For many years, Mother’s Day for me, was a day I grieved.
Several years ago, my mom was an addict, and alcohol was her drug. She was in my life, but she wasn’t able to really be my mom. The relationship that we had shared all my life had been broken by addiction. And every Mother’s Day I always wondered if it would be her last.
During that time, we had also been trying to get pregnant. I wanted a baby more than anything. I wanted squishy cheeks, chunky thighs, and a little voice to call me “Mommy.” And it just wasn’t happening. My body had failed me, month after agonizing month. We tried every natural/holistic route you can imagine. We tried to “not try.” We tried rounds of infertility medicine. We changed our diets. We charted temperatures and I knew my calendar like the back of my hand. We even tried several rounds of infertility treatments. And they all ended in the bottom of the trash can with one lonely pink line on a pregnancy test each month.
I wanted more than anything to be a mom.