my copious shortcomings as a mother. Maybe a wilted dandelion was all I really needed after all.